Category: Homilies

Mary’s Fiat

(2Sam.7:1-5, 8b-12, 14a, 16; Rom.16:25-27; Lk.1:26-38)

We often hear about ‘Mary’s Fiat,’ but what does it mean? And what does it mean for us today?

‘Fiat’ is Latin for ‘Let it be done,’ which is Mary’s response to the Archangel Gabriel in today’s Gospel. At the Annunciation, Gabriel asks Mary if she would agree to be the mother of God. ‘Let it be done to me,’ she replies.

Mary could have said no, but she doesn’t. With the most remarkable faith, wisdom and humility, she says ‘yes’ and she turns her life over to God.

Thereafter, Mary keeps saying ‘yes’ to whatever God asks of her. She agrees to travel to Bethlehem, despite her pregnancy. She agrees to stay in a smelly stable. She agrees to let dirty shepherds see her baby. She agrees to Jesus’ public ministry, and she stands by Him as He hangs on the Cross.

Through her fiat, Mary actively co-operates with God in His plan of salvation for us all. And despite the hardships, she discovers wonder, joy and purpose along the way.

Now, Mary isn’t the only one to say yes to God. St Joseph does, too, even though he has every reason to say no. He’s upset by Mary’s pregnancy, and plans to divorce her. But then Gabriel appears to him in a dream, saying ‘Joseph, son of David, don’t be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home’ (Mt.1:18-25). He, too, agrees to co-operate with God.

Saying yes to God often occurs in the Bible: Noah agrees to build the ark. Esther agrees to save her people, and the disciples agree to follow Jesus. And since then, many others have said yes to God, too, like the great American jazz musician, Dave Brubeck (1920-2012). He was raised as a Presbyterian by a Christian Scientist mother who attended a Methodist Church, but he was not baptised and for years he found himself searching for God.

In the 1970s he was asked to compose the music for the new English Mass translation. At first he said no, explaining that he was not Catholic, he’d never been to Mass and he knew nothing at all about it. But he was asked again and again, and eventually he agreed to try.

He finished the project in 1979 to great applause, but someone noticed that he had left out the Our Father. ‘What’s the Our Father?’ Brubeck asked. He didn’t understand that it’s the Lord’s Prayer.

‘Well, nobody told me to write it, so I didn’t,’ Brubeck said. ‘I’m finished with the Mass; I’m going to the Bahamas with my family (for) a vacation.’

While in the Bahamas, Brubeck had a dream in which he heard the entire orchestral and choral setting for the Lord’s Prayer. He heard it so vividly that he got up right away and wrote it all down.

This event not only completed the Mass setting,[i] it also changed his life. Brubeck became convinced that he was being called to join the Catholic Church, and in 1981 he was baptised.

He went on to produce many other fine works, including his reflection, In Praise of Mary. In 1987 he was asked to write the music for St John Paul II’s visit to San Francisco. He was initially reluctant, but again the music came to him in a dream. [ii] He later described it as the best thing he had ever written.

Like Mary and Joseph, Dave Brubeck initially didn’t understand what God was asking him to do. He responded slowly at first, but he came to trust God and he allowed Him to shape his life. And in his own way, Brubeck changed the world, just like Mary and Joseph. 

This is Mary’s fiat: saying yes to God in faith, trust and love, even when we don’t understand.

How do you respond when God asks you to get involved?

Let’s close with an old Navajo tale about a warrior searching for God. Seeing God on a mountaintop, the scout rode up and dismounted. He took three arrows and held them high above his head, then he placed them at God’s feet. But God waved him away.

The scout returned to his horse, took his woven blanket, held it high above his head, and laid it at God’s feet. But God waved him away.

Then the scout took his most precious possession; he led his horse to God, and he placed the reins in God’s hands. But God waved him away.

Then the scout extended his arms towards God and dropped to his knees. God looked at the scout and smiled.

The warrior realised that he could not negotiate a relationship with God on his terms. He must surrender everything. [iii] [iv]

That is Mary’s fiat.

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[i] He called it To Hope! A Celebration. https://www.davebrubeck.com/to-hope-a-celebration

[ii] https://www.americamagazine.org/issue/446/article/jazz-goes-back-church  

[iii] https://www.firstthings.com/blogs/firstthoughts/2012/12/dave-brubeck-dead-at

[iv] Mary Amore (Ed.), Every Day With Mary, Our Sunday Visitor, Huntington, IN. 2017:80.

Colouring Our World

(Isa.61:1-2a, 10-11; 1Thess.5:16-24; Jn.1:6-8, 19-28)

At Christmas we often see red and green colours everywhere. In Advent the Church traditionally wears purple, and today, on Gaudete Sunday, we wear rose-coloured vestments.

What do all these hues mean? Are they simply decorations or are they something more than that?

Let’s begin with colour itself. Colour is what we see when light bounces off an object, and each wavelength of light produces a different shade. Warm colours like red, orange and yellow have longer wavelengths and tend to reflect energy and excitement. And cool colours like blue, green and violet have shorter wavelengths and tend to evince feelings of harmony and peace.

This helps explain why colours have meaning in every culture. It’s also why Cezanne said that colour is where the brain meets the universe, and Kandinsky said that colour is a power which directly influences the soul.

In the 12^th Century, the Church adopted certain colours to reinforce the theology of its liturgical seasons. So now we usually see purple in Advent and Lent, symbolising royalty, penance and waiting.

But today, on Gaudete Sunday we see rose-pink vestments. Why? It’s because Gaudete means ‘rejoice,’ and today we rejoice because we’re halfway through Advent and Jesus is coming. 

In the Church’s Ordinary Time, green symbolises life, growth and rebirth (Ps.1:3). On Good Friday, Palm Sunday, Pentecost and the feast days of martyrs, red symbolises passion and sacrifice. And at Christmas, Easter and other special days, white symbolises joy, purity of soul and the Resurrection of Christ.

It’s not surprising that the Church uses these colours, because the Bible is full of them and each one means something in our journey of faith. This is especially true of the three primary colours of red, yellow and blue.

The Hebrew word oudem, for example, means ‘red clay,’ and it symbolises humanity and sacrificial offerings for one’s sins (Lev.17:11). It’s also the root word for the name of Adam (Gen.2:7), and it reflects Christ’s crucifixion on the Cross (Col.1:20).

Yellow is charuts in Hebrew; it points to gold, the precious metal that represents the sovereignty of God. Solomon’s Temple was covered in gold (1Kgs.6), and the New Jerusalem is described as a city of gold (Rev.21:18). Jesus also receives a gift of gold at his birth (Mt.2:11).

And in Hebrew, blue is tekelet, a rare and mystical shade that represents the sea, sky and heavens (Ex.24:10) and the Word of God. It also points to the healing power of God (Lk.8:40-48).

All these wonderful colours are manifestations of light, and significantly, it’s through colour that most people perceive our world. Indeed, colour is one of the languages God uses to communicate with us. It’s how He makes His creation known to us.

In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist talks about light. However, this light is not a thing, but a person. It’s Jesus himself. ‘I am the light of the world,’ Jesus says. ‘Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life’ (Jn.8:12).

Over the years, many writers have been drawn to this idea of Jesus as light. St Augustine often referred to God as the ‘light of my heart,’ and said that to find the truth, the soul needs to be enlightened by a heavenly light. [i]

In the Middle Ages, many artists were also fascinated by light and since then we’ve seen remarkable works of art emerge, including the most incredible stained-glass windows. The common message here is that through His divine light, Jesus colours our world and gives it purpose and meaning.

Let’s close with a story from Kelly Grovier’s book The Art of Colour. After decades of study, he writes, he has concluded that colour isn’t simply the language in which painters and sculptors speak. Rather, it’s a hidden knowledge and an essential truth.

It all started, he said, when he learned of how Giotto’s misshapen bones were found beneath Florence Cathedral. It wasn’t DNA that revealed his remains; it was the colours he’d used in his art. The bones not only reflected the tortured posture of a painter who had spent his life doing contortions reaching high frescoes, as Giotto had done; they also contained high levels of arsenic, lead and other minerals – the main ingredients used in Giotto’s paintings.

In the alchemy of death, Giotto had become his own painting.

It then struck Grovier that pigments are not just intellectual concepts. They are made of grit and grime. They have weight and texture. They pulse through our veins and seep deep into our bones. 

They are also capable of resurrection and they tell secrets from the grave. [ii]

Just like Jesus Christ Himself.

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[i] https://www.missiodeicatholic.org/p/light-and-color-in-medieval-christian

[ii] Kelly Grovier, The Art of Colour, Yale University Press, New Haven CT, 2023, pp.9, 15-16.

Turn

(Is.40:1-5, 9-11; 2Pet.3:8-14; Mk.1:1-8)

Sometimes we just need to turn around.

In his book Run with Horses, Eugene Petersen says he was once in his backyard with his lawnmower tipped on its side. He was trying to remove the blade to sharpen it. He attached his biggest wrench to the nut but couldn’t budge it. Then he slipped a long pipe over the wrench handle to give himself leverage, and he leaned on that – still unsuccessfully.

Next, he banged on the pipe with a rock. By this time, he was getting emotionally involved with his lawnmower. Then his neighbour arrived and said he once had a lawnmower like that, and the threads on the bolt probably went the other way. So, Petersen turned it the other way and, sure enough, the nut moved easily. [i]

How often have you struggled and wondered if there’s a better way? It can take humility and courage to change direction.

In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist is in the desert, calling on all to repent and prepare for the coming of Christ. Hordes of people arrive. John knows they are living lives of sin, and that deep down they want to be good people. ‘Repent!’ he says.

Now, many people dislike that word. They think it’s old-fashioned and means hanging our heads in shame. But the Greek word for ‘repentance’ (metanoeo) simply means change – changing the way you think; changing the way you do things.

Some people resist change; they are scared of the unknown. But others embrace change because they see the benefits. They know it helps us grow and learn; they know change can make things better.

And they know that Jesus is coming.

As St Peter says in our second reading, the day of the Lord will come upon us like a thief, when we least expect it. And when that day comes, it’s important that God finds us ready for him, ‘without spot or blemish, and at peace.’ Why? It’s because we’ll all be held accountable for the way we’ve lived our lives.

Are you ready to meet God face to face?

Many of us are not. Fortunately, God is patient. As Peter says, for God, ‘one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years is like one day.’ But as Jesus says in Luke 13:5, this task is still urgent, for unless you repent (and change the way you live), you will all perish. 

How then might we change? True repentance always starts with humility: humbly accepting that we’re on the wrong track and that we need to turn back to God. This means breaking free of anything that blocks us from God; anything that entraps our minds and saps our spiritual energy.

We must open our hearts to Jesus, and allow him to change us from within. If you find this hard, then pray to Jesus: ask Him for his help.

Let’s close with a story from Michael Kelley. I was once walking along a road, in no particular direction. I simply followed the friendliness of the path – was there sunshine? Were there potholes? Which way is more inviting? I walked on at my leisure, and then a voice behind me said, ‘Turn…’

I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to choose the way I should go. Still, the voice made me wonder, so I glanced over my shoulder but saw only darkness. Why would I turn? Why would I choose a different way when I could walk on, using my senses to guide me?

But the voice became more insistent. ‘Turn…’

I looked over my shoulder again to see the speaker, but again only found darkness. It was maddening. Where’s the logic in turning to what I cannot see? So, I stayed on the clear path.

‘Turn…’

‘Turn to what?’ I answered in frustration, ‘There’s only darkness behind.’ But I couldn’t escape the voice. There was a sense of urgency there, but also kindness. I’d rarely heard such a voice. It was the voice I would use with my own children when I knew something they didn’t. So, I began to turn, but only slightly, and to my dismay, the light shifted.

As I turned, what was behind was no longer shrouded in darkness. Light began to shine slightly. I turned back to the way I was going. Things were still light there. I could still see the way; I could still choose which way to go. But then, glancing back in the opposite direction, I could see more. Bit by bit, I indeed turned. As I did, I saw more and more.

So, I walked the new way, towards the voice. And as I walked, there was more and more light, but it only came with each further step … [ii]

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[i] Eugene H Peterson Run with the Horses, InterVarsity Press, Downers Grove IL, 2019.

[ii] https://michaelkelley.co/2019/01/a-little-story-about-repentance/ (abridged)

Staring Out a Window

(Is.63:16-17; 64:1,3-8; 1Cor.1:3-9; Mk.13:33-37)

When did you last stare out a window, thinking about nothing in particular?

These days, most people seem to regard daydreaming as a waste of time. They think it’s better to be working, studying, or doing something productive, because staring out a window is just a sign of boredom and distraction.

Yet, in his book The School of Life, Alain de Botton says the point of staring out a window is not to find out what’s going on outside. Rather, it’s to discover what’s in our own minds.

It’s easy to imagine we know what we think, what we feel and what’s going on in our heads, he says. But that’s actually rare, because so much of ourselves remains unused and unexplored. However, if we do it right, staring out a window can help us get to know our deeper selves.[i]

Indeed, some of our greatest insights and most creative ideas only come when we stop trying to force our minds. And importantly, some of our best prayers only flow when we let our hearts and minds wander. [ii]

In the coming weeks, staring out a window may prove to be very useful as we enter another season of Advent and prepare to farewell the year 2023. 

The British author Oliver Burkeman describes himself as ‘a recovering productivity addict.’ In his book Four Thousand Weeks, he says that the average human lifespan is just that: about 4,000 weeks. That’s if we make it to 80. If we only live to 70, then it’s roughly 3,600 weeks. And if we live as long as Queen Elizabeth II, then we’ll get about 5,000 weeks.

His point is that the average human life span is ‘absurdly, terrifyingly, insultingly short.’ This may come as an icy blast of reality, he says, but it shouldn’t make us anxious. Rather, it should be cause for relief because it means we can let go of some things that were always impossible, anyway.

The day will never arrive, he says, when you finally have everything under control. When the flood of emails has been contained, when your to-do lists have stopped growing, when you’re meeting all your obligations at work and at home … None of this is ever going to happen, he says.

And that’s good news, because it means we can let go of all that, and focus instead on what is possible – and what is important. [iii]

In today’s Gospel Jesus warns us, ‘Be on your guard, stay awake, because you never know when the time will come … You don’t know when the master of the house is coming.’

That master is Jesus, of course. He’s coming at Christmas, he’s coming at the end of our lives, he’s coming at the end of all time (2Thess.1:6-7) – and we need to be prepared (Mt.25:31-46).

But as Richard Rohr tells us, Jesus is also already here. We’re just not aware of it. How do we know? It’s because God’s love keeps us alive with every breath we take. And each breath means that God is choosing to give us life. In this sense, we have nothing to attain or even learn, however we do need to unlearn some things.

To recognise God’s loving presence in our lives, he says, we must accept that human culture is in a mass hypnotic trance. We are sleep-walkers. All great religious teachers have recognized that we humans do not naturally see; we have to be taught how to see. As Jesus says, ‘If your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light’ (Lk.11:34).

The purpose of religion, then, is to teach us how to see and be present to reality. That’s why Jesus today tells us to ‘be awake’ and ‘stay watchful.’

And this is where staring out the window (or at an image of Christ), becomes so important, for prayer is not primarily saying words or thinking thoughts. Rather, it’s a stance. It’s a way of living in the Presence, living in awareness of the Presence, and even of enjoying the Presence. For the contemplative is not just aware of God’s Loving Presence, but trusts, allows and delights in it.

When we allow the Holy Spirit to gently flow in and through us, we begin to see what is, to see who we are, and to see what is happening. 

What is – is love. It is God, who is love itself, giving away God every moment as the reality of our life. 

Who we are is love, too, because we are created in God’s image. 

And What is happening is God living in us, with us, and through us as love. [iv]

So, this Advent, take time to stare out a window. And ask yourself: do I really have 4,000 weeks?

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[i] Alain de Botton, The School of Life, Penguin, London, 2020, pp.120-121.

[ii] Describing the human mind, Plato said that our ideas are like birds fluttering around in the aviary of our brains. But before we can get these birds to settle, we need to make time for purpose-free calm.

[iii] Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, Penguin, London, 2022.

[iv] Richard Rohr, Daily Meditations: A Contemplative Heart – Be Awake, 23 August 2023.

The Kingdom of God

[Ezek.34:11-12, 15-17; 1Cor.15:20-26, 28; Mt.25:31-46]

There have been some good leaders in history.

King Louis IX of France was one. He cared for the poor, acted justly and was declared a saint. King Christian X of Denmark was another. During World War II, he saved 7,500 Jews from a cruel death by smuggling them to Sweden.

But there have been some awful tyrants, too, like Hitler and Stalin who manipulated and murdered countless people. It’s because of these dreadful leaders that Pope Pius XI in 1925 established today’s Feast of Christ the King.

Pope Pius worried that too many people followed the Nazis, communists and fascists, and wanted to remind us of our need for a leader who won’t exploit the weak or poor. He also wanted us to remember that God created the world and that Christ came to show us ‘the way, the truth and the life’ (Jn.14:6).

The irony here is that Jesus didn’t want to be celebrated as a king. In John’s Gospel, when the crowds try to force him to become their king, Jesus escapes to the mountains (Jn.6:15). And when Pontius Pilate asks Jesus if he is a king, he vaguely replies, ‘It is you who say it’ (Jn.18:37).

Why did Jesus hide his kingship? It’s because he knew no-one would understand what it meant. Everyone in those days expected kings to have power, riches and authority, but Jesus came to reveal a very different kind of leadership.

By coming to us as a vulnerable child and by living an obscure life in a small town, Jesus teaches us that true kingship is reflected in things like compassion and humble service.

In his book ‘Once Upon a Gospel,’ William Bausch says that the feast of Christ the King has nothing to do with crowns, palaces or robes.  Rather, it’s all about us getting our priorities straight.

It’s about the way we live and who we choose to follow in our everyday lives. [i]

It’s important to get this right, because in today’s Gospel Jesus says that one day, we will all have to account for ourselves, and that will be when he starts separating ‘the sheep from the goats.’

The sheep are those who will inherit God’s kingdom. They are the ones who live as Jesus did: feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty; welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick and visiting prisoners.

The goats, however, will be those who are left behind. They’re the ones who would rather be rich or famous than help the poor. They prefer fun and glamour over caring for the weak, and they’d rather keep up with the Joneses than care for those who suffer.

This is how we’ll all be judged when our time comes: ‘Whatever you do for the least of my people, you do for me,’ Jesus says. 

When Pope Pius XI launched today’s feast day, he said that as our king, Jesus must reign in our minds, so that we firmly believe the truths about him.

He must reign in our wills, so that we obey God’s laws.

He must reign in our hearts, so that we truly love God above everything else.

And he must reign in our bodies, so that we may serve as instruments of justice in the world. [ii]

Let’s close with a story. In 1990, the American pastor Robert Sproul went to communist Eastern Europe to give some talks. He and his group were warned that the Romanian border guards were hostile to Americans and they should be prepared to be hassled and perhaps even arrested.

When they reached the Romanian border, two guards boarded their train. They couldn’t speak English, but brusquely pointed for their passports and luggage, which they wanted to check.

Then, suddenly, their boss appeared. He was a burly officer who spoke broken English. He noticed that one of the women had a paper bag. ‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘What’s in bag?’ He opened it up and pulled out a Bible. Sproul thought, ‘Uh-oh, now we’re in trouble.’

The officer began leafing through the Bible, and stopped and looked at Sproul, who was holding his American passport. ‘You no American,’ he said. He said the same thing to the others in their group. But then he smiled and said, ‘I am not Romanian.’

By now they were all quite confused, but he pointed at the Bible and said, ‘Read what it says.’ Sproul looked at it and it said, ‘Our citizenship is in heaven’ (Phil.3:20a).

The guard was a Christian. He turned to his subordinates and said: ‘Let these people alone. They’re OK. They’re Christians.’ [iii]

The world is quite a different place when we’re all citizens of God’s kingdom.

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[i] Bausch, W.J. Once Upon a Gospel.  Twenty-Third Publications, New London, CT. 2011:315.

[ii] Pope Pius XI, Quas Primas, 1925 http://w2.vatican.va/content/pius-xi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xi_enc_11121925_quas-primas.html

[iii] https://www.ligonier.org/learn/articles/what-is-kingdom-god

The Beehive

(Prov.31:10-13,19-20,30-31; 1Thess.5:1-6; Mt.25:14-30)

Religious symbols are common in Church art and architecture. There’s the Cross, of course, and wheat, grapes, flames, lambs, lions and even pelicans. But have you noticed any bees?

In Rome, bees can be found decorating many buildings, paintings, candlesticks, vestments and even a papal coat of arms. Indeed, real bee hives have long been kept on the roof of Notre-Dame in Paris. Why?

Well, bees provide wax for the Paschal candle and they symbolise purity and hard work. They are also known for being vigilant and fiercely protective of their queen. But bees also symbolise wisdom, for they collect nectar from many flowers and transform it into delicious golden honey, which adds sweetness and light to the lives of so many.

And importantly, as St John Chrysostom once said, the bee is more honoured than other animals, not because she labours, but because she labours for others. This idea of selfless labour is at the heart of Jesus’ Parable of the Talents in today’s Gospel.

A man plans to go away, but before going he leaves his money in the hands of his three servants. (In ancient times, a talent was a measurement of gold or silver.)

The first servant uses his talents well, as does the second. They both double their investment, but the third man simply buries his talent in a hole. When the owner returns, he praises and rewards the first two. But he’s unhappy with the third man because he has been unproductive, and he confiscates his talent.

The lesson for us here is that you must use whatever gifts God has given you, otherwise you will lose them.

Bishop Robert Barron says that we should think of these talents as everything we have ever received from God – our life, our breath, our strength, our abilities and all our many blessings.  And because they come from God, they are meant to become gifts for others. But if you cling to them, as the third servant did, your talents will not grow. They will simply wither away and die.

So, how does God want us to use our gifts? Jesus has already shown us how: by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the lonely, guiding the lost, helping the homeless and comforting the afflicted.

Helping whoever needs help.

The point is that when God gave us our human hearts, he did not expect us to use them selfishly. We know from experience that when we turn inward and hoard all our blessings for ourselves, we end up feeling miserable. Sure, we might feel good for a while, and on the surface we might seem fine, but the reality is that the more we hoard, the emptier we feel inside.

The message from today’s Gospel is that we are not really living unless we use what we have to benefit others.

St John Paul II was fond of saying that ‘Man finds himself only by making himself a sincere gift to others.’ [i] In other words, the more you give yourself away, the more God will give you and the happier and more blessed you will be.

This is how bees live: they use what little they have, and work without rest for the common good. They are also prepared to sacrifice themselves for the good of the hive.

Someone who lived like this was Antonio Stradivarius, who was born in Cremona, Italy in 1644. He loved music and wanted to be a musician, but he had such a high and squeaky voice that he couldn’t join a choir.

Antonio had a talent for wood-carving, however. When he was 22, he was apprenticed to Nicholas Amati, a well-known violin maker. Under his master’s training, Antonio developed his carving skills and his hobby became his craft.

He opened his own violin shop when he was 36, and worked patiently and faithfully. By the time he died in 1737, aged 93, he had built over 1,500 violins. Today, his instruments are the most expensive and sought after violins in the world.

Stradivarius was not a singer, a music player or a teacher of music. However, he used the talent God gave him to make a real difference in the lives of others. It made him feel good inside, and his legacy truly lives on today.

It was St Ambrose of Milan who likened the Church to a beehive. In a beehive, he noticed, all the bees spend their lives working together tirelessly for the common good of the hive. [ii]

This is how Jesus wants us to live.

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[i] Gaudium et Spes (n.24).

[ii] https://aleteia.org/2019/10/09/the-meaning-of-bees-and-beehives-in-christian-art/

The Lamp of Love

[Wis.6:12-16; 1Thess.4:13-17; Mt.25:1-13]

‘A wise person,’ someone once said, ‘has a big heart, a curious brain and open ears.’

But what is wisdom? Essentially, it’s intelligence combined with deep understanding. It’s also something that takes a lifetime to acquire, because it only comes with age, experience and maturity.

Wisdom is greatly prized all around the world. Why? Because it provides a lamp for our steps. That’s especially important in this age of information overload, because wisdom helps us see the big picture. It helps us to understand what really matters, and then to make sound choices and decisions.

The Bible often speaks of wisdom, and describes it as ‘better than gold’ (Prov.16:16). It also distinguishes between worldly wisdom and Godly wisdom (Jas.3:13-18; 1Cor.3:19).

Worldly wisdom sees things from the human perspective (Mt.16:23). It exalts the self above others, it tends to be opinionated and it can lead to selfishness, jealousy and pride.

Godly wisdom is different, however. It lets us see things from God’s point of view. It’s marked by humility, mercy and love, and it’s peace-loving, gentle and sincere. And because God is the source and cause of all things, Godly wisdom reflects truth.

Our world is full of ideologies and sayings that often sound like great wisdom. They might help some people, however they tend to lead us away from God. As the Book of Proverbs says, ‘There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death’ (Prov.14:12).

Jesus’ Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids, in Matthew’s Gospel today, is essentially about wisdom. But let’s begin with some background to the story.

In ancient Hebrew tradition, when a couple married, they didn’t go on honeymoon; they stayed at home. The bride and her bridesmaids waited at the bride’s home for the groom and his entourage to arrive, and he typically arrived in the evening, after sunset. Then they all went off singing and dancing to his home for a big wedding celebration.

In this parable, the groom is delayed for some reason and he and his friends arrive very late at the bride’s home. By this time, all ten bridesmaids have fallen asleep and their lamps have gone out.

This isn’t a problem for the five wise bridesmaids, because they are well prepared with extra oil. They wake up, they refill their lamps and they’re ready to go.

The other five bridesmaids, however, have been wasting their time. They aren’t prepared and have run out of oil. They set off to buy some and by the time they return they’ve missed the celebrations.

The parable then ends with the warning: ‘Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.’

This parable is essentially about Christ’s Second Coming, which St Paul in our second reading reminds us is sure to happen one day. Jesus is the bridegroom, and we are the waiting bridesmaids.

The roots of this theme of Jesus as the bridegroom can be found in the Old Testament. You may recall that in Isaiah, God is called the bridegroom of Israel (Is.54:5-8), and this image is reflected in Solomon’s Song of Songs. As well, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus refers to himself as ‘the bridegroom’ (Mt.9:35).

What this story presents is two very different attitudes towards the coming of Christ. For those who are wise, this event is much too important to miss and they make sure they are ready.

But for those who are foolish, Jesus’ coming really isn’t of much concern. Their casual approach, however, means that they miss out on the festivities.

The question for us today, then, is this: are we to be counted among the wise or the foolish?

The lamps Jesus speaks of in this parable are lamps of love. Are we wise enough to keep our lamps burning brightly for when Jesus arrives? Or are we too distracted by other things? ‘Everyone will know that you are my disciples by the love you have for one another,’ Jesus says in John 13:35.

Wise disciples of Jesus will tend their lamps with special care. But how do we keep our lamps of love burning? Through a continuous input of small drops of oil.

And what are these drops of oil? They are the small things we do with great love for others each day: little words of kindness, thoughtful gestures of service and simply being a healing presence.

These are the drops of wisdom that feed the lamp of love in our hearts.

Sharing in His Fatherhood

[Mal.1:14-2.2,8-10; 1Thess.2:7-9,13; Mt.23:1-12]

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, ‘Call no-one on earth your father, for you have one Father, the one in heaven.’

Why then do Catholics call priests ‘Father’?

We are sometimes criticised for this, but that reflects a misunderstanding of what Jesus is saying to us. Let me explain.

In Matthew 23, Jesus is in the Temple shortly before his Crucifixion. He is talking to the people, and warns them about the Scribes and Pharisees. These Jewish leaders know their Bible, he says, but they’re hypocrites. They like to be admired, and they love fancy titles, especially being called ‘Master’ and ‘Teacher’ and ‘Father.’ But don’t be like them, Jesus says.

Jesus is not saying never, ever, call anyone your ‘father’ or ‘teacher.’ He’s not speaking literally, because your teacher is still your teacher, and your father is still your father. But he is reminding us that everything comes from God; that God is the first of all fathers, and that Christ himself is the first of all teachers. 

The Scribes and Pharisees, however, think they’re the ultimate authority on everything. Don’t be like that, Jesus says. Be humble, because everything comes from God. Then he adds, ‘Anyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.’

Why, then, do we call our priests ‘Father’?

Well, firstly, it’s a sign of respect. In Acts 7:2, Stephen refers to ‘our father Abraham’. Jesus also calls Abraham ‘father’ (Jn.8:56), and Paul speaks of ‘our father Isaac’ (Rom.9:10). They respect Abraham and Isaac as the earliest fathers of the faith.

Secondly, priests are our spiritual fathers. Paul tells the Corinthians, ‘(You are) my beloved children …For I became your father in Christ Jesus through the Gospel’ (1Cor.4:15). He also tells Timothy (2Tim.2:1), Titus (Tit.1:4), Onesimus (Phil.10) and the Galatians (Gal.4:19) that he is their spiritual father.

And thirdly, calling someone ‘Father’ highlights the special responsibility God has given him. In the Book of Job, Job calls himself ‘…a father to the poor’ (Job 29:16). In Genesis, Joseph tells his brothers, ‘God has made me a father to Pharaoh …and ruler over Egypt’ (Gen.45:8). 

In a similar way, God has given his priests a special responsibility to look after his people, with the care and humility that you’d expect from a good father.

But there are other fathers for us to consider.

The French artist Paul Cézanne (1839-1906) is often called the ‘Father of Modern Painting.’ For 35 years he lived in obscurity, producing masterpieces that he gave away to neighbours. He loved his work so much that he didn’t worry about recognition; nor did he think he’d ever become famous.

Cézanne owes his fame to a Paris dealer who discovered his paintings and organised his first exhibition. The world was amazed to discover this new master, and Cézanne was amazed by the attention he received. He arrived at the art gallery leaning on his son’s arm, and couldn’t contain his surprise when he saw his paintings displayed. He turned to his son and said, ‘Look, they’ve framed them!’[I] 

Matisse called Cézanne ‘the father of us all,’ and Picasso claimed him as ‘my one and only master.’ [ii] But Cezanne always remained humble. (Interestingly, in 2011 his painting ‘The Card Players’ was sold for $274 million.) [iii]

Cezanne was the ‘Father of Modern Painting.’ Why? Because God gave him a share in his own creative fatherhood.

Another father for us to consider is St Martin de Porres. Today (5^th November) is his feast day. Martin was born in 1579, in Lima, Peru, into very humble circumstances. When his mother, a former slave-girl, sent him to the market, he often returned empty-handed because he’d given the food to the poor.

At 15, he joined the Dominicans, but he never became a priest. Instead, he spent his life caring for the sick, the poor, the homeless and the dying, and he came to be known as ‘the Father of Charity’ and ‘Father of the Poor.’

Why was St Martin called this? It’s because God had given him a share of his own compassionate Fatherhood, just as God had given Cezanne a share of his creative Fatherhood.

In the same way, God gives his priests a share in his spiritual Fatherhood, and that’s why we call them ‘Father.’ But God is always the original father, the original teacher, and the original master, for everything comes from God.

As for us today, if you have received any special titles, responsibilities or blessings, don’t let them go to your head.

As Jesus says, everything comes from God. 

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[i] Anthony de Mello, Taking Flight. New York: Image Books, 1990:111-112.

[ii] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_C%C3%A9zanne

[iii] http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/11596376/The-ten-most-expensive-paintings-in-history.html

The Ten Commandments

[Ex.22:20-26; 1Thess.1:5c-10; Mt.22:34-40]

Some time ago, a person of Protestant persuasion challenged me, asking: ‘What right does the Catholic Church have to change the Ten Commandments?’

At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was adamant that the Church had changed the Ten Commandments to suit itself. Since then, I’ve looked into this story, and now I’d like to share it with you.

The Ten Commandments are recorded in two books of the Bible (Ex.20:1-17; Deut.5:4-21). In both places the words are almost identical, but there’s no numbering system at all. This is puzzling, because the Bible mentions ‘Ten’ commandments three times (in Ex.34:28; Deut.4:13; and 10:4). But it doesn’t say how the words should be divided up to make 10 commandments. 

If you read these two texts carefully, you’ll notice that there are actually more than ten commands (or imperative statements) in them. In Exodus (20:1-17), for example, there are 14 commands. Most of them begin with ‘You shall …’

Centuries ago, various scholars tried to solve this problem by devising ways to identify the 10 commandments. So, today there are three main approaches:

• One is called the Talmudic division, and it’s used by most Jews;
• St Augustine devised another approach in the 5^th Century, and it’s mainly used by Catholics and Lutherans. (This tradition began long before anyone numbered the verses in the Bible); and
• A third method, called the Philonic division, was devised by the Church Father, Origen. The Protestants copied this from the Eastern Orthodox. 

What’s the difference? Well, comparing the Augustinian and Philonic methods, the main difference is in the grouping of the first and last commandments. St Augustine combined the commands about worshipping God at the beginning of the list, and he separated the commands about moral wrongs at the end. The Philonic method does exactly the opposite.

For example, St Augustine identified the last two commandments as:

9.   Thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s wife; and

10. Thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s goods.

But the Philonic method combines them:

10.  Thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife … nor anything that is thy neighbour’s.

However you slice and dice the commandments, though, the words haven’t changed. They’re just numbered differently. And while the Catholic Church does mainly use St Augustine’s method, it doesn’t prefer one method over another. It considers them all acceptable.

So, what is the point of this story? I think this story does two things. Firstly, it demonstrates that so much division in our world comes from misunderstanding. Our world would be so much happier if we all took the time to get to know each other better.

Secondly, this story reminds us that many people tend to focus on the letter of the law, rather than its spirit or essence. Their approach is rather legalistic.

The Pharisees were like that. They identified 613 laws in the Torah (the first five books of the Bible), and spent all their time worrying about complying with the details, rather than trying to understand their meaning and purpose.

In today’s Gospel, the Pharisees ask Jesus which is the greatest commandment of the Law. Jesus side-steps the 613 laws in the Torah and goes straight to the heart of what they’re all about. He replies that the greatest and first commandment is to ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind’ (Deut.6:5).

Then he says that the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (Lev.19:18).

Loving God and loving our neighbour are two sides of the same coin. Together they represent the very essence of our faith. This is what it means to be Christian. But you must do both; it’s not enough to love God and ignore your suffering neighbour. And it’s not enough to love your neighbour while turning your back on God.

This is what Jesus is telling us. He basically says that we don’t have to be too concerned about the 613 laws in the Torah. We don’t even have to worry about the detail of the original Ten Commandments. For if we truly love God and our neighbour, with all our hearts, souls and minds, then we’ll naturally avoid breaking any of the Ten Commandments, regardless of the way they are numbered.

That’s why Jesus says, ‘On these two commandments hang the whole law and the prophets also’.

This is the very heart of our Christian faith. 

How well do you love God and your neighbour?

Giving to Caesar, Giving to God

[Isa.45:1,4-6; 1Thess.1:1-5b; Mt.22:15-21]

In Matthew’s Gospel today Jesus utters the famous line ‘give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God’. What does that mean?

To answer that, let’s go back into history. 2,000 years ago, many people in Israel were great haters. The Pharisees, the Jewish leaders, hated the Roman invaders. They also hated the Jewish Herodians who supported the Roman ruler Herod Antipas.

In return, the Herodians hated the Pharisees, because they thought they were too nationalistic. And both the Pharisees and Herodians hated Jesus because (like many people today) they considered him a threat to their comfortable lifestyles. 

In today’s Gospel, however, both groups put their politics aside and join together to challenge Jesus: they ask Him a question about the Roman census tax.  In those days, the Roman Empire expected every man, woman and slave aged between 12 and 65 to pay an annual tax of one denarius – the equivalent of one day’s pay.

The Pharisees hated the tax for religious reasons, while the Herodians supported it for political reasons. But now that doesn’t matter, for they all want to destroy Jesus. So, they ask him, ‘Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’

They’re trying to trap Jesus. They expect that whatever answer He gives will be the wrong one. If He supports the tax He’ll anger the Jews, and if He opposes the tax He’ll upset the Romans. They quietly rub their hands with glee.

But Jesus knows what’s going on. He tells them that they’re hypocrites, and then asks them to show Him the coin they use to pay the census tax. One of them gives him a coin, a denarius. In those days, that coin had the image of the Emperor Tiberius on it.

Now, they are embarrassed. That’s because the first commandment says ‘you shall not have any graven images’, and here they are standing in the Temple, the holiest place in all of Judaism, with a coin bearing a graven image. 

And it gets worse for them. The coin also has an inscription on it which says, ‘Tiberius Caesar Augustus, son of the divine Augustus.’ 

And on the other side of the coin it says ‘Pontifex Maximus’, or supreme priest. Basically, this coin is saying that Caesar is a god. For Jews, this is both blasphemy and idolatry.

Jesus asks them, ‘whose image is this and whose inscription?’ They sheepishly reply, ‘Caesar’s’, and then Jesus says to them, ‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s.’

By focussing on the image stamped on the coin, Jesus is reminding them (and us) that we’re all created in the image of God. Genesis 1:27 tells us that in the beginning, ‘God created humankind in his image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them.’

Jesus is subtly making the point that while Caesar’s image is stamped on the coin, God’s image is actually stamped on us – on our hearts and on our lives. 

By telling us to ‘give to Caesar what is Caesar’s,’ He is instructing us to be good, responsible citizens in this world. We need to pay our dues. And by telling us to ‘give to God what is God’s,’ Jesus is reminding us that we all belong to Him. 

We’re not only citizens of our country; we’re also citizens of God’s Kingdom, and we have responsibilities in both places.  We should not neglect one over the other.

So, how do we give to God what is God’s?

The answer is in next Sunday’s Gospel. That’s when we’ll hear a Pharisee ask Jesus, ‘Master, which is the greatest commandment of the law?’ Jesus replies that we must love God with all our hearts, with all our minds, and with all our souls. Then He say we must love our neighbour as ourselves – and so we should, for if God’s image is inscribed on us, then it must also be inscribed on everyone else around us, too.

That’s how we give to God what is God’s. God created us; He loves us and we all belong to Him. In return, God wants us to love and honour Him. He wants us to recognise all the many blessings He has given us – our families, our friends and our lives.

At the end of our first reading today, God says, ‘…apart from me, all is nothing’ (Is.45:6). 

So, are you giving to God what belongs to God?