Halfway (1 Corinthians 10, Luke 13)

A homily on 1 Corinthians 10. 1 -13, and Luke 13. 1 - 9. Stern warnings from Paul and Luke.
     In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
      Here we are, at the Vigil of the third Sunday in Lent, halfway through Lent. Holy Week is only three weeks away. Appropriately, it seems, as we approach the week of the Passion, we have some rather stern texts from Paul and Luke, containing severe warnings. The message is: repent or perish! Death is presented in these readings as punishments for misdeeds of one kind or another. In Paul's letter, the misdeeds are idolatry, sexual immorality, putting the Lord to the test, and, finally, complaining.
     In the reading from Luke's Gospel, the message is also: repent or perish! In this short section, particular offenses are not listed, but the message is the same. The text appears to say that the people who died in these incidents (whose background we don't know) were no worse than anyone else, but still, their fate will be ours if we don't repent. In other words, we are no better than they were, so watch out!
     What is a nice, easygoing San Francisco liberal like myself going to do with a message like this? It is so apparently uncompromising, its message so inescapable, that there is only one possible response: repent!
     The epistle reading ends too soon, it seems to me. It really ought to go on to include verses 14 to 22, which are about the cup of blessing which we bless, and the bread which we break. These lines balance the opening lines of the reading, which are about the spiritual food and drink of the people of the Exodus, which was Christ, Paul says, as he is food and drink in verses 14 through 22.
     We remember what is in between these two descriptions of spiritual food and drink, these two meals which are meant to bring us closer to God. Idolatry, immorality, putting Christ to the test, and, last but not least, complaining. Complaining! A friend told me just the other day that Bette Midler is supposed to have said that "God gave us language so we could kvetch!" At least, that's the gist of it. Perhaps some of you can tell me what the exact quote really is. And Jane Wagner, Lily Tomlin's partner and writer and collaborator, said, "I personally think that we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain." There is a warning here -- that we can forget how well off we are, spiritually and materially, and we can reinforce that forgetting by verbalizing it. I know that this is easy to say, coming from someone who is secure, healthy, and well-fed. All the more reason for those of us who are blessed in every way, not to sound ungrateful before God.
     Now our text says that the people who did these things were either struck down, or fell, or were destroyed by serpents, or were destroyed by the destroyer. It is not clear who or what that is. The Devil, probably. The consistent element in all these deaths is that they are presented as the work of an external agent, God, or the perhaps the Devil, or snakes, brought about by the behavior, the evil acts of those who died.
     This is a dramatic, emphatic way of saying that certain behaviors can lead to spiritual death. There is a tendency in our time, when the Christian religion appears to be in retreat or decline, at least in this part of the world, to separate our Christian commitment from the rest of our lives, as a way of navigating through an uncertain non-Christian environment. Then, perhaps, we find ourselves drifting into situations in which our Christian commitment is not evident and we risk weakening or even losing our connection to our spiritual life. We risk, in other words, spiritual death.
     What helps are available to us in this situation? For starters, there were the spiritual food and drink which were available to the people of the Exodus, which Paul says came from Christ. And Paul mentions our Christian spiritual food and drink, the cup of blessing which we bless, and the bread which we break. These help us to do what we pray for in today's Collect: "keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul."
     Furthermore, Paul says, "God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength." So the spiritual perils which Paul lists can be overcome, since we are not tempted beyond our powers, and those powers are strengthened by spiritual food.
     In tonight's Gospel, Our Lord is telling us, in effect, that no one is better than anyone else. We're all in this together. We don't know much about the incidents that Jesus is talking about, but we do know that he is using the same emphatic storytelling technique that Paul is using in his letter. The message is the same: we all risk spiritual death by letting ourselves forget what our real relationship to God is.
     It took me a while to understand why the parable of the barren fig tree is where it is in tonight's Gospel. It seems to be an oddly truncated item, dropped into this spot for no particular reason. It appears to end before its real ending -- it's missing a conclusion, and an explanation of its meaning.
      Perhaps we are in danger of becoming the barren fig trees in the garden, in danger of being cut down. And who is the gardener? Our Lord, of course, who is giving us another chance, another year, to make good use of the nourishment he is providing us, so that we will bear fruit, fruits of faith and good works. So, we have a year's reprieve! The parable reinforces the teaching of the first few lines of tonight's reading. Let us heed the warnings, and make good use of the opportunities we have been given!
      In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

Laudemus viros gloriosos (Ecclesiasticus 44, Matthew 5, Revelation 7)

       In the Name..

      "Let us praise famous men, and our ancestors in their generation." The New Revised Standard Version of the Scriptures titles the 44th chapter of the book Ecclesiasticus, "The Hymn in Honor of our Ancestors." What a hymn it is, and what ancestors they are! And how different they are from all the saints!
     The first 14 verses list categories of ancestors. The remainder of the chapter, which is not part of today's reading, lists five prophets.
     The categories of ancestors are: firstly, "Those who ruled in their kingdoms, and made a name for themselves by their valor." That is, the first category includes kings who were not merely rulers, but also were brave, presumably in war. Those rulers, in other words, unlike our own, actually fought in their own wars.
     The next category: "Those who gave counsel because they were intelligent." (I appreciate the connection here between advice and intelligence -- quite unlike our own society, in which we hear of all sorts of counsellors, who are manifestly not intelligent,  "advising" the people and the leaders.)
     The third category: "Those who spoke in prophetic oracles." (We have oracles in our world too, warning us of our folly.)
     The fourth category: "Those who led the people by their counsels and by their knowledge of the peoples' lore." These are  people who remember history, custom, and law, and so we can call them lawyers and historians.
     The fifth: "Those who composed musical tunes."
     The sixth category: "Those who put verses in writing" -- poets, and perhaps writers in general -- storytellers.
     The seventh category, and the last in this list: "rich men."
     So, the honored ancestors of the writer of Ecclesiasticus are: kings, counselors, oracles, lawyers, historians, composers, poets, and rich men. The list apparently excludes women.
     Then this chapter takes an interesting turn. It says, "But of others there is no memory, they have perished as though they never existed." These others were not in the listed groups of famous men. They had no power, no special knowledge, no talent, no insight, and, worst of all perhaps, no money. The list, after all, begins with kings, and ends with rich men, and, in between, lists those who helped the kings and rich men rule their  societies. Not unlike society today, it seems to me. This arrangement is not accidental. But as for the unnamed others, they are extinct.
     Then our writer resumes his hymn of praise for the great ancestors: their "righteous deeds have not been forgotten;" their wealth will remain;" "their descendants stand by the covenants;" their offspring will continue forever;" "their name lives on."
     But that's all that lives on. Verse 14 says, "their bodies are buried in peace, but their name lives on generation after generation." The names of the famous ancestors are all that live on.
     The reading stops here, at verse 14, but I think that it should include verse 15, which divides that chapter between the general list of ancestors, and the named prophets that follow. Verse 15 says, "the assembly declares their wisdom, and the congregation proclaims their praise." Ecclesiasticus is telling us here what wisdom is, in his view, and what is important: power, talent, creativity, knowledge, insight, wealth, being remembered in history. Our writer knows that this is wisdom, because the assembly says so. And we, in our world, admire and value these things too, and we tell each other all the time, in our assemblies and outside our assemblies, how important they are.
     But Jesus, in today's Gospel, has a very different list of who, and what, are important."Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." Very different from the brave kings in Ecclesiasticus, and a very different idea of the Kingdom. Jesus does not casually place the "poor in spirit" at the beginning of his list, the list we call 'The Beatitudes.' The kings in Ecclesiasticus are full of their own power and strength, and evidently don't need anything but the approval of other important people. But the "poor in spirit" are open instead to God's power, and can enter his Kingdom, which includes not merely this world but the next, not merely earthly prosperity and success, but also the transformation of this world into the new heaven and the new earth which John speaks of in the Revelation.
     We can sort the Beatitudes into two groups. The first group lists those who lack: the poor in spirit lack God, or at least, lack any idea of themselves as especially favored by God. Those who mourn have lost loved ones to death. The meek lack earthly status. Those who hunger and thirst after righteousness lack the accomplishment of their desire for justice in this world. The next three Beatitudes are very  different: blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers. They appear not to lack, as the first group does, but  have attained  spiritual awareness and maturity.
     The contrast between the Beatitudes and the list of famous men in Ecclesiasticus is striking. The famous men are admired for their power, wealth, and so on, and their posterity in this world. The blessed of the Beatitudes have none of this worldly success.
     It seems to me that the blessed of the Beatitudes are the unremembered dead of Ecclesiasticus. The unremembered dead have nothing and are nothing that the famous men would know or care about. The unremembered dead are the meek of the Beatitudes. They are those who mourn, who lost their children and so have no posterity in this world. Those who hunger and thirst after righteousness are those who are exploited by the kings and the rich, and manipulated by the counselors and the lawyers and others who work for the powerful. Jesus is including all these in the Kingdom.
     There is nothing in the Beatitudes to exclude those in the list in Ecclesiasticus. In the end, Jesus does not distinguish between the famous and the unknown, between powerful people and powerless, between those with posterity and those without it. But he is reminding us, and his hearers, that there is more to the Kingdom than the rather meager list of worthies in Ecclesiasticus.
     "Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." "Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account." These last two Beatitudes are about persecution, reminders of what can happen, what does happen and has happened, when Jesus's hearers live according to his teachings. Persecution is possible, even likely, when people begin to live in such a way that the comfortable rulers of this world feel threatened by the coming of the new Kingdom, in which the unremembered dead, the blessed, are just as important as they are, or more important.
     Notice the turn here. The two lists talk about people in the third person, about someone else, somewhere else. But Jesus, in the last Beatitude, says "Blessed are you!" "Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you!" He moves from the third person to the second person, addressing his hearers, and us, directly. And he follows this with a command: "Rejoice, and be glad, for great is your reward in Heaven!" Jesus is telling his hearers, and us, that we are in good company, for "in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you!" Notice whose company we are NOT in: the famous men and ancestors of Ecclesiasticus. Their satisfaction with their worldly success is not the blessedness, the happiness, which Jesus is telling us is our true happiness.
     Today's reading from the 7th chapter of the Revelation to John shows us where this teaching is leading us. There is even an list of people in this reading, not clearly stated, but it is there. The people in this story are, firstly, God's servants, among whom are, secondly, the 144,000 who are sealed on their foreheads -- they are sealed with the unpronounceable name of God, YHWH, which we call the Tetragrammaton, and, thirdly, the vast throng from every nation, all the saints. All of them, however, belong to one group, as verse 14 says: "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." This is the great vision of our destiny, to worship before the throne of God, in the new heaven and the new earth. Jesus in the Beatitudes, and John in the Revelation, are leading us, and all the saints, to the Lamb and to the throne, to the springs of the water of life.
     
      In the Name etc.. Amen.

Veni, Emmanuel

Homily preached on the Vigil of the Fourth Sunday of Advent. Revelation in reverse.
      In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
      Today, the eve of the fourth, the last Sunday of Advent, is a good time to review what we have heard in the Sunday readings for the season. There is a repeated proclamation of the Lord's coming, repeated calls to prepare, and finally, in tonight's and tomorrow's readings, the near approach of the Lord.
     On the first Sunday of Advent, the prophet Jeremiah proclaims, "Says the Lord...I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David, and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land." And the Apostle prays, in his First Letter to the Thessalonians, that the Lord "so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints." Paul is talking about the Second Coming, the Parousia, stating right at the beginning one of the themes of the season. Another theme of course is the approach of the Incarnation, the First Coming or Advent of the Lord. The righteous Branch of David, the coming of Israel's King in the flesh, is proclaimed by Jeremiah, and Paul states the second theme, the Second Advent. The readings for Advent pursue these parallel expectations.
     All the Gospel readings for this season are from Luke. The first Sunday Gospel comes from toward the end of Luke, the 21st chapter, in which Jesus proclaims the coming of the Son of Man. Again the emphasis on the Second Coming.
     On the 2nd Sunday of Advent, in the book of the prophet Malachi, the Lord of Hosts says, "See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple." While Jeremiah proclaims the coming of a king to Israel, Malachi proclaims that the Lord will come to his Temple, like a priest. And Paul, in his letter to the Philippians, expects, in the future, the Day of Jesus Christ. Paul expects his people to be pure, blameless, righteous, in preparation for that day.
     In Luke's Gospel, in the third chapter this time, for the 2nd Sunday of Advent, we hear from John the Baptist, who quotes Isaiah, proclaiming that "all flesh shall see the salvation of God." Again the emphasis on preparation: "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight."
     Zephania, the prophet whom we read on the 3rd Sunday of Advent, says "Sing aloud, O Daughter of Zion, shout O Israel, rejoice and exult with all your heart, O Jerusalem!" This is something of a change in tone in the prophetic readings -- not a warning, not just an announcement of an impending change -- but a command to get out and party, and to do that as loudly as possible. This fits well with the Apostle's exhortation in his Letter to the Philippians: Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice...do not worry about anything...the Lord is near."
     The Gospel for the 3rd Sunday, however, reverts to a sterner tone. John the Baptist says, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance." Again, a warning, an exhortation to John's hearers to change their ways, in preparation for the arrival of "one who is more powerful than I."
     So far, on the first three Sundays, we have heard the proclamation of the Lord's arrival as king, priest, and judge. We have been exhorted to "clean up our act" -- to be blameless, pure, to bear the fruits of repentance, to deal with each other honestly, all in preparation for the great day. And, last Sunday, we are commanded to "sing aloud," "rejoice," "exult."
     And we arrive at the 4th Sunday of Advent, with these proclamations and exhortations and commands ringing in our ears. From the prophet Micah we hear, "But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah...from you shall come forth...one who is to rule Israel." The proclamation of the One who is to come, the Branch of David, the Lord, the King of Israel, has become particular, local, centered on a particular place. And from tonight's Gospel, which is also the Gospel for the Feast of the Visitation, we hear that the birth of the promised one is imminent. Now we know from where, and when, the promised one is to come.
     It seems to me that the Gospels for this season have presented 'revelation in reverse!' We heard Jesus proclaiming his Second Advent at the beginning of the season, then John the Baptist proclaiming the Lord's near approach. John the Baptist does not sound like he's expecting the Lord to arrive in the form of a baby. And tonight's Gospel takes us back even further in time, before the birth of either John or Jesus. It is interesting that this season of Advent, a season of anticipation of future events, actually moves backward through time, from the promise of the Second Coming, to a time before the First Coming.
     We move backwards, as it were, from the general to the particular, from a long term view of events, to a particular, local event. We move from grand, sometimes alarming, statements about future events, and what we must do to prepare for them, to a very local, individual event, the First Advent of the Lord. This particularity, this localism, is important to understanding this season, it seems to me.
     Our faith and worship are not merely about grand generalities and the glorious future that awaits us. Our faith and worship are also about one Person, our Lord, and our relationship to him in the here and now. Today's Gospel, about the approaching births of John the Baptist and Jesus, bring us to earth in a very real, personal, local event. Our anticipation of the Second Coming is grounded in the realism, the localism, if you will, of the First Coming. The Gospel does not allow us to get lost in anticipation of a possibly remote future event, but requires us to focus on the imminence of an event in the world we know -- now, for us, an event in the historical past whose consequences still affect the world we live in. The Epistle for today, from the Letter to the Hebrews, reinforces this by bringing to mind the sacrifice of Christ, also a very real this-world event, also, historically speaking, an event in our past, with this-world consequences. As Christians, we live between the two Advents of our Lord, understanding the sacrificial nature of the life which gives meaning to them. We pray in the holy eucharist to be united to Christ in his sacrifice, that, at his Second Coming, all things will be subject to him.
      In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

Inheriting Eternal Life (Mark 10)

      In Nomine etc..

      "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" This is a real question, asked by a genuine seeker, to use a modern word, of a well-known traveling teacher. In our time, there are numbers of traveling teachers willing to tell us how to inherit eternal life, or attain enlightenment, or discover wisdom, and most of them expect to be paid for the information. In our story in today's Gospel, a payment is indeed demanded, but the teacher is not the intended beneficiary. Although the focus of the story appears to be money and the attitude of the rich man to it, the details of the story actually lead us elsewhere in a search for what Jesus is telling us here.
     Notice what Jesus says first. He replies with another question: "Why do you call me good?" He is deflecting the rich man's courteous, respectful approach. Also, it is standard rabbinical technique to answer a question with another question. It returns the questioner to himself, perhaps to seek his answer within, and not necessarily to look for a solution outside himself, to evade having to think for himself. Then Jesus goes on to say, "You know the commandments," and  recites six of them. The questioner appears to be looking for the obvious, pat, conventional answer: follow the standard, universal moral code, the Ten Commandments, and everything will be fine. The rich man says, "Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth." No doubt he expects Jesus to say, "Then you will inherit eternal life. No problem. Nothing to worry about. Next question."
     But that is not what Jesus does. The Gospel says, "Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said, You lack one thing: go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me."
     Jesus, looking at him, loved him. Loved him! Jesus looked at him and loved him. This is a remarkable sentence. There is a lot of meaning, a lot of insight, behind these words, a meaning of which I have had only a glimmer. Perhaps we, at one time or another, have encountered another person who saw us, really saw us, really saw us, knew us, loved us as we were. It is a description of an enlightened spiritual guide. I know that not everyone has this experience, but it is at least possible. Between the seer and the seen there is no filter or barrier or misunderstanding. Between the two there is real awareness, attention, affection, love. That is what is happening here, in a flash, between Jesus and the rich man. Jesus saw him, heard him, knew him, loved him, and knew immediately what was needed.
     Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and come, follow me. Now, notice what is happening here. We hear, the rich man hears, nothing in this command of the standard, universal moral code. This is not one of the Ten Commandments. And there is, furthermore, nothing in this of what a good Episcopalian, or anyone else, would regard as prudent, responsible management of money and property. What then can we make of this sudden change of tone, from a plodding repetition of well-known rules, to a radical demand to the rich man that he turn his way of life upside down?
     It appears that there is a progression here. Jesus is telling his questioner that his basic work , his preparatory work, is done. He has fulfilled the Commandments. He has done what the moral code has required of him. He has done what God and society have expected, he has successfully completed his rudimentary education in Life, and it is time for him to move on. It is time for him to experience what we may call the paradox of success: that having succeeded in meeting the requirements, the expectations of God, society, family, school, career, and so on, it is now time for him to recognize that he no longer needs them, that he can pass his earthly treasures on to others who do need them, and free himself for new work to which Jesus is calling him. Success has freed him from the need to be successful in this world.
      "Give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven!" Treasure in heaven. We've heard this phrase many times. What does it mean? Is it just a metaphor for all the good things we do in this world, which God, or St Peter, or angels appointed to the task, remember and record to our credit, which we can draw on when we appear at the gates of heaven, to pay for our admission? I suggest that 'treasure in heaven' is not about heavenly bookkeeping, but about something else entirely, not about quantity, but about freedom from quantity. Treasure on earth is what we keep. Treasure in heaven is what we give away. Treasure in heaven is freedom even from the need to keep track of what we have, and what we have given away. Treasure in heaven is the freedom to accept Jesus's invitation to follow him.
     Well, we know what happened next. "When the rich man heard this, he was shocked, and went away grieving, for he had many possessions." Jesus saw that the rich man was ready for the next phase in his life, but the man himself did not see it, or, if he did, the insight was too much for him. Now, we wonder, why was he shocked? What was the shock, exactly? And why was he grieving? For what was he grieving? The obvious suggestion is that he feared losing his possessions, and that would be an understandable fear. But I think the shock was the realization of something else: the realization of the choice before him. He saw himself clearly, perhaps for the first time. Rooted in his identity, his conventional role and success, in his possessions, he had been given a glimpse of eternal life, of the freedom which is the real basis, the real nature of eternal life, and he recoiled from it, not because he didn't want it, but because the choice, the action required, was so sudden, so stark, and so irrevocable. Perhaps we all would be shocked, if we could catch a glimpse of ourselves in the light of eternity.
     Now, he went away grieving. We grieve for a loss like death, or for a friendship ruined by misunderstanding, for a career wiped out by economic change or, these days, by the pandemic, and so on. The man in our story went away grieving -- what had he lost? Not his possessions -- he still had them, apparently. Most of them, anyway. I think that there is one possession that he did lose: a certain idea of Jesus and himself, when Jesus did not simply confirm the rich man's understanding of himself and his place in the scheme of salvation. He had lost the assurance of eternal life by obedience to the known, stated rules. The "good teacher" had knocked the supports out from under his self-image, and he could not get it back. As far as our story goes, anyway.
     We do not know that the rich man did not eventually follow Jesus's advice. We do know that Jesus emphasized the difficulty that many possessions create for those who want to enter the Kingdom of God. And then the disciples ask a very odd question: "Then who can be saved?" Now, most people, past and present, were not and are not rich. The disciples could not have meant that everyone is so rich that they can't enter the Kingdom. But the disciples are getting at something which we need to pay attention to.
     Jesus lists, toward the end of the reading, what the "possessions" are that can get in our way: house, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, fields -- only "house" and "fields" come close to the wealth we were thinking of at the beginning of today's Gospel. But, clearly, family relations are "wealth" too. Now we are seeing further in, as it were, to just how radical Jesus is. He wants to replace one family with another, our earthly family with our new family in the Kingdom of God, and our earthly houses and fields with new ones in the Kingdom. No wonder the rich man is grieving -- not only his properties and money, but also his entire family -- the whole works -- everything has to go.
     It is the possibility of freedom in God which prompted the rich man to ask his question in the first place. The fact that the answer shocked him means that he understood some truth, at least partially -- the shock and grief were the beginnings of his liberation, not necessarily signs of his retreat from it. The progression in this story from following external commandments in order to obtain a heavenly reward, to renunciation of earthly attachments in order to experience true freedom in God, is a path which we are all invited to follow.
      In Nomine etc..

Francis of Assisi

A homily for the Vigil of the Feast of St Francis of Assisi.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
      When I worked out the current clergy schedule, and put myself down to preach at Latin mass tonight, I thought that I would be preaching for the eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost. So it was with some consternation that I realized the other day that I would actually be talking about Francis of Assisi. I wasn't sure that that I was up to the task of speaking about this most Christ-like of Christians, of whom G K Chesterton said, that to understand the Sermon on the Mount, we should look not at Christ but at St Francis.
     Where to begin? It happened that, while I was in Sweden last month, I read a biography of Francis, Adrian House's Francis of Assisi: A revolutionary life. My host had the book in his library, so perhaps it was a providential discovery. The book was biography, not hagiography, so it was a very useful introduction to the society, politics, and the rather violent, dangerous time in which Francis lived. A time not unlike our own in many ways.
     Perhaps we have all heard the main events of Francis's biography. He was born in 1181 or 1182, and died in 1226. He grew up as the son of a rich cloth merchant and a French mother. His very name, Francesco, means 'French' or 'Frenchman,' and was given to him apparently with reference to his father's French business connections. Francis's father was in France on business, that is, he was at a great fair in France buying cloth, when Francis was born.
     In his youth, Francis was well-known in his town for his love of pleasure, his street brawling, his rich friends and fine clothing. He was evidently something of a troubadour, and had an interest in French poetry. I don't know whether he wrote in French, but it is said that he aspired to. But even in his youth, there were indications of his later vocation. There is a story that he was selling cloth in the marketplace for his father, when a beggar asked him for alms. Francis abandoned his goods, followed the beggar and gave him everything he had in his pockets. We can imagine the response of Francis's businessman father to this transaction. Francis's rich friends did not think much of his behavior either.
      When Francis was 20, he joined a military expedition against Perugia. After a battle, he was imprisoned for a year. It was during this year that evidently his conversion began, although a few more years passed before it became evident. After his release, he returned to a life of indulgence, but after a year or two, he fell ill, recovered, and joined another military expedition. Sometime during this period, the first years of the thirteenth century, another crisis or vision furthered his conversion.
     Francis began to avoid his youthful amusements. He spent a lot of time meditating in isolated places. He began to care for lepers. Sometime during this period, he experienced the famous vision of Jesus Christ, in the church of San Damiano, outside Assisi, in which Christ commands Francis to repair his house. As we know, Francis took this literally at first, and repaired and restored ruined churches with his own hands.
     This long development, from the years 1201 through 1208 or so, reached a turning point in 1209, when Francis heard a sermon on the text from Matthew's Gospel, chapter 10, in which Jesus tells his followers, "Take no gold or silver or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff." And, with the same literal-mindedness, the same devotion with which he responded to the vision at San Damiano, so Francis responded to the call to radical poverty and to proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God. He went on the road, barefoot, wearing only a rough shift, not much different from a potato sack, to preach repentance. He soon attracted followers, other privileged young men like himself.
     Everyone who witnessed these events remarked on the cheerfulness of Francis and his brothers, "fratres minores," "lesser brothers," as they called themselves. They sang, they told stories, while calling all to repentance. Francis's youthful experience as a troubadour and poet found expression in his new life on the road.
     Perhaps some of you know about, or have seen, the movie Brother Sun, Sister Moon, a Zefferelli movie from 1972. I mention it because it misrepresents the roles of bishops, cardinals and popes in the life of St Francis. They are represented as scheming, self-serving, and oblivious to basic Christian teaching and to the true nature of Francis himself. In reality, the Bishop of Assisi was very aware of the spiritual, vocational nature of Francis's activities, and he protected and furthered Francis when he could. Cardinals and Popes as well understood and respected what Francis was doing. They tempered Francis's radicalism and literalism, but they never, as far as I know, failed to appreciate what he was about.
     In 1209 Francis and his eleven followers went to Rome to ask the Pope, Innocent III, to approve their Rule. He did so, but only verbally, it is said. This is called the "Approbation of the Rule of St Francis." (There are, by the way, YouTube videos of a liturgy at the church of St John Lateran in Rome, commemorating this event.) Also in 1209, Francis was ordained deacon, which allowed him to read the Gospels in church and to preach. I hadn't known, until I read that biography a few weeks ago, that Francis had been a deacon. Francis is a great model, and a great patron, for the vocational diaconate, which is reviving in our time.
     There were many more events and travels in Francis's career, as his community grew, and many developments, political, military and ecclesiastical, which influenced Francis and his order. I will mention a few.
     In 1211 he received Clare, with whom he established the Order of Poor Clares, the Second Order, as it's called.
     In 1219 Francis, following a Crusade, visited Egypt, and attempted to convert the Sultan to Christianity. He did not succeed, but he left a legacy of goodwill toward Franciscans among Muslims which endures to this day.
     Around 1220 Francis celebrated the Nativity, Christmas, by setting up the first-known 3-dimensional Nativity scene. Evidently, Francis used live animals in this scene, and a real, straw-filled feeding box, a manger, as well. As we know, this custom, with or without live animals, continues to this day.
     In 1224, on September 14, the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, Francis received the stigmata, the appearance on his body of wounds resembling those of the crucified Christ. Francis was the first person in the Western Church to to experience this, and there have been about 300 since.
     In 1228, two years after Francis's death, he was proclaimed a saint by Pope Gregory IX, who as a cardinal had been a friend and protector of Francis.
     There are a few themes in this narrative about which I would like to make some comments.
     The first theme is the contrast between wealth and poverty, and the responses to them in this story. The interesting paradox of the story of Francis is, it seems to me, that Francis's privileged upbringing gave him the confidence he needed to give it up. Many of his followers had similar backgrounds, and a similar confidence. They trusted in themselves and in God, because they had never learned to distrust. And so they could more readily respond to God's call. God used their freedom, their confidence, to reach people who had never known confidence, or security, or freedom, or trust.
     I learned, only the other day, that Francis is the patron saint of stowaways. This is related to the second them of the story of Francis's life: travel, pilgrimage. Francis was always on the move, through the towns and mountains of Italy, Egypt, the Holy Land, and many other places. This was a time in which travel was difficult, slow, and downright dangerous. Francis was shipwrecked at least once. When I was young, in the early 70s, I was in Iceland, where I met another young traveler, and we got to know each other somewhat. Later, I saw him on a ship -- we were sailing from Iceland to Scotland -- that ship hasn't sailed for many years, I hear. Anyway, I discovered that the young traveler was masquerading as me. When I mentioned this to one of the officers, he said, "Oh, don't worry about it! We know all about him!" He was eventually caught, and put to work for his passage. When I read the other day that Francis is the patron saint of stowaways, I think I understood why. Courage, freedom from convention, spontaneity, are all qualities it takes to make a successful stowaway, and these were all qualities which Francis had, and which God was able to use to begin the renewal of his Church.
     So Francis and his companions experienced some of the best and the worst of their time: wealth, poverty, war, disease, imprisonment, mystical exaltation, and humble service of the poorest of the poor. Francis's efforts to reach out to Muslims encourage us to do the same. His famous rapport with birds and other animals reminds us of our duty to understand and respect the non-human world. His service of the poor and the sick remind us that our great wealth and power are meant to be put to the service of the poorest, here, in the City named for him, and everywhere in the world where God calls us to serve. May God give us the grace to be as free from attachment to wealth and comfort, as were Francis and his companions.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

The Death of John the Baptist (Mark 6)

A homily on Mark 6. 14 - 29. The Death of John the Baptist.
     In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
      Today's Gospel reading is a very-well-put-together composition, which presents interesting questions for us to answer, and also parallels Mark's presentation of the suffering and death of our Lord. The questions are worth a close look, as are the similarities and differences between this account and the Passion. And it is worth comparing with the version of the story in Matthew's Gospel.
     The first question in today's reading is not actually stated, but instead it is implied. The reading begins, "King Herod heard of [the deeds of power], for Jesus's name had become known. Some were saying, 'John...has been raised from the dead...others said, 'It is Elijah...it is a prophet.' " The question of course is: Who is Jesus?
     Now, what Herod had heard of was the Mission of the Twelve, which Mark announces in the reading just before this one, and which we heard in last Sunday's Gospel. As Mark says, "So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent," just as John was doing at the beginning of Mark's Gospel. That is why Herod thinks that John has returned from the dead, which others also believe, even though some think that Jesus is Elijah or one of the prophets. Herod gets it wrong, of course! He does not recognize the new thing that is happening, at least, not entirely. He partially recognizes something new: the idea that someone can come back from the dead. John is not coming back in this story, but Herod foreshadows the Resurrection of Jesus.Coming out of the mouth of Herod, this is an astounding statement, because, as we learn shortly, he, or at least his family, thought that they were getting rid of John once and for all when Herod had him killed. Something new is indeed happening.
     The question of Jesus's identity comes up again in Mark's Gospel, in chapter 8, when Jesus asks his disciples, "Who do people say that I am?" And we hear the same answers that Herod heard: John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the prophets. So, these were the usual ideas about Jesus that people had at the time. Jesus would later provide another understanding.
     The bulk of today's reading is mostly an account of just how it happened that Herod had John killed, since the reading also makes it clear that "Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him." This dramatic story puts all the responsibility for John's death onto Herod's wife, who, we are encouraged to believe, was able to manipulate her daughter and her husband in order to achieve her end, by taking advantage of her husband's reluctance to go back on a promise made in public.
     This leads us to the second question. Herod's daughter asks her mother, "What should I ask for?" Considering the kind of favor she could have asked -- jewellery, perhaps, or some similar indication of her father's good will -- her failure of imagination here is interesting. Both father and daughter here allow responsibility for their own choices to fall on someone else. The daughter's unwillingness to make her own choice allowed the evil intentions of another to take control of the situation, and so allows an event to occur which might not have happened.
     Matthew's account of the death of John the Baptist makes Herod directly responsible for John's death. Matthew says plainly, "Herod wanted to put him to death." Mark says, "Herodias...wanted to kill him, but she could not, for Herod feared John." But, in the end, Herod winds up being responsible anyway. I think that Matthew simply got rid of the ambiguity in Mark's account, while maintaining Herodias's role in the story. But we also know from Josephus, the ancient Jewish historian, that Herod imprisoned and executed John, because he feared that John's influence over the people might lead to rebellion. Matthew confirms the historical background of this event, and Mark fills out some of the details.
     Although there doesn't appear to be any support for my idea in Scripture, I have been speculating that when Herod says, "John, whom I beheaded, has been raised," he is wishing that he could bring him back, that he could reverse his actions and undo the consequences of his decision. The Gospel does say that Herod feared John and protected him and liked to listen to him. Perhaps there is a deep regret here, an awareness that he did wrong, and that the wrong needs to be reversed. Herod's belief that John has risen from the dead is also, perhaps, a wish that foreshadows the true Resurrection yet to come.
     Mark's story of the death of John the Baptist parallels the story of the suffering and death of Jesus. The weakness of Herod matches the weakness of Pilate. Both recognize the righteousness, the basic goodness and holiness of their prisoners. Both in the end are unwilling to use their powers of life and death to save them. Herod and Pilate allow themselves to be manipulated by those around them, and passively allow their power of death to be taken over by others. Herod's guests match the crowd that demands that Pilate crucify Jesus. And, lastly, the bodies of both John and Jesus are taken away by their friends and disciples for burial. Mark is reinforcing the importance of both John and Jesus by paralleling their stories in this way.
     This story is about many things: identity, responsibility, confusion, weakness, and even hope for a new beginning. Herod has no doubt about the identity of Jesus, calling him John, but he gets it wrong, possibly, as I said a moment ago, because he wants to get it right. He is confused about Jesus because he is not confused about something else: his desire, perhaps, to make right what happened to John the Baptist. He does not see the new beginning in Jesus, but he can imagine what a new beginning would look like, which is why he believes that John is risen.
     Responsibility. Herod put himself in the position of allowing his power to be taken over by others. He, in effect, took advantage of his own confusion to allow others, who were not confused at all about what they wanted, to make decisions for him. How typically human this is. We all are indifferent, at one time or another, when faced with situations which we think we can't influence, and perhaps allow things to happen which we need not. Herod's weakness is our weakness.
     Herod's belief, his hope perhaps, that John was risen, points the way out of the dilemma that Herod found himself in, and in which we find ourselves, sometimes, in situations less drastic than Herod's: the hope of resurrection, of new beginnings, of new life, which our story hints at indirectly, but which all the Gospels testify to.
     I haven't said much about the other actors in this story, about Herodias, about the daughter, or, least of all, about the apparently silent observers: Herod's guests, the courtiers, and officers and leaders of Galilee. Or about the occasion: Herod's birthday. When Jesus was before Pilate, at least we hear from the crowd demanding release for Barabbas, and crucifixion for Jesus. But in today's reading, we don't hear from the crowd, the guests, at all. We do hear about what Herod imagines that his guests are expecting: that he keep his foolish promise, no matter what. So we come to the point where we realize how this story works on us: it leads us to identify with the guests! We become the silent observers in the story. We see and hear what the king and his family are doing, and we say nothing. We expect, we even want, Herod to follow through. We passively allow the birthday party to turn into a grisly display of horror. The story stops here, but we can imagine what happens next. Possibly, the guests feel what, say, Saddam Hussein's dinner guests felt all the time, or what the courtiers of any absolute ruler feel: constant dread, most likely.
     But Mark does not allow us to feel this way for long. The next Gospel reading is about the feeding of the five thousand. We, the guests of Herod, become the guests of Jesus and his disciples. The disastrous birthday party becomes the miraculous meal. The hint of Resurrection in today's reading, becomes the proclamation of it by the end of the Gospel. Herod's confusion about Jesus's identity becomes our clear recognition of it. As Jesus says in chapter 8, "Who do you say that I am?" Peter answers him, "You are the Messiah!" That is the answer that we are invited to give as well.
      In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus stills a storm (Mark 4)

A homily on Mark 4: 35-41. Jesus stills a storm.
     In Nomine etc.
      "Who, then, is this, that even the sea and the wind obey him?" Who, then, is this?
     Today's Gospel reading is a series of questions, only the first of which is actually answered. "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" Evidently, Jesus does care, because he calms the storm that had evidently prompted their question. The next question, "Why are you afraid?" seems to have an obvious implied answer: a fear of drowning. But that is not actually the answer, according to our Lord. He goes on to answer it with another question: "Have you still no faith?" This is favorite Rabbinical technique, to answer a question with another question.
     And his disciples don't actually answer the questions, "Why are you afraid?" and "Have you still no faith?" Instead, they come back with a question of their own, "Who, then, is this?"      
     The disciples' questions arise from fear and awe. Our Lord's questions arise from confidence, trust, a deep awareness of connection between himself and the world around him, and from insight into the real difficulties his disciples were experiencing.
     The wind and the sea obey him. In our time, wind and sea, and a great deal else in our environment, are showing signs daily of great change, and are not obeying anything except the laws of their own nature. Rising seas, rising temperatures, spreading drought, depleting fisheries, and so on, show every sign of not obeying our wishful thinking, our command, that the wind cease and the seas be calm. What, then, is the difference between our Lord's command, and our wish? What is the difference between the fearful questioning of the disciples, and the insightful questioning of our Lord?
     This story shows the deep relationship between Jesus and his disciples on the one hand, and between Jesus and his environment on the other. The disciples experience their disconnection between themselves and Jesus, and between themselves and their world, as storm, as fear, ultimately as the fear of death. But Jesus experiences these relationships as peace, stillness, calm, and he conveys these to his disciples through questions. His response to the storm recalls the verse in Psalm 46, "Be still, and know that I am God," and also the story of Elijah, who does not find God in wind or earthquake or fire, but in silence, or, as the old translation says, in "a still small voice."
     "Have you still no faith?" Evidently the disciples did not, as we often do not, which the increasing disorder of the world shows us. We have, perhaps, lost that connection with our Lord, with each other, and with our world, which Jesus' actions in the story aim to restore.
     I should say a few words here about what faith is, and is not. In our society, intellect, rationality, are highly valued. Some of us, perhaps, value intellect more than feeling, success in the world more than relationship, the ability to make money more than the desire to help others, and ourselves, become what God has made us to be: creatures living in harmony with him and each other. Faith is that trust, that confidence, that frees us to accept our place in God's creation, to live in harmony with the natural world and each other. Faith is not, in my view, belief in credal statements, which are only guideposts along the way to the Kingdom, to awareness of God and our relationship to him. The credal statements themselves are not faith, are not the Way.
     The calm confidence of our Lord, and the agitation of the disciples, are strongly contrasted in this story, by contrasting storm and calm, wind and stillness. The power of the sea is contrasted with the apparent powerlessness of the disciples, and, by extension, with our own relative powerlessness against the forces of nature, which, these days, are making clear that our careless, faithless meddling could lead to some very stormy consequences indeed.
     "Who, then, is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" Today's reading stops here, but the rest of Mark's Gospel answers it. The very next story is the healing of the Gerasene demoniac. This is not accidental. The peace, calm, confidence of Jesus are shown in the calmness of the sea in the previous story, and in the restoration of the demoniac to his calm, right mind. Faith, confidence, trust, peace, harmony with the natural world, restoration of the right relationship of ourselves to each other and the world, are all shown forth in Jesus' stilling of the wind and storm.
     In Nomine etc..

The Great Commandment (John 15)

     A homily on John 15. 9 - 17. The Great Commandment.

     Alleluia! Christ is risen!
     Today is the 6th Sunday of Easter, called Rogation Sunday, since it precedes the three Rogation Days, the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before Ascension. These days, "days of asking," were introduced by a French bishop late in the fifth century, as days of prayer for protection from earthquakes and other disasters. The Gospel for this day used to be read from John chapter 16, in which Jesus says, "Ask and you will receive." The Rogation days were observed by fasting as well. Farmers had their crops blessed, and, in later times in England, clergy and choir would make the rounds of a parish to pray for God's protection through the coming year. This also harks back to the time when the calendar year began in the spring, at the begining of April. This circuit of the parish, along its boundaries, was called "beating the bounds." I remember seeing photos of one such event, in which, at each of the four corners of the parish, the priest held a small boy upside down by his feet, and touched his head to the earth, to mark the boundary. I don't know the origin of this custom, which is probably pre-Christian, but, in any case, I am fairly sure that we are not going to be dangling small boys by their feet, when we ask for God's blessing on the parish, and the parish garden, today! And, living as we do in a very large urban area, inhabited by millions of people, this reminder of our rootedness in the earth is essential, as is our need to ask for God's guidance and blessing as we cope with the coming changes to our climate and way of life.    
     Today's lectionary presents us with a very rich selection of readings: a short piece from Acts chapter 10, in which the Holy Spirit "falls upon" the Gentiles as Peter is speaking; another short selection from the First Letter of John, which the editor of the New Revised Standard Version (which we have in our pews) has titled, "Faith Conquers the World!" and, lastly, today's Gospel, from a section which the editor calls "Jesus the True Vine." Each of the readings can be the starting point for a series of talks, but I will restrict mysel to just one short talk on the Gospel for today.
       "You are my friends if you do what I command you." This teaching of our Lord sounds alarmingly like what we sometimes hear from a dependent, needy person: "If you really love me, you'll do x, or you won't do y!" Probably every one of us has heard someone say something like this to us, or to someone else. Perhaps we have even said something like this ourselves.
      But of course there is no petulance here, no narcissism, no manipulative, abusive remark of any kind. Rather, if we follow carefully what our Lord is saying in today's Gospel, line by line, what he is getting at will become clear. What is clear throughout, is that the love our Lord is talking about, is NOT conditional love, to be withheld if certain conditions are not met. Verse 9 in this chapter (15) says it all: "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Abide in my love." Recently, Fr John mentioned a 7-day retreat he endured, in which the sole topic of the retreat was the one word "abide!" I promise that I am not going to dwell on this word for that long! But I do say that this love of the Father for the Son, and the love of the Son for us, abides. It is constant, unchanging, permanent, fixed, dependable, always there, always available, ultimately eternal, whether we think that we are conscious of it or not. Somewhat oddly, I think, we are commanded (!) to abide in this love. "To abide" in this context means "to remain stable or fixed in a a state" or "to continue in place." That is, to maintain ourselves in our relationship to our Lord, to make it possible both to receive and to give the love which he is making available to us.
      Jesus tells us immediately how to do this. Here is the true meaning of abiding in his love: "If you keep my commandements, you will abide in my love."
      "If you keep my commandments." An old, wise archbishop, who was my first teacher in homiletics, the art of preaching, said to me, "We must never give people the idea that they haven't done enough for God!" The idea of keeping commandments, a whole, long list of them, is a great way to trip ourselves up, and to think that maybe we haven't done enough. But our Lord says, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you." The other commandments, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and so on, and the implied commandments, which we can derive from the Beatitudes and other texts, all flow from this one command of our Lord. There is no notion of quantity here, no time limit, no checklist that we have to fill out to make sure that we meet all the conditions. In fact, the other commandments can be understood as preparations for the one great commandment, as steps on the way to its fulfilment.
      There is an early Orthodox saint, named John, who was a spiritual guide and elder. He wrote a book called "The Ladder of Perfection," and so we know him as John of the Ladder. He tells us that love is the last, the thirty-third, step on the ladder of perfection. We can be confident that we will reach this 33rd step, this love in which we are commanded to abide, because we know that in baptism and the eucharistic life, we have been taken into this love, and are given the means to achieve it. We love because God loves us. We don't need to earn it. We do need to believe it, and to let it lead us. As today's Gospel says, "You did not choose me, but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last." God has taken the initiative. Jesus shows us the way; all we need to do is follow him.
      And so, today, when we ask God to continue to bless our parish, our home, our good earth, our God-protected country, we can do so, confident of our Lord's friendship, since today's Gospel says, "You are my friends if you do what I command you...I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father."
     Alleluia. Christ is risen!

The Good Shepherd (John 10)

A homily on John 10: 11-18. Jesus the Good Shepherd.
      Alleluia! Christ is risen!
      Today's Gospel is a short section from the tenth chapter of John's Gospel. About half the chapter is taken up by Jesus's referring to himself as the gate of the sheepfold, and also the shepherd of the sheep. Just before today's reading, Jesus is describing himself as the gate. After the reading, in the second half of the chapter, Jesus asserts his identity with the Father, and promises eternal life to the sheep who hear his voice and follow him.
      Historically, and in the present day, these texts have been used, and are used, to assert the exclusiveness of the Church, outside which there is supposed to be no salvation. The texts are taken to mean that only adherence to an old understanding of them, of Jesus as the gatekeeper of the Christian world, as a Christian God excluding everyone who doesn't have the adjective "Christian" attached to him or her, is the true understanding. I reject this exclusiveness. In my view, it is not supported by the texts. An old, good friend of mine liked to say, "God is not religious!" God, in other words, does not support the taboos, distinctions, exclusions, and so on, that Christians have evoked down the years, including today's Gospel, to reject others.
       Back in the day, when I was hitch-hiking around Europe (and doing it all on $5 a day, as we knew we could in those days) I found myself in Edinburgh, capital of Scotland. There is a hill there, really a small mountain, called Arthur's Seat. It is very green, with paths crisscrossing it, and lots of sheep keeping the vegetation under control. And, every so often, there is a sign along the path, which says, "It is forbidden to worry the sheep!" And I remember in my college days, in Toronto, that the college administrators considered employing sheep to keep the campus lawns trimmed, but they rejected the idea, precisely because they feared that we would, indeed, worry the sheep!
      There are many worried sheep in Christ's flock today, and many worried, even very angry, shepherds too. There are the historic, old divisions among Catholics, Orthodox, Anglican, Protestants, where some, at least, in each communion believe the others to be outside the Church and say so, some politely, some less politely. There are divisions within communions and communities, some quite bitter, as we know. Frankly, speaking for myself, I am astounded at the hostility, contempt, and ignorance that some Christians display toward others. Have any of them heard our Lord say, as he does in today's Gospel, "I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice." Some of the worried sheep and their angry shepherds seem not to want that to happen. But today's disputes over gender, sexuality, who may be ordained and who not, are in the very long run, beside the point. A few lines after the end of today's Gospel, Jesus says, "My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish." All are being called, but not all belong to the sheep, and so not all will respond. There is a deep mystery here, a mystery of freedom and choice. God's Providence is working even through the choices of those who do not hear his voice. If we hold fast to this belief, the bitter disputes and unhappy divisions of the world and the Church will not distract us from our goal, which is eternal life.
      The other day I came across some writing by John Chrysostom, the 4th century Bishop of Constantinople who was unjustly driven from his diocese and exiled to a remote and dangerous place, where he soon died. Bad bishops, an angry empress, and fearful laity had combined to lead him into his very difficult situation. But here are some of the Saint's words: "For everywhere, it is the sufferings that hold in store the glory, the esteem, the crowns...do not be at all disconcerted nor troubled at the trials happening to each and to the community. In fact, this is how, at the beginning, the Church was nourished, that she increased. Do not be surprised. Nothing extraordinary has happened."
      In his first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 11 verse 19, Paul says, "Indeed, there have to be factions among you, for only so will it become clear who among you are genuine." Through the scandals and divisions in the Christian world, the faithful are able to discern authentic, true shepherds and genuine believers, and then we can follow the true guides. So, we endure patiently in faith, we keep our eyes open to discern the genuine, and our ears open to hear them, and we are confident that the present struggles and divisions in the Christian world will be used by God to strengthen his Church. None of us can be harmed by divisions in the Christian world, if we hold to our faith, and keep our ears open to hear the true Shepherd.
      Alleluia! Christ is risen!

Resurrection appearances (Luke 24)

         In Nomine, etc..

      Today's Gospel is the conclusion of the Resurrection appearances in Luke, chapter 24. Immediately preceding it is our Lord's appearance on the road to Emmaus, and following it is the promise of "power from on high" and the Ascension, where the Gospel ends.

      There are two themes in today's Gospel, and in the chapter as a whole. The first: recognition; the second: understanding. Perhaps we are so familiar with these stories, that we do not notice the very striking methods that our Lord is using to help his disciples, firstly to recognize him, and secondly to understand him. Our Lord's methods can help us recognize and understand him as well.

       We recall that on the road to Emmaus, Jesus meets two of his disciples, who do not realize who he is. He listens to their story, and then interprets the Scriptures for them. But only later, as evening approaches, when he breaks bread with them, as Luke tells us, "their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished from their sight!" The two disciples then join the others in Jerusalem, announce the Resurrection to them, and tell the story of their experience on the road.

      "And he vanished from their sight!" Luke and the disciples express no astonishment at this, and apparently they don't mention it to the disciples in Jerusalem either. To me, at least, this is a very striking omission.

      Today's Gospel begins, "while they were talking about this [that is, about the experience on the road and the breaking of the bread] Jesus himself stood among them...they were startled and terrified!" They were startled and terrified? Hadn't they just heard from the two on the road, that the risen Lord had been made known to them? Why didn't those two speak up? Probably, they reverted to their previous state of mind, their inability to see Jesus.Their eyes were opened in the breaking of the bread, but their new vision didn't last long. Jesus vanished from their sight, not because he had left the scene, but because the disciples were unable to perceive him for more than that brief moment. They had only begun to grasp what was happening. But soon our Lord leads them out of their blindness and fear, into recognition and understanding.

      "Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself!" (The Greek here actually says, "because I myself am" or "because I am myself!") This points out something that we have already noticed: that no one recognizes Jesus by sight! On the road to Emmaus he is recognized in the breaking of the bread. Here our Lord is directing his disciples' attention, and ours, to his hands and feet!

      I know that we have a saying: "seeing is believing!" but is it really? Not here, it isn't! Luke, and Jesus, are telling us something.

      "Touch me, and see!" This is, surely, the oddest remark in the Gospel. But it brings the disciples, and us, around to how Jesus wants his disciples, and us, to recognize him. His hands and feet point to the reality of the experience he has been through. They, and we, recognize him in hands that bless and heal, break bread and share, feet that walk on the same earth that we do. The shared experience of work with our hands, staying grounded in reality, and accepting the suffering and the joys that come to us, are the means that Jesus gives us to recognize him. In today's Gospel, Jesus does not allow his disciples, or us, to be dazzled by a vision, perhaps, dare I say it, to be deceived by one. In fact, we know that vision deceives the disciples, because they think that they are seeing a ghost. This, I think, is another reason the disciples experienced Jesus’s disappearance as his own action. They are beginning to discern the meaning of their experience, when Jesus apparently vanished from their sight after the breaking of the bread. Jesus points us to his hands and feet, which bear the marks of the life and death he experienced, reminding us that there is no life without suffering, no risen life somehow separate from the life that we know. We see that the disciples are beginning to grasp what is happening to them when Luke says, "in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering!" So, to shake them from their disbelief, Jesus ensures that the disciples understand that there is no deceiving vision before them, but a real, physical being of flesh and blood, talking, allowing himself to be touched, eating, and also teaching as he had done before his Passion, "opening their minds to understand the Scriptures." Jesus leads his disciples to understand what we previously heard Peter say in Acts: "God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, that his Messiah would suffer." Jesus adds, "the Messiah is...to rise from the dead on the third day...and you are witnesses of these things."

      We all think that we know how the world works. In our common sense understanding, we are born, we live, we die. The dead do not rise, no Messiah will come along to rescue us from an increasingly dangerous world, seeing is believing, and so on. I'm sure we can all list a host of notions that we carry around in our heads, that help us find our way through life. One notion is that we live in a world of cause and effect, that the same causes will always produce the same effects. We rely on this to keep our science and technology and daily life going. And it seems to work, most of

the time at least.

      When Jesus is teaching his disciples to understand the true nature of the Messiah, he is announcing, to them and to us, that the common sense understanding of the world is not the whole story. Cutting across what we think we know, what we think we understand of how the world works, is the Resurrection. There is no cause that could have given rise to it, no natural process that could have evolved it, nothing in experience would have led anyone to expect it. Yet, there it is! God raises Jesus the Messiah from the dead, and shows us that the world is not what we think it is. All of a sudden, we see that we live in a world, a universe, in which Resurrection is possible. Then the world is not a closed system, begun in mystery and ending in death, but a world in which the free act of God opens up the possibility of eternity. In the light of this event, we see the world's true nature, and are empowered to live, not by a narrow common sense understanding of the way things are, but by all the possibilities that the power of God puts before us: life, freedom, love, creativity, and more. "You are witnesses of these things," Jesus says to his disciples and to us. We may understand ourselves as being in the place of the disciples, who "in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering!" Perhaps we “in our joy, are disbelieving and still wondering!” Let us allow ourselves to open our minds to understand the Scriptures!  Let us live every day as witnesses of the Resurrection.

       In Nomine, etc..