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01/09/2024

Homily for twenty second Sunday, year B

Deuteronomy 4:1-2,6-8
James 1:17-18,21-22,27
Mark 7:1-8,14-15,21-23

Have you ever noticed that the people who follow fashion will often tell you that they use their clothes to express their individuality, and yet they tend to end up looking, and even speaking, like all the others?

Alternatively, have you ever sat on a beach and watched the surf? No two waves are ever the same, nor are any two leaves on a tree, nor, I am told, any two falling snowflakes. Although, to be fair, I’m not sure how you would test that last one.

God, it would seem, glories in variety, in an infinity of forms. He has nothing whatever to do with fashion, or uniformity, or even efficiency. He simply wants things to be what He made them to be. This is the heart of the law of God. All of our readings today are concerned with the law, both the law of God and the law of man.

Our first reading tells us that we should take nothing from the law of God nor add anything to it, and yet it has been a constant temptation, throughout human history, both to add and to subtract.

The things that we tend to add to the law and generally small and relatively unimportant. They may be a good idea, like washing your hands before eating, but they are of small consequence for our lives. They tend to be easy to do, and highly visible. Things that will gain us social approval – like respecting the tradition of the elders.
Now, these additions can build up over time to become a crushing burden, stifling individual freedom and enforcing social conformity.

All sorts of ideas and beliefs can very quickly become ‘politically incorrect’ and all the glorious colours of the human family are reduced to a bland beige.

Of course, as well as adding things into God’s law, we have also tended to take things out or, at least, to ignore inconvenient sections. The things we tend to take out, however, are the opposite of those we add in. The are often serious, hard to do, and have far reaching consequences for the way we live our lives: things like honesty, respect and love.

The scribes and pharisees liked to put on a show, liked to pretend that they weren’t the sinful, broken men that they were. They liked to use the traditions of the elders, human traditions, to deflect eyes, even their own, away from the fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, malice, deceit, indecency, envy, slander, pride, and folly that come from putting aside the commandments of God and clinging instead to human law and tradition.

Are we not tempted to do this too? To put up a facade and to not look at the darkness in our own hearts. To not face the times when we have failed to respect other people and used them simply as a means to an end; the times when we have failed to love, especially those who are most unlovable, those pushed to the margins of society - often for good reasons.

The pharisees condemned those who couldn’t meet the demands of their laws and felt righteous because of their condemnation, felt righteous without any need to examine and change the way they themselves lived. And yet all such self-righteousness is false.

God, however, who actually is righteous, seeks to forgive rather than condemn. You see, He loves us, in all our weakness and foolishness. He loves us, not the phoney facade that we show to the world nor the fantasy that we sometimes conjure for ourselves.

Yes, the law of God is hard. It takes courage, especially in the face of a society that has rejected God. It makes great demands on us, demands that we, all of us, all-of-us, frequently fail to meet. That is why the law of God can never be separated from His grace and mercy. The law of man leads to falsehood and all kinds of foolishness and evil.

The law of God leads to wisdom and understanding. God knows our weakness, so He gives us His strength. He knows our foolishness, so He gives us His wisdom. He knows our fear, so He gives us His courage. He loves us even as we are, and He empowers us for the battle.

18/08/2024

Homily for twentieth Sunday, year B

John 6:51-58

The story is told of a non-catholic who, on having it explained to him that Catholic teaching and belief was that the Eucharist was no mere symbol, but that Christ was truly and substantially present, exclaimed “But you can’t really believe that! If I believed that, I would fall on my knees on entering the church and never dare to get up.”

Well, they say that familiarity breeds contempt and this may well be so. In Australia, for example, we take for granted that we have clean water and electricity easily available - and yet in many countries, these things are only available to the very rich – if at all.

To be able to get hot and cold water from taps inside our house, to be able to flick a switch and have light even in the darkest night – these would be considered things of wonder. It is true, that as the great English writer, G.K.Chesterton once said, man will never lack wonders, only wonder. Perhaps this is true of us, even at mass.

Our gospel today, continues the discussion which began after the feeding of the five thousand. The crowd said to Jesus, ‘Moses gave our ancestors manner in the desert. What are you going to do for us?’ When he told them he would give them his body as the bread of life, they grumbled. ‘We know this guy,’ they said. ‘He’s only a man. How can he give us his body to eat?’

In His answer, Jesus doesn’t tone it down. He doesn’t say ‘Hey guys, I was just being metaphorical. I didn’t really mean it.’ No. Instead He takes it up a notch – or two.

Here John has him using very strong language. The word used here doesn’t mean body or even meat. It means flesh, the stuff our living bodies are made of, and the verb isn’t the polite word ‘to eat’. No, the word John uses means to chew, to munch, even to gnaw.
Jesus is telling them that in order to have eternal life they must chew, munch, gnaw on His flesh.

Understandably perhaps, the crowd objects to this language but Jesus still doesn’t back down. Instead, He raises the ante yet again and says ‘unless you munch on my flesh and drink my blood, you can’t have life.’ He insists that His living flesh is real food and that His blood is real drink.

Why does John use such strong language? This story could have been told far more politely. I think that maybe it was also because John’s was the last gospel to be written.

The Christian church had been going for about 60 years by then and perhaps a certain familiarity had crept into the celebration of the Eucharist. John wants to shock us out of anything like that because this is far too important to be taken for granted.

Jesus gives us His body and blood, His very substance and His life, so that, just as He gets His life from His Father and is one with His Father, so we can get our life from Him and become one with Him and because His is a divine, eternal life, then we too can live forever.

But here’s the thing. In order for blood to be drunk, it must be spilled. This passage is a meditation on the Eucharist, but it also points towards the cross. It is by dying on the cross that He gives Himself to us, flesh and blood.

Of course, His love was stronger than death and it is His risen body we eat in communion, just as it is His blood, poured out for us, that we drink. This must never become something routine, something so familiar that we don’t even think about it. It must never become just something that we do at the end of mass.

No, this is a thing of great wonder. We take into ourselves the body and blood, the very life and divinity of Christ himself. We come to share in His divinity because He humbled Himself to share our humanity, a humanity poured out and broken for us on the cross, a humanity risen to glorious life.

In a few minutes we will offer ourselves and our world to God, symbolised in the gifts of bread and wine. Father will call down the Holy Spirit, will speak the words of Jesus, and God will change the gifts so that Jesus Himself, His body and blood, His soul and divinity, will be physically present on the altar.

Then, wonder of wonders, we take Him, eat His body, drink His blood, in communion so that He might take us to the Father and bring us into the eternal joy and love of God.

It is no small thing to say ‘amen’ when offered the host. You are agreeing that this is, indeed, the body and blood of Jesus. You are agreeing to become one with God Himself.

Through His body, broken for us, through His blood, poured out for us, we, poor, broken sinful people that we are, are made to share in the divine life of God Himself. We shouldn’t wonder that John uses such strong language. In reality, there are no words strong enough. As the old hymn says, we are lost, all lost, in wonder.

14/08/2024

Homily for the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven.

Apocalypse 11:19,12:1-6,10 1Corinthians 15:20-26 Luke 1:39-56

In the Byzantine churches of the east today we would pray: O Lady, do not forget those who share your humanity and who celebrate your holy dormition with fervour and love.

Today we celebrate the feast known as the Assumption in the west and as the Dormition in the East. I quoted from the Byzantine vespers here to show that, even though the Assumption was only dogmatically defined by Pope Pius XII in 1950, it is, in fact, a very ancient belief of the church, both east and west.

History tells us that the earliest writings we have about the Assumption date back to the third century and these are popular legends built around what must have been a still earlier belief.
Faith tells us that the church, in her living tradition, simply remembers what actually happened. That the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever-Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.

This day we celebrate that, through the power of her son’s resurrection, Mary was born into a new and glorious life. The traditional eastern icon of this feast includes the figure of Jesus, surrounded by angels and in the glory of heaven, holding Mary - symbolically represented as a child wrapped in swaddling clothes.
You see, He holds in His arms she who once held Him in her arms. He raises to a heavenly birth she who once gave Him an earthly one. She gave Him His human nature and He now shares with her His divine nature.

This is the promise of this feast, a promise made to all of us. Where Mary has gone, we can follow. As the early church fathers proclaimed - Christ became man so that men might become divine.
In our second reading. St. Paul tells us that, All men will be brought to life in Christ; but all of them in their proper order: Christ as the first-fruits and then, …those who belong to him. Mary is the first, after Christ, but we too belong to Christ and the assumption is a sign to us that where she, our mother has gone, we, her children, will follow.

In the richly symbolic language of the Book of Revelation, our first reading speaks of: a woman, adorned with the sun, standing on the moon, and with the twelve stars on her head for a crown.
This woman is clearly Mary but she is also a figure for the church. The two cannot be separated. Mary is both the mother of the church and also its symbolic embodiment. So, just as Mary brought Christ into the world, so are we, His church, meant to bring Christ to the world. Just as Mary has been raised, body and soul, to heaven, so will we, His church, also be raised.

This is why, on this feast day, together with Mary our mother, we sing with joy: ‘My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and my spirit exults in God my saviour.’

10/08/2024

Homily for Nineteenth Sunday, year B

1 Kings 19:4-8
John 6:41-51

Poor old Elijah. In the events leading up to our first reading today, he’s been having a hard time of it. He had had a great triumph on Mt. Carmel. There he had proved that the Lord is God and that Baal and all his prophets were a bunch of phoneys. He had prayed for rain and the rain had come to break the drought. All good -unless you were one of Baal’s prophets.

But as soon as he gets back to Jerusalem, he gets a note from Queen Jezebel saying that she’s going to kill him - soon. So, he flees for his life into the wilderness.

In today’s reading we find him sitting under a tree and ready to give up. He’s done his best. He’s stayed faithful and shown to all the people that the Lord is God and that there is no other, shown them the power of God, and all he’s got for his troubles is a death threat. Nothing, it seems, has changed.

God doesn’t leave him sitting under the tree, however. He doesn’t let him die. No, He sends an angel to feed him and to give Him drink. So good is this miraculous care that Elijah is then able to walk for 40 days and nights until he reaches Mt. Horeb where He comes into the presence of God.

This is a journey story, and it clearly has close parallels with the story in Exodus that we read last week. There, the chosen people of God were hungry and thirsty and ready to give up, but God fed them with manna, bread from heaven, and they were able to continue for 40 years until they reached the promised land.

It is a cliché to say that life is a journey but there is still a powerful metaphor in these stories. Maybe there are times when, like Elijah, it all seems too hard and we just want to find a quiet spot to lie down and just let the world look after itself – or not, as it chooses.
Perhaps, there are times when, like the Israelites, we want to give up on this great and mysterious God of ours and to just fit in, just to be like everyone else.

Sometimes it feels as if we’ve done our best and it hasn’t worked, nothing has changed. Sometimes, the journey just feels too hard.
It’s at these times that we need to trust in God, to let Him feed us and strengthen us; like a child at rest and feeding in its mother’s arms. You see, it would always be too hard if we were to try and do it on our own. We need supernatural help.

If we are to live and proclaim the Kingdom of God, then we need God’s strength. We need His energy. We need God to feed us just as He did Elijah, just as He did the Israelites, as we wander through our own wilderness: the wilderness of a society that has turned its back on God.

In our gospel today, Jesus promises us just that. He promises that He will feed us. He will give us His flesh, His life, His very self to us as food.

In communion, we receive Him in the deceptively simple forms of bread and wine, and we may be tempted to take for granted the great gift we are being offered, to see only the form and not the substance. Just as the people in today’s gospel saw only a carpenter and not the incarnate Son of God.

Something precious was being offered to them and they couldn’t see it. They kept thinking in the conventional terms of their own history. It wasn’t enough. God was doing something new, something great.

In Professor Tolkien’s great work, The Lord of the Rings, as they set out on their journey, the heroes are given lembas: eleven journey bread that will give them strength when all else fails. Here, of course, Tolkien is making a reference to the Eucharist, and he knew what he was talking about.

Jesus, given to us in the form of bread, is indeed the one who gives us strength when all else fails. The Israelites ate manna in the desert. It was good while it lasted but it only lasted a day and eventually they all died. Elijah ate scones given to him by an angel and was able to walk for 40 days but then he had to rest and, eventually, he too died.

The food that Jesus gives us is different. It is a share in His own divine life and we who eat it, who share in that divine life, will live forever. Oh sure, our bodies may cease to function, but our true life is the life we share with Jesus and that is eternal. This is the food we need for our journey, not to Mt. Horeb nor to the promised land, but with Jesus and through Jesus, to the everlasting love and joy of God.

It is no accident that the communion given during the last rites is called Viaticum – food for the journey. Far more precious than manna or the bread of Tolkien’s elves. The bread that we eat is the flesh of God given for the life of the world and we who eat it will have the strength to proclaim the gospel, to make the hard journey through the wilderness.

here today, the Lord calls us to His altar. To each of us He says, ‘Get up and eat, or the journey will be too long for you.’

05/08/2024

This was my entry in the Words in winter 500 word story competition. It didn't win. Congratulations to Trudi for her winning story about domestic violence and a body by the roadside.

The Choice

There was noise and confusion, people yelling and running. I had to decide. I stopped, turned, and ran. I found myself on the ground and felt a blow, like someone had punched me in the chest. I had a vague sense of being lifted up, and then… I was in this other place.

It was a quiet, misty place. No, not misty exactly but sort of fuzzy. Not exactly a place, either. Hard to describe because there was really nothing to describe. I can’t even say for certain what I was standing on, or indeed that I was standing. It was a nowhere place. He stood in front of me, the only definite thing in this nothing. A tall figure clothed in a voluminous black cowl with a massive scythe in his right hand. My heart sank as I figured out who he was.

"You're early,” he said with just a hint of surprise.

“Sorry about that,” I answered, “but I really had no choice.”

“You did, you know,” he said. “Not always the case, but you did.”

I shook my head. “Not really. You see there was this guy and he had some sort of bomb strapped to his chest. He was yelling crazy stuff and people were running everywhere.” I paused and looked around as a question suddenly occurred to me. “Did no one else come through with me?”

“One other,” he said, “but he’s being processed by the normal channels. We’ve been expecting him for some time. You’re the one who is here by choice.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I insisted. “Everyone was running away, but there was this woman with a pram. He was clearly going to catch her.”

“So, instead of running away like everybody else, you chose to run towards him?”

“Yeah. I figured I could stop him. I was pretty good at football in school, you know. I was a centre half back and it was a good midfielder who got past me.” He showed no sign of being impressed. “So, anyway, I ran towards this guy, tackled him to the ground and held him down. Then… I ended up here.” I paused for a moment, thinking. “I guess you’re right,” I said at last. “I knew what would probably happen. Can’t pretend otherwise. I chose to die when I could’ve run away,” I looked at the grim figure in front of me, my face firm in defiance. “I don’t regret it either. Yeah, I guess I could’ve saved myself. Maybe I could’ve lived a long productive life, but yeah, I chose death instead.”

Flashes of luminescence started to streak through the misty nothing. Music started to swell in the silence, and the grim reaper laughed. It was a surprisingly warm laugh. “Death?” He threw back his dark cowl and revealed a smiling human face, one that looked strangely familiar “No, Harry,” he said. “You didn’t choose death. You chose life.”

Then all about me was light and glory.

04/08/2024

Homily for the 18th Sunday, Year B

Exodus 16:2-4,12-15
Ephesians 4:17,20-24
John 6:24-35

There is an old story that someone once asked three of the medieval stone masons building Notre Dame cathedral, ‘What are you doing?’ The first is said to have answered ‘Cutting stone’, the second ‘building a cathedral’, while the third said ‘giving glory to God.”

In our own cathedral down in Melbourne, I think we could do something similar when busloads of tourists come to look and see. If you asked them ‘why are you here?’ I think many would answer ‘because it’s a stop on my tour of Melbourne sights’, perhaps some would say, ‘to see your cathedral’. I fear that rare indeed would be the tourist who would answer “I’ve come to encounter the transcendent God.’

Yet it was to facilitate just such an encounter that the cathedral, and our own church here, was built. Now, for anyone with an open mind, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, with its soaring arches, glorious windows, and angels flying through the rafters, does its job well, especially in the afternoon, when honey-coloured light floods through the windows.

If your mind is closed, however, or distracted with other things, all you’ll encounter is a Victorian neo-gothic building. You’ll see the beauty of the stone and glass, but not the deeper beauty that inspired them. You’ll encounter the grandeur of the architecture but fail to see that it points to the grandeur of God.

Something similar happens in our gospel reading today. It comes from Chapter 6 of St. John’s gospel and this is St. John’s great meditation of the eucharist. It is a carefully constructed chapter beginning, as we heard last week, with the feeding of the 5000 in the wilderness. You may remember that at the end of that passage, Jesus slips away because they wanted to make Him king. Well, today they’ve found Him again.

The thing is, they still haven’t learnt. They’re still thinking of bread and kingdoms. They’re still thinking in material terms; still looking at the sign and not at what the sign is indicating. Jesus tells them that He is offering them something much greater.

They come back, however, and say, “we need another sign to tell us who you are. Are you like our great leader Moses who fed our people in the desert?” Jesus then points out that it wasn’t really Moses who fed all those people. It was His Father, God.

You can see the telling juxtaposition here. If it was God who miraculously fed his people in the wilderness when they were hungry (the story told in our first reading) and it was Jesus who had just miraculously fed the people in the wilderness when they were hungry (the gospel passage we had last week) then: who is this man Jesus?

Jesus Himself answers this question saying: ‘I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never be hungry; he who believes in me will never thirst.’

Next week we hear in detail what He means by this, but even this statement by itself is extraordinary. Imagine any modern leader saying something like this.

You see Jesus wasn’t just a miracle worker, though He performed wonders. Nor was He just a great teacher, though His teaching has echoed through the ages. Nor was He a great political leader, though He was indeed a king and His teaching has torn down empires.

No. All of these things, all of the miracles and even all of the teaching, the whole of Jesus’ life on Earth, these are signs pointing beyond themselves; pointing to Him, to Jesus; to God made flesh and dwelling among us, to this great and loving God who gives His very self like bread for the life of His people.

Here, at this altar, we will shortly receive not some symbol of the community gathered together. Nor some symbol of God’s love for us. No. Here we will receive nothing less than the fullness of God Himself and from here, from this church and community, we will carry this loving God out into the world.

This is what St. Paul is talking about in our second reading. We do not lead useless lives, trying to find some kind of meaning in money or pleasure. No. We lead lives that have real meaning and purpose and that meaning and purpose is found in this man, Christ Jesus who is bread for the life of the world; in this God who gives Himself to His people.

We go from here, out into the world and, through our lives and our words, we whisper holiness into the ears of our friends and neighbours, into our workplaces and shopping centres, our schools and sporting clubs.

Just as the great cathedrals, in their beauty and grandeur whisper, even to wandering tourists, of the beauty and grandeur of God, so we, through the grace given to us, whisper the joy and love of God to a sad and troubled world.

27/07/2024

Homily for the 17th Sunday, Year B

John 6:1-15

Many of you may have had noticed that there are times when a small gesture or word can change your understanding. A smile can change an insult into a greeting, an apologetic wave of the hand can defuse a confrontation. In novels, a simple sentence will sometimes change your whole understanding of the book’s plot or theme, providing a surprise twist or giving extra depth. Well, in our gospel for today there are two such phrases which open out and deepen our understanding of what is going on.

The story itself is very familiar to us, this miraculous feeding of the 5000 is recounted in all four gospels – for good reason. You see, God is the one who feeds His people. He feeds them, normally, by sending the rain and the sun so that crops can grow and herds can feed. While they were wandering in the desert, God fed His people with quails and manna. So, there is no mistaking the meaning of Jesus’ action when He, out in this deserted place, feeds His people. He is saying: God is here. Yet there is more to this story than that.

Our first reading from the prophet Elisha provides an Old Testament parallel for this story, God feeding His people. The people present as Jesus fed the five thousand clearly got the reference. They proclaimed Jesus as the great prophet and set out to make Him King. Jesus slipped away. You see, even though they, correctly, concluded that the Old Testament prophecies were being fulfilled in Jesus, they didn’t understand the depth of their meaning. There was more to this action than they knew.

There are two simple phrases which open up to us the full depth of meaning behind this action: “It was shortly before the Jewish feast of Passover” and “Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks, and gave them”. You see, there was another meal which took place just before the feast of Passover and at that meal Jesus also took bread and gave thanks. Here John is linking this miracle to the last supper. He is telling us that this miracle, with all its symbolism of God’s care, with all its prophetic fulfillment, is a precursor of the Mass. It not only deepens our understanding of what happened in that upper room, but also our understanding of what happens at every mass.

In our gospel story God feeds His people with bread and fish. In communion, He feeds them with His own flesh and blood. In Jesus, God gives us more than food. He gives us Himself. He is indeed a king, but one crowned with thorns and enthroned on a cross. He is indeed the prophesied messiah, but He doesn’t command armies or politics, but rather He speaks to our heart and fills us with His Spirit.

So, we need to enter into the depths of this story and not just get caught up in its miraculous nature. Take some time to sit quietly and imagine those people, sitting out in some remote, deserted place, hungry after a long day. There was no food, no place to buy food, no plan, no way out, and the guys out the front who seemed to be in charge (the apostles) didn’t seem to have any solution. The thing is, God knows, and he cares for His people. He longs to give Himself to us, to feed us in communion. We may not have a plan, but He does. He will not leave us. Death could not hold Him. No mockery will stop Him. No power on earth can keep Him away. He is Emmanuel, God with us.

22/07/2024

HOMILY FOR THE FEAST OF SAINT MARY MAGDALEN
John 20:1-2,11-18

Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Mary of Magdala. Which raises the question of why we celebrate saint’s feast days? Why do we remember the saints at all? Well, for two reasons. The first is that, while they are in heaven, they can pray for us as our brothers and sister in Christ. The second is that in their lives they offer us a model for life, a guide to living our Christian faith. So, what do we know about Mary Magdalene? Why would we ask for her prayers and what can she teach us? Well, we know that she was a fairly wealthy woman from the town of Magdala, a fishing village on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee.

We also know that Christ liberated her from seven demons. Now seven is the Jewish number of completion and fullness. What this means is that her life was fully and completely dominated by evil forces over which she had no control. This was a woman suffering from profound psychological and spiritual torment – and from this Jesus saved her.

So, if ever we get into a situation where our life seems to be spiralling out of control, if ever things are bad and only look to get worse, if we can’t see any solution, if we can’t even summon the energy to pray, then that’s a good time to ask Mary of Magdala to pray for us. Because she knows. She understands. She’s been there.
After her liberation, Mary followed Jesus and she was one of the women who supported His mission out of her own money. She was also one of the women who stood by the cross and watched Him die, when all but one of the twelve had run away. Think of what that must’ve been like for her. Watching the man who had saved her, in whom she had placed all her hope, being slowly tortured to death. Yet despite this, when the time came, she still went out to the tomb to do what she could for Him, to serve her Lord one last time.

Because of this faithfulness, she was the first to see the Risen Lord.
In this she is a model for us. We who follow Jesus, who carry on His mission, must never lose our hope. His victory is won and if we but keep faith with Him, His promises are sure. He will call us by name, as He did Mary, and we will share in His glory.

Mary still has one last lesson to give us. Her encounter with the Risen Lord wasn’t just for her private consolation. No. She was sent back to the apostles, to those sad, despondent, and fearful men, to say ‘I have seen the Lord!”

We too are sent out to tell of our encounter with Christ. We are called to go to a sad, anxious, and often despairing world, and to say “Do not be afraid. Do not lose hope. The Lord is risen! The battle is won!”