Author: Peter McCulloch

The DOs and DON’Ts of Jesus

(Acts 8:5-8, 14-17; 1Pet.3:15-18; Jn.14:15-21)

Do you love Jesus? Yes or no?

If you say that you love Jesus, then how deep is that love? Do you simply have warm feelings for him, or is it something much deeper than that? 

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is talking to his disciples. The Last Supper is over, and he has just washed their feet. Jesus knows he will soon be crucified, so he gives them some final, parting advice.

‘If you love me,’ he says, ‘you will keep my commandments.’

But which commandments are these? He can’t mean the Ten Commandments, because he refers to ‘my commandments.’ So, what are they?

What Jesus is talking about here is all the wisdom he has given us through his many teachings. Perhaps his two best-known commandments are these from Matthew’s Gospel: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul and all your mind. And, You shall love your neighbour as yourself (Mt.22:37-39).

As Jesus tells us, these are the two greatest commandments and the foundation of all the others. But what are his other commandments?

The Irish writer Flor McCarthy has put together a collection of Jesus’ commandments in the form of ‘Dos and Don’ts.’ These are not only helpful, he says, but they are necessary – especially if we are serious about living a good Christian life. Let’s begin with Jesus’ Don’ts:

• Don’t return evil for evil. Nothing is achieved by retaliation, except to pile darkness upon darkness (Mt.5:38-42).
• Don’t judge your neighbour. No one knows all the facts in any particular case except God. Therefore, always leave judgement to God (Mt.7:1-2).
• Don’t condemn your neighbour. This follows from the last. If you should not pass judgement on your neighbour, then you shouldn’t pass sentence on him, either (Mt.7:1).
• Don’t worry about food, and drink, and clothes, as if these were the most important things in life. Make it your first concern to live a life worthy of a son or a daughter of God, and all the rest will fall into place (Mt.6:25,33).
• Don’t store up treasures for yourselves here on earth: money, property, goods, and so on. These are like dust in the eyes of God, dust to be blown away in the first winds of judgement (Mt.6:19-20).
• Don’t look back once you have put your hand to the plough, that is, once you have decided to follow my way. And once you have made what you are sure is a right decision in life, go forward trusting in God (Lk.9:62). And
• Don’t give up hope when times are rough. Keep on trusting in me and in the Father. Remember that you are worth more than a thousand sparrows (Mt.10:31).

And here are Jesus’ Dos:

• Let the light of your goodness shine before people. The light you shed around you will help others find their way, and the Father will be glorified (Mt.5:16).
• Love your enemies. Being kind to those you don’t like, or who may have been unkind to you, is hard. But if you do this, you will be the salt of the earth (Mt.5:43-45).
• Give generously. The measure you give to others will be the measure you will receive from God (Lk.6:38).
• Forgive those who sin against you. Then you have nothing to fear in regard to your own sins. God has already forgiven them (Mt.6:14).
• Clean the inside of cup and dish, and the outside will become clean, too (Mt.23:26).
• See that your minds and hearts are clean. Then all your thoughts, words and deeds will also be clean, like water coming from an unpolluted well (Mt.15:17-20).
• Take my body and eat it. Take this cup and drink my blood. Do this in memory of me. In the Eucharistic Banquet you will find the nourishment you need to live as my disciples (Lk.22:19).
• And love one another, the way I have loved you. Then all will know that you are disciples of mine (Jn.13:35).

Flor McCarthy says these Dos and Don’ts aren’t really commandments; they’re more like guidelines for how we should live. ‘What we are really dealing with,’ he says, ‘is a new spirit, new values and attitudes towards God, towards our neighbour and towards life.’ [I]

Loving Jesus isn’t just a nice thing to do. It’s actually a way of life that has profound meaning and purpose. Jesus’ teachings give shape and direction to the Christian life, and they are essential guideposts to our final destination – heaven.

So, as Jesus says, if you truly love him, then follow his guidelines.

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[i] Flor McCarthy, New Sunday & Holy Day Liturgies, Year A – Dominican Publications, Dublin, 2013:141-142.

Deacons

(Acts 6:1-7; 1Pet.2:4-9; Jn.14:1-12)

In the early days of the Church, the apostles couldn’t meet the demand for preaching, prayer, care for the poor and breaking bread.

So, as today’s first reading tells us, they appointed seven good men to help them. According to Tradition, these were the very first deacons and among them was St Stephen, the first Christian martyr. He was stoned to death in 36AD because he was just too good at preaching.

In the following 20 years, the diaconate became well established. We know this because St Paul wrote to Timothy in c.57AD about the character of the ideal deacon. Deacons, he said, need to be chaste, not double-tongued, not given to too much wine, and not driven by profit (1Tim.3:8-13).

Deacons soon became prominent in the Church. They served as bishops’ assistants and ambassadors, and looked after the temporal goods of the Church. They also took the Gospel and Holy Eucharist to where the bishops couldn’t go, and many deacons themselves became bishops and popes.

Over the years, however, the priesthood grew in prominence and the diaconate declined. By the fifth century, deacons no longer worked for bishops; they assisted priests instead. And eventually, in the Latin Church, the diaconate became a mere stepping stone to the priesthood. Even now, a man must become a transitional deacon before his priestly ordination.

After 800AD, permanent deacons were rare, however Pope Gregory VII (1020-1085) was a deacon, and so was St Francis of Assisi (1181-1226).

In the 16^th Century, the Council of Trent (1545-63) decided to restore the permanent diaconate, but didn’t follow it up. In the 1800s, some German theologians recommended that the diaconate be restored to promote the servanthood of the church. (The word ‘deacon’ comes from the Greek diakonos, which means servant.)

And during WWII, when thousands of priests were imprisoned in Dachau in Nazi Germany, they too discussed how the Church might more effectively serve the world after the war. They also proposed the return of deacons as ministers of charity, and in 1963 Vatican II resolved to reintroduce the order.

The first of the new deacons were ordained in the 1970s, and today there are some 47,000 worldwide, compared to about 380,000 priests. The United States has about 18,000 deacons, while Australia has around 200.

We only have 6 deacons in our diocese today, however another ordination is expected very soon and we also have several men discerning their call.

Along with bishops and priests, deacons are ordained members of the clergy. Their role can be summed up by the term Diakonia, because the deacon is called to serve the Church in the name of Jesus Christ who said ‘I am among you as one who serves’ (Lk.22:27). In other words, Jesus himself was a deacon.

St John Paul II once wrote: ‘By the standards of this world, servanthood is despised, but in the wisdom and providence of God, it is the mystery through which Christ redeems the world.’ [i]

How, then, do deacons serve? Through the three core ministries of Liturgy, Word and Charity. In the Liturgy, deacons assist bishops and priests at Mass and in other ceremonies. They conduct baptisms, weddings, funerals and benediction, and take Viaticum to the dying.

In the ministry of the Word, they proclaim the Gospel, and preach and teach.

And in the ministry of Charity, they do many different things, including pastoral counselling, spiritual direction, supporting the sick and dying, military and hospital chaplaincy, working with young people, families and the homeless, parish administration, prison ministry and so on.

In 100AD, St Ignatius of Antioch said that it would be impossible to have a church without bishops, priests and deacons, because their role is nothing less than to continue the ministry of Jesus Christ.[ii]

Deacons contribute significantly to the life of the Church because of their community connections. Through their families, careers and real-world life experiences, they are aware of local needs and they are well-placed to take Jesus Christ to the margins. This is why deacons often work in social justice and outreach.

In 3^rd Century Rome, St Lawrence the deacon distributed alms to the poor, but Emperor Valerian did not approve. He had Pope Sixtus II beheaded and demanded that Lawrence deliver the church’s treasure to the state within three days. Lawrence then gathered the poor of the city and presented them as the treasure of the Church. As punishment, he was roasted on a gridiron.

Thankfully things usually aren’t quite so desperate these days.

But with their humble hearts and filled with sacramental grace, deacons make a meaningful difference to our world today.

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[i] Pope John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia, 1980. https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_30111980_dives-in-misericordia.html

[ii] https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2016/june/documents/papa-francesco_20160610_conferenza-internazionale-diaconato.html

 Sheepdogs and Angels

(Acts 2:14a, 36-41; 1Pet.2:20b-25; Jn.10:1-10)

Have you ever seen a sheepdog trial?

These trials began in New Zealand in the 1860s, and today competitions are held all over the world. They test the ability of shepherds and their dogs to guide a flock of sheep through a maze of obstacles in just fifteen minutes. The way they work together is extraordinary.

Why do shepherds need sheepdogs? It’s because guiding, guarding and raising unruly sheep can be hard work.

We city-dwellers don’t often see shepherds, but they are all through the Bible. In fact, they’re mentioned over 90 times in the Old Testament, often in reference to the early kings and rulers of Israel who were meant to shepherd their people. But too often they failed at this, preferring to kill and steal instead (cf. Ezek.34).

So, God promised that one day he would shepherd the people himself, and that’s why Jesus is our Good Shepherd today.

When a flock is big, shepherds always need help. Jesus started with twelve disciples. Moses had Caleb and Joshua to help him lead his flock out of Egypt. And Paul had Timothy, Barnabas and Silas to help him in his ministry.

So, looking back into history, there have long been shepherds, and good sheepdogs, too. The Book of Job, one of the oldest books of the Bible, mentions sheepdogs in Chapter 30. And interestingly, ‘Caleb’ means faithful and even sheepdog in Hebrew.

Evelyn Underhill (1875-1941), the British spiritual writer, loved observing the natural world, and often used nature to explain mystical truths.

In 1938, after visiting a sheep dog trial in rural England, she wrote to a friend about the way shepherds and sheepdogs work together. Sheepdogs, she noted, were very active and loved running around. And although the sheep could be unpredictable, the sheepdogs controlled them well by making sure that none escaped from the fold.

But one thing really impressed her. While the sheepdogs were always ready to work hard, they spent an astonishing amount of time just sitting still, watching the shepherd. They always waited for a sign before moving an inch.

She also noticed that the sheepdogs didn’t bark or make a fuss. They had transcended their ‘mere dogginess’ and become an extension of the shepherd. Their only interest was in obeying him and waiting for his signal.

The sheepdog’s relationship with the shepherd was the centre of his life, and despite the frustrations, his tail never stopped wagging. He enjoyed working with the sheep. He was the agent of the shepherd, working to a plan that was not his own and which he could not possibly have understood; and yet that was the source of his joy. It was also the discipline with which he worked. [i]

When Jesus returned to Heaven, his mission didn’t stop. Rather, the sheep that had become his sheepdogs then became his shepherds, and they devoted their lives to searching for strays and returning them safely to his flock.

Someone who did this recently was Don Ritchie, a former insurance salesman and navy veteran. In 1964, he bought a house in Watson’s Bay, in Sydney, only 50 metres from a dangerous seaside cliff known as The Gap – a popular spot for suicides. [ii]

Ritchie soon found himself rescuing suicidal strangers from the clifftop.

In the beginning, he tried restraining them, while his wife called the police, and he even earned a bravery medal. But then he began taking a gentler approach, by approaching them with a smile and asking, ‘Is there something I can do to help you?’ Or inviting them into his home for drink. [iii]

On one occasion, he lay down on his stomach, talking to a terrified man just over the edge and threatening to jump. He gently encouraged him to return to safety.

Don Ritchie wasn’t always successful, but he came to be known as the Angel of the Gap. When he died in 2012, aged 85, his family said that he had saved some 500 people, although the official count is 160.

Perhaps Don’s greatest satisfaction, they said, was the gifts, Christmas cards and letters he received from those he’d saved, sometimes a decade or two after the attempted suicide.[iv]

Like a devoted sheepdog, for almost fifty years Don Ritchie kept one eye on the Good Shepherd and one eye on the sheep, and he made a real difference.

This, then, is our challenge: to keep our eyes fixed firmly on Jesus, listening carefully for his word, while helping his sheep when they are in trouble.

We, too, can make a difference.

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[i] Carol Poston (Ed.) The Making of a Mystic: New and Selected Letters of Evelyn Underhill, HarperCollins, 1993:381.

[ii] https://www.abc.net.au/local/stories/2012/05/14/3502567.htm?site=sydney

[iii] Sydney Morning Herald, Death of the Angel of The Gap: the man who saved the suicidal from themselves, May 14, 2012, https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/death-of-the-angel-of-the-gap-the-man-who-saved-the-suicidal-from-themselves-20120514-1ymle.html

[iv] https://www.couriermail.com.au/ipad/obituary-don-ritchie-oam/news-story/c8f4228079b4bab3eb67d50184de0397

Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus

(Acts 2:14, 22-33; 1Pet.1:17-21; Lk.24:13-35)

In today’s Gospel, two grieving disciples are walking to Emmaus, 11 kilometres from Jerusalem. They are depressed and confused because Jesus Christ has died. They simply cannot comprehend it.

A mysterious stranger then joins them on their walk. It’s Jesus himself, but they don’t recognise him. As they journey together, he listens to them and interprets what has happened through the Scriptures. And when they reach Emmaus, they invite the stranger to join them for supper.

This meal is the subject of Caravaggio’s masterpiece The Supper at Emmaus, which he painted in Rome in 1601, at the age of 30.

The Supper at Emmaus (1601) by Caravaggio. National Gallery, London. Source Wikimedia Commons

Caravaggio shows Jesus sitting at table with two disciples. He takes the bread, says the blessing and breaks it, and then he gives it to them. Just as they recognize Jesus, he vanishes from their sight.

Why do they recognise him? It’s because Jesus repeats the action he performed at the Last Supper (Lk.22:19), and they are utterly astonished. It’s this emotion that Caravaggio tries to capture in this painting. [i]

Now, notice that Jesus is unusually clean-shaven and fresh-faced, while his robes hide the wounds from his crucifixion. This might explain why they didn’t recognise him.

But Caravaggio could also be saying something to us here, for how often are we unaware and unthankful when Jesus journeys with us?

Standing next to Jesus is the unshaven innkeeper, who doesn’t seem to know what’s going on.

On the right, Cleopas is so shocked to see Jesus that he flings his arms wide like a cross. The scallop shell he’s wearing indicates that he’s a pilgrim ‘on his way,’ just like us all. We’re all pilgrims in this life. [ii]

To the left is the unnamed disciple, with a torn sleeve. Could he be Cleopas’ son, Simeon? He, too, is shocked to discover Jesus. He’s gripping his chair and just about to spring to his feet.

On the table, the roast chicken symbolises Christ as the sacrificial victim. And teetering precariously on the front edge of the table is a fruit-basket. This points to the significance of Christ’s apparition, because if death is no longer absolute, then all our earthly expectations are no longer secure. [iii]

The basket itself represents the riches of Holy Scripture, and the fruits therein symbolise the nourishing teachings of the Old and New Testaments. [iv]

The fresh fruit also symbolises new life, but notice that the apple is starting to rot; this reminds us of the sin of Adam and Eve. Behind the apple is a pomegranate, split open. In Judaism, the pomegranate symbolises righteousness, as the ‘613 seeds’ are said to correspond to the 613 commandments of the Torah. But the pomegranate also symbolises the richness of the promised land (Deut. 8:8), and of the Church, where many are united as one.

Now, do you see the piece of cane sticking out from the fruit basket? It’s casting the shadow of a fish, symbolising Jesus and his ministry. It also reminds us of his call to his disciples to be ‘fishers of men.’

There’s so much for us to reflect on in this painting, but one important thing to note is that this is no ordinary table. It’s actually an altar, and what Caravaggio is depicting here is the very first Mass after Christ’s death and resurrection. Indeed, Jesus is celebrating the Holy Eucharist himself.

The grapes allude to consecrated wine and Christ’s blood spilt during his passion and crucifixion. And on the left is a trio of bread, water and a jug of wine, the three central elements of the Holy Eucharist which Jesus consecrates at every Mass.

And notice that as Jesus blesses the bread, his hand is pointing towards us. He’s inviting us to join him at the empty space in front.

Notice, too, the white prayer shawl on Cleopas’ lap, tied in a knot. This indicates his absolute commitment to the faith, and today we’re all being invited to share that same faith.

Finally, this painting reminds us that right from the very beginning, after Jesus’ resurrection, many people struggled to believe or understand what had happened – even those who personally knew Jesus. However, they did come to believe because Jesus revealed himself to them. He revealed himself to Mary Magdalene (Jn.20:14), to Peter (Lk.24:34), and to these two disciples in Emmaus, among many others. And he did so through the power of the Holy Spirit, through Scripture and through the sacraments, including the Holy Eucharist.

It’s no different today. Many people still struggle to believe or understand what happened all those years ago. But through the power of the Spirit, through Scripture and through the Holy Eucharist and all the sacraments, Jesus continues to reveal himself to us.

Our challenge is to believe and to always remain open to Jesus.

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[i] John S Dixon, The Christian Year in Painting, Art/Books, London, 2018:136.

[ii] Op cit. p.137.

[iii] Sr Wendy Beckett, Sister Wendy’s 100 Best-Loved Paintings, SPCK, London. 2019:72.

[iv] Silvia Malaguzzi, Food and Feasting in Art, Getty Publications, Los Angeles, 2008:222-223.

The Image of Divine Mercy

(Acts 2:42-47; 1Pet.1:3-9; Jn.20:19-31)

We know from her diary that in 1931, Jesus appeared to St Maria Faustina Kowalska in Poland as the King of Divine Mercy. He was wearing a white garment with rays of white and red light streaming from his heart.  

He asked her to paint this image with the words: Jesus, I trust in You, inscribed underneath. ‘I want this image to be venerated,’ he said, ‘and I promise that the soul that venerates this image will not perish.’ [i]

But poor Faustina was no painter. She asked her confessor what she should do. ‘All you need,’ he said, ‘is to paint Jesus’ picture in your soul.’ But it was a real picture Jesus wanted, so she asked her superior, who gave her some canvas and paints. ‘But I don’t know how to paint!’ she cried.

It was only after relocating to Lithuania that her new spiritual director helped her find an artist, and the first Divine Mercy image was painted in 1934.

In The Seven Secrets of Divine Mercy, Vinny Flynn writes that it’s important that this picture be seen as an icon, and not as an idol. An idol takes our attention away from God, but an icon draws us towards him.

An icon is not an object of worship, however. It’s more like a window we look through with the eyes of our soul to see God.

This picture is of Jesus, but as St Paul says, Christ ‘is the image of the invisible God.’ So, this is also an image of our heavenly Father. As Pope St John Paul II writes, the Father’s invisible nature becomes visible in Christ and through Christ, and most especially visible in his mercy.[ii] For Jesus doesn’t just talk about mercy – he is mercy itself. ‘Making the Father present as love and mercy is… the fundamental touchstone of Jesus’ mission as the Messiah,’ he says. [iii]

Now, see Jesus’ right hand – he’s giving us a blessing. What is a blessing? It’s a divine and life-giving action, but it’s not only Jesus giving us this blessing; his Father is too. And because this action is ‘frozen’ in time, that blessing is unending. The Father is always giving life – all the time.

Jesus’ white garment reminds us that he is a priest. Indeed, Jesus is the only priest; he is the one great and eternal High Priest. All others share in the one priesthood of Christ. So, it’s fitting that his hand is raised in blessing, because the first function of the priest is to bless.

Look now at Jesus’ left hand. He’s touching his heart and his fingers are opening his garment. Jesus is inviting us to come into his heart and to rest there.

Like his ‘frozen’ blessing, this gesture is also permanent and unchangeable. As Jesus says in Matthew’s Gospel, ‘Come to me all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest’ (Mt.11:28). 

Now, see the rays of mercy streaming from Jesus’ heart. When St Faustina asked Jesus what they meant, he said: ‘The two rays denote Blood and Water (which) flowed from the depths of my tender mercy when my agonised heart was opened by a lance.’[iv]

The pale rays, Vinny Flynn explains, point to Jesus’ promise of ‘Living Water’ and our rebirth in the Holy Spirit through Baptism. But they also remind us of the Sacrament of Reconciliation because the cleansing of Confession is an extension of our Baptism.

The red rays represent the Holy Eucharist, the blood that is the ‘life of souls.’ In the Old Testament, before receiving the Ten Commandments on Mt Sinai, Moses sprinkles the people with the blood of the sacrifice, proclaiming it as ‘the blood of the covenant’ (Ex.24:8).

And now, pouring out his red rays upon us, Jesus is the new Moses (and the new sacrificial lamb), fulfilling on the Cross his gift of the Eucharist at the Last Supper, when he proclaims the ‘new covenant’ in his blood (Lk.22:20). [v]

The Divine Mercy image has spread widely since 2000, when St John Paul II canonised St Faustina and established Divine Mercy Sunday, to remind us to always trust in God’s merciful love.

In today’s Gospel, the disciples are hiding in the Upper Room, terrified of Jesus’ wrath. They know they were wrong to have abandoned Jesus when he most needed them during his Passion. But when Jesus arrives, he simply says, ‘Peace be with you.’ In fact, he says it twice.

There’s no anger or retribution. Only love, mercy and a blessing.

We shouldn’t be surprised, because Jesus is Divine Mercy itself.

Today, we are all called to focus on the incredible goodness of God, who is always loving us, always blessing us, and always inviting us into his heart.

When we firmly fix our eyes on Jesus, through God’s grace we are gradually transformed into the image and likeness of what we see.

We become living reflections of our loving God [vi]

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[i] St Faustina Maria Kowalska, Diary of Divine Mercy, Marian Press, Stockbridge MA, 2007. n.47, 48.

[ii] Pope St John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia (Rich in Mercy), 1980, n.2. https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_30111980_dives-in-misericordia.html

[iii] Op cit. n.3.

[iv] St Faustina Maria Kowalska, Diary of Divine Mercy, Marian Press, Stockbridge MA, 2007. n.299.

[v] Vinny Flynn, 7 Secrets of Divine Mercy, Ignatius Press, Fort Collins, CO, 2015:65-89.

[vi] Op cit. p.209.

The Scent of Liberation

(Acts 10:34, 37-43; Col.3:1-4; Jn.20:1-9)

In Matthew’s Gospel, when Jesus meets Judas in the Garden of Gethsemane, he kisses him on the cheek and asks, ‘Friend, why are you here?’ (Mt.26:50)

Today, we might ask ourselves the same question: Friend, why are you here? What brings you here this Easter?

For most people, what brings us here is Jesus’ story. It’s the story that has intrigued and inspired countless millions over the millennia. It’s the story of love, both human and divine, and the victory of good over evil. And it’s the story of love’s triumph over sin and death, as Jesus clears our pathway to eternal life.

In one way or another, we’ve all struggled with life. We’ve all suffered pain, disappointment and death of some kind. And yet, the wonderful thing about Jesus is that by his Cross and resurrection he has conquered these things. He has broken their power over us. He has shown us that God is alive and well, and that he truly cares for us.

But if Jesus really has conquered sin and death, then why are so many people, including good Christians, still struggling with them?

Two theologians, C.S. Lewis (1898-1963) of Britain and Anders Nygren (1890-1978) of Sweden, asked themselves this same question many years ago. They both noticed important parallels between life in New Testament times and the situation of ordinary people during the Second World War. And it occurred to them that the victory Jesus won over sin through his death and resurrection is very much like a country being liberated from Nazi control.

In the 1940s, the Nazis were a foreign occupying power and a sinister and menacing presence in many countries. People feared them and suffered under them, and for years they could do nothing about them.

This is very much like people today living under the oppressive weight of sin and death.

But then comes the electrifying news: there has been a far-off battle, and somehow it has turned the tide of the war. A new phase has developed, and the occupying power is in disarray. Its backbone has been broken. In the course of time, the Nazis will be driven out of every corner of Europe. But in the meantime, they are still present in the occupied country.

In one sense, the situation has not changed, but in another, more important sense, the situation has changed totally. People can smell victory and liberation in the air, and this results in a huge psychological change.

The Nazis might still be around, and the people might still be suffering under their rule, but deep down the people are getting excited. They have a real sense that something good is on its way. They have hope.

A similar story is told of a man who had been held prisoner in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp in Singapore. In 1945, there was an astonishing change in the camp’s atmosphere when one of the prisoners (who owned a short-wave radio) heard about the collapse of the Japanese war effort.

Although everyone in the camp was still locked up, they knew that their enemy had been beaten. It would only be a matter of time before they were released. And those prisoners began to laugh and cry, as if they were already free.

The Second World War ended in Europe about a year after bridgeheads were established in Normandy in June 1944. But in those final twelve months, the course of the war had changed and so had the hearts and minds of the captive people.

And so it is with us today. In one sense, victory has not yet come; but in another sense, it already has.

Because of Jesus, sin and death no longer have the final word. They no longer have power over our eternal souls. However, this doesn’t mean that they have disappeared, because for now death is still a natural part of life, and there’s still so much sin around.

But remember this: Jesus’ resurrection points to God’s total victory over all evil, sin and death. Their backbone has been broken; they’re on the run, and that means we can now live in the light of the coming victory.

We know that the long night of their oppression will one day end. [i] It’s only a matter of time.

So, let’s give thanks and celebrate!

Christ is risen!

Alleluia!

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[i] Alister E McGrath, In the Light of Victory, in Arnold, Augustine et al, Bread and Wine, Plough Publishing House, NY, 2003, 271-275.

The Ragman

[Is.50:4-7; Phil.2:6-11; Mt.27:11-54]

As we enter Holy Week, we are all invited to witness the most remarkable events that have ever occurred in history. Today, let’s prepare ourselves by reflecting quietly on Walter Wangerin Jr’s famous story of The Ragman. [i]

What does it say to you?

……………………………………………………………………….

Early one Friday morning I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking through the back streets of the city, pulling an old cart filled with bright, new clothes. He called out, ‘Rags! Rags! New rags for old! I take your tired rags!’

The air was foul in these dark streets, but as he called out, the air seemed to become cleaner. ‘Rags! New rags for old! I take your tired rags!’

He was tall and muscular, with intelligent eyes. I wondered what he was doing and I followed him. There was a woman sitting outside her house, crying into a handkerchief. She was miserable, heartbroken. Her body may have been alive, but her soul wanted to die.

The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly he walked over to her, stepping around tin cans and old rubbish. ‘Give me your rag,’ he said gently, ‘and I’ll give you another’. The woman saw his compassionate eyes and stopped crying. The Ragman took her handkerchief and replaced it with a clean new cloth. As she looked at it, the Ragman slowly kissed her forehead and returned to his cart.

As he pulled his cart again, the Ragman did something strange: he put her old handkerchief to his face and he began to weep, just as she did. But she’d stopped crying and now she had a look of wonder on her face. ‘That’s amazing’, I thought.

‘Rags! Rags! New rags for old!’ said the Ragman, weeping.

A girl was sitting on the kerbside, her head wrapped in a bandage. She was bleeding. The weeping Ragman stopped and took a beautiful yellow hat from his cart. ‘Give me your rag,’ he said softly. He took her bandage and put it on himself. The girl’s head healed, while the Ragman’s head started to bleed. He put the hat on the girl’s head, and returned to his cart.

‘Rags! I take old rags!’ cried the sobbing, bleeding Ragman. ‘New rags for old!’ He was moving faster now. He stopped in front of a man leaning against a telephone pole. ‘Are you going to work?’ he asked.  

The man shook his head. The Ragman asked, ‘Do you have a job?’

‘Are you crazy?’ he replied, and he showed the Ragman his missing right arm.

‘Give me your jacket,’ said the Ragman, ‘and I’ll give you mine.’ The one-armed man took off his jacket, and so did the Ragman. When the other man put on the Ragman’s jacket he had two good arms, but the Ragman only had one. ‘Go to work’ said the Ragman, and he returned to his cart.

Then he saw an old drunk lying sick and unconscious under a blanket. He took the blanket and wrapped it around himself, and left new clothes for the drunk.

Now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. He was weeping and bleeding and he struggled to pull his cart with one arm. He was old and sick, drunk and stumbling, and yet he moved quickly through the streets.

It hurt to see his sorrow, and yet I needed to see where he was going. The old Ragman finally came to a garbage dump. He climbed to the top of a small hill made from the rubbish of a thousand lives, and he cleared a little space.

With a deep sigh, he made a bed from the contents of his cart and he lay down on it, pillowing his head on a handkerchief and a jacket, covering his old bones with a blanket. His eyes wept; his bandage bled. And then he died.

Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I sat down in an old, abandoned car, mourning and weeping because I’d come to love that Ragman. I’d watched him work wonders and change lives so profoundly that it didn’t seem fair that he was gone.

I fell asleep, and I slept all through Friday night and all through Saturday. On Sunday morning, I was awakened by a blinding light. As I blinked and opened my eyes, I saw the greatest wonder of all.

There was the Ragman, carefully folding the blanket. He had a scar on his forehead, but he was healthy, with no sign of sorrow or old age, and all his rags shined bright and clean.

I got out of the car, trembling from what I’d seen. With my head down, I walked up to him and told him my name with shame. I said, ‘Please take my tired old rags and make me new again.’

And he did. He took the tired old rags of my existence and he replaced them with the new clothes of a life spent following Him.

The Ragman.

The Christ.

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[i] Walter Wangerin, The Ragman, in Ragman and Other Cries of Faith. Zondervan, Grand Rapids, 2004 (abridged).

A Modern-Day Lazarus

(Ezek.12-14; Rom.8:8-11; Jn.11:1-45)

‘No-one escapes being hurt,’ Henri Nouwen once wrote. ‘We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally or spiritually.[i]

Perhaps pain is the price we pay for being human.

Some years ago in Melbourne, I met a woman named Janine Shepherd. She had been an outstanding sportswoman, netballer and cross-country skier on the Australian Olympic team.

One afternoon in 1986, while bike-riding in the Blue Mountains, she was hit by a truck. She landed on the road so hard that her neck and back were broken, and the doctors didn’t think she’d survive.

But she did survive. In her book Defiant, Janine tells the story of how she survived this disaster, and how she put everything she had into healing her broken body and rebuilding her life. [ii]

For months she was wrapped in a plaster straitjacket and confined to bed. But she was determined to break free. Slowly, very slowly, she learned to walk again, and one day as she painfully shuffled around, she surprised everyone by saying she wanted to fly.

She wanted to get a pilot’s licence, despite the enormous challenges.

Janine’s situation reminds us of the Jewish people in our reading from Ezekiel today. Jerusalem and its Temple have been destroyed, and the people are totally miserable. But Ezekiel offers them hope. He tells them, ‘The Lord says this: I am now going to open your graves; I mean to open your graves, my people, and lead you back to the soil of Israel.’

Within a year, Janine did get her pilot’s licence. Six months after that, she became a flying instructor. But she didn’t stop there. She later became an aerobatics instructor, and then she got married.  

Since then, she’s had three children, she travels the world sharing her story, and she’s written several books. She even took up horse riding.

In her book Dare to Fly, Janine says that she might have gone to the Olympic Games to win medals, but what she’s doing now is far more important.

She knows her story has changed many people’s lives, and she says that every day she thanks God for this wonderful opportunity to give and for all the love she has reaped from it.

Janine Shepherd’s story is about death and new life. It wasn’t a physical death, but her old life was certainly dead. In her TEDx talk (viewed over 2 million times), she says that her disaster had set her free. [iii] 

In today’s Gospel, Lazarus is lying in his tomb, wrapped in bandages. It’s a scene very much like Janine’s, when she was confined to bed, wrapped in plaster and bandages.

Jesus says, ‘Untie him, let him go free,’ and Lazarus walks out, freed from death. Janine, too, was reborn. She cast off her bandages and plaster straitjacket and started a brand-new life.

Janine learnt an important lesson: that she was not her body. The real source of her strength came not from her body, but from her heart, her soul and her spirit. 

She learnt that her true strength never had anything to do with her body. True spiritual strength, she said, cannot be tied to anything that can be lost. Our strength comes from the intangible spirit that lives inside each of us. [iv]

In John 11:25, Jesus says to Martha, ‘I’m the resurrection and the life; whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.’ This is a remarkable offer to each one of us. Jesus is offering resurrection and new life to us all – not just in the next life, but right now. All we have to do is believe in him.  

If you look carefully, you’ll see that Jesus uses the word ‘believe’ six times in today’s Gospel. That’s what he wants from us. He wants us to seriously believe in him. And when we do that, we’ll begin to let go of all those things that bind and trap us, those things that stifle our spirit and hold us back.

Yes, as Henri Nouwen says, we have all been hurt in some way. But we don’t have to be imprisoned by our wounds. 

Just as Jesus says, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ so he says to you and me, ‘come out of your tomb; be freed from your bondage. Don’t live in the darkness, come into the light. Don’t be afraid, but believe in me.’

If we can believe in Jesus the way God wants us to, then we’ll all be like butterflies emerging from our cocoons, set free to begin again.

Just like Lazarus.

Just like Janine Shepherd.

And just like Jesus Christ himself.

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[i] Nouwen, H. Bread for the Journey, London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1996, p.214. 

[ii] Janine Shepherd, Defiant. https://www.amazon.com.au/Defiant-Broken-Body-Not-Person/dp/1622037103

[iii] https://www.ted.com/talks/janine_shepherd_a_broken_body_isn_t_a_broken_person

[iv] https://www.huffpost.com/entry/what-ten-days-in-death-taught-me-about-living_b_5922bd02e4b0b28a33f62dc9

Divine Spittle

(1Sam.16:1b,6-7,10-13a; Eph.5:8-14; Jn.9:1-41)

Jesus often heals people, but not always in the same way.

Sometimes he prays over them (Jn.11:41-42) or utters other words (Mt.9:6-7). At other times he touches them (Mt.8:15) or heals them from afar (Mk.7:29). And on at least three occasions he uses his saliva.

He heals a man who can’t hear or speak by putting his fingers in his ears, and placing a drop of saliva on his tongue (Mk.7:31-33). He also heals a blind man from Bethsaida by spitting on his eyes and touching them (Mk.8:22-26).

And in today’s Gospel, Jesus smears a muddy paste of spit and clay on a blind beggar’s eyes. And after washing it off in the Pool of Siloam, the man’s sight is restored.

Why does Jesus do this? After all, spitting was considered insulting back then (Deut.25:9), and even Jesus was hurt when someone spat on him (Mt.27:30).

Some have suggested that Jesus didn’t actually spit on these people; rather, he spat on their disease. So, they say it was a blessing, not an insult.

Others have argued that Jewish folk-medicine in those days believed that human spittle remedied eye trouble and other ailments.[i] Indeed, the Roman author Pliny the Elder (23-79AD) once wrote that spittle can heal certain skin diseases.[ii] The Talmud, a Jewish text from the time of Jesus, also mentions the healing power of saliva. (Interestingly, modern medicine does recognise that saliva has some therapeutic benefits.) [iii]

And sometimes, Jesus uses physical actions to symbolize spiritual truth. In the 2^nd Century, St Irenaeus noticed that by mixing his holy spittle with clay, Jesus is mirroring his Father’s actions when he created Adam out of dust (Gen.2:7).

John Bergsma writes about this in his book Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls. (The Dead Sea Scrolls were ancient Jewish manuscripts discovered in the caves of Qumran between 1947 and 1956.) Bergsma says it’s no coincidence that at least four times these Scrolls describe man as ‘a vessel of clay’ kneaded from ‘dust’ and ‘spittle.’

The Scrolls also contain many ‘Hymns of Praise’ where the composer often refers to himself as ‘a vessel of clay,’ or ‘dust, spit and clay.’ Bergsma says that these images of dust, spit and clay clearly refer to the story of the creation of Adam in the Book of Genesis.

He also says that it was Jewish traditional belief that God made the clay for Adam’s body by spitting on the dust, and this tradition is reflected in all the passages of the Scrolls that speak of man as ‘mere spit.’

So, by spitting on the ground to make clay, Jesus is repeating the acts of his Father when he formed the first man. He is recreating this man who was born in darkness, into a ‘son of the light.’

Bergsma also says it’s significant that this man washes in water from the Pool of Siloam, because this isn’t just any old water. The Pool of Siloam received its waters from the Gihon Spring, which originally flowed from Eden (Gen.2:13). This, too, reinforces the theme of a new creation.

But the story doesn’t end there, because these images of flowing water and new birth all point to the sacrament of Baptism, for we are all like this man born blind. Because of the failures of our first parents, Adam and Eve, we were all born into the darkness of ‘original sin.’

We bear no guilt for this original sin, because as Jesus says in today’s Gospel, ‘neither this man nor his parents sinned.’ However, we did inherit from Adam and Eve the absence of the Holy Spirit from our lives, and this is what baptism repairs. It restores the ‘light’ and ‘life’ of the Holy Spirit to us.

St Paul says that ‘if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation’ (2Cor.5:17). Baptism, therefore, is a new kind of creation, and this is what we see in John’s Gospel today. Jesus re-creates the man born blind through dust, clay and spittle, and washing in water, and he emerges ‘enlightened’ because Jesus is the ‘light of the world.’ [iv]

By using his divine spittle in his healing ministry, Jesus demonstrates that he is not the distant figure some people think he is. Indeed, he is never remote from our brokenness and pain, because he’s constantly seeking a close, personal relationship with each of us.

Jesus wants us to become whole again, and while helping us he’s even prepared to get his hands dirty.

For touch is a sign of love, and Jesus is the touch of God.

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[i] https://torahportions.ffoz.org/disciples/mark/the-messiahs-spittle.html

[ii] https://stephenmillerbooks.com/jesus-used-a-roman-rx-for-blindness/

[iii] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6593997/#:~:text=Our%20results%20show%20that%20human,for%20treating%20open%20skin%20wounds.

[iv] John Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Image Books, NY. 2019:61-64.

Our Hungry Hearts

(Ex.17:3-7; Rom.5:1-2,5-8; Jn.4:5-42)

In his popular song Hungry Heart, Bruce Springsteen sings:

Everybody needs a place to rest
Everybody wants to have a home
Don’t make no difference what nobody says
Ain’t nobody like to be alone. [i]

His message is that, deep down, we’re all hungering for something. Whether it’s for shelter or friendship or a sense of belonging, or even for some kind of change, our hearts are always hungry. There’s always something we want or need.

To some, this hunger might sound selfish, but the story of the Woman at the Well in John’s Gospel today tells us that God has designed us this way. He has deliberately placed hunger in our hearts for a purpose.

Jesus is at Jacob’s Well, in the Samaritan town of Sychar, 63 kilometres north of Jerusalem. There he meets a woman who the locals actively dislike because she’s had too many husbands. They think it’s scandalous.

However, she needs water, so she goes to the well at noon, at the hottest time of day when all is quiet. But Jesus is there, and he starts talking to her about water. He knows she’s struggling, and that she needs more than drinking water. ‘Whoever drinks of this water will get thirsty again,’ he says.

So, he offers her a new kind of water: the refreshing, life-giving water of the Holy Spirit. ‘Whoever drinks the water that I shall give, will never be thirsty again,’ he says.

What Jesus is saying is that this world can never satisfy what her (or our) heart desires. Indeed, we know this for ourselves: every time a desire is fulfilled – like our need for water, or a new outfit or a car – that sense of satisfaction never lasts. We’re always hungry for something else afterwards.

So, our hearts teach us that we have infinite needs that can only be satisfied by the infinite. When God created us, he gave us a natural hunger for himself, and that’s why we’re always seeking something more than whatever we have.

Ronald Rolheiser calls this hunger in our hearts a ‘holy longing’. It’s holy, because if we follow it, it will ultimately lead us to God.

This longing is a deep-seated desire to love God. And if we nurture that love, it will grow.

Just like artists practising their art, the more we practise loving, the better we’ll be at it. And the more we give ourselves to God, the more we’ll love him and the more we’ll feel at peace.

But Rolheiser says that before we can fill our hearts with this love, we need to create space for it by letting other things go. We’ll get nowhere if our hearts are already ‘full,’ he says. ‘It will be like trying to attach two inflated balloons to one another.’

In his song, Bruce Springsteen sings: Like a river that don’t know where it’s flowing, I took a wrong turn and I just kept going.

For many of us, this is how we live. We drift aimlessly through life, trying to satisfy one worldly hunger after another.

But in today’s story, the woman makes a decision: she accepts Jesus’ offer. ‘Give me some of that water,’ she says. Her physical thirst has helped her discover her spiritual emptiness, and it changes her life completely.

When she runs off to share the news, she leaves her water jug behind, just as the disciples left their nets behind to follow Jesus.

According to Eastern tradition, this woman was St Photina, the first evangelist in John’s Gospel. Her name means ‘the enlightened one.’ After meeting Jesus, she travelled far and wide, telling the story of how he saved her. [ii] She dedicated the rest of her life to encouraging others to drink Jesus’ living water.

In his commentary on this reading, St Augustine said that Jesus was thirsty for that woman’s faith. But he’s thirsting for our faith, too. So, this Lent, let’s ask Jesus for some of his refreshing, living water, which is always available to us in Baptism. And let’s really drink it in.

For as Joseph Krempa writes, ‘If we don’t take the call of Lent to heart, then we can be like someone who is thirsty and reads about water, listens to talks about water, sees beautiful banners about water, hangs pictures of water, collects books about water, sings songs about water, gathers with others to hear sermons about water, joins discussion groups about water, hears stories about those who have found water, until one day he or she dies of thirst.

What happened?

He or she never drank the water.’ [iii]

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[i] Bruce Springsteen, Hungry Heart. https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/brucespringsteen/hungryheart.html

[ii] https://www.seetheholyland.net/tag/church-of-st-photina/

[iii] S Joseph Krempa, Captured Fire, St Pauls, New York, 2005:34.