Categories
Abbey | Latest News

Homily – Low Sunday – Year A

Fr. William Fennelly: Jesus comes into the closed room, and for the first time, and gives the Holy Spirit to all of the disciples except Thomas, and then Thomas comes in. A few chapters earlier in John, Jesus says to the disciples on learning of the death of Lazarus, “let us go up to Jerusalem”, Thomas’ remark is, “yes, let us go and die with them”. This can be understood in many different ways, but to me, it sounds like he’s pretty sceptical by temperament. And, so here he is, and he’s not going to be easily convinced.

I think there are two problems. The first is by insisting that he actually put his hands in the wounds, he’s focusing on the physical resurrection of Jesus. And the whole point of Jesus giving the Spirit is, “That’s not the point. I’m not gonna be here physically. I’m going to be here through the Spirit.” It’s going to be a different kind of presence. But we can come back to that.

But the other problem is, he doesn’t believe his brother disciples the apostles. He doesn’t take their word. All of us come to faith because of other people, don’t we? Whether it’s our parents who had us baptised, or by someone’s example. But we stay in the faith because of what we see. It’s not just the spoken word, it’s the living word that draws us on. And by the living word, I mean the way we see people act. And I think the church very articulately gives us a clue as to what this means in that first reading, where we see the idealised community of disciples, of Christians, in Acts. Now, we know that’s an ideal picture, and we know from the rest of Acts, there were a lot of problems in the community, but at the end of the day, it was the way they dealt with each other and with everyone else that drew people to them.

And I think this is important, because I think the really important line in this Gospel is one that comes to us directly. Now, we’ve all seen movies or plays where one of the characters will speak directly to the audience, or read a book where the author says, and now, dear reader, and makes a point..

And we see that in today’s Gospel, but we are spoken to not by an author, but by Jesus himself. When he says,” Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed”. That’s us. That’s you. That’s me. And what are the implications of this? Well, just as he sent the disciples into the world. We too, we have that same spirit. So we’re sent forth. We today are the presence of Jesus. Whether we like it or not. Whether we feel we’re up to it or not, it’s real.

I think the way that we act is something clear to describe at least, and it’s something in our control. People will say, well, you tell me that, but I have all of these bad thoughts, I get angry and prevaricate. It’s the decisions we make and the actions we do that we are accountable for. So we can have all kinds of bad thoughts, but what do we decide to do? How do we decide to treat people? How do we  decide to treat ourselves?

For many years, I have worked teaching students, and I get called upon every now and then to give a little bit of advice, and I pass on the advice I got when I first started teaching. A wise person said to me, your students will remember very little of what you try to teach them. They will never forget how you treat them. And I think that is sort of at the crux of how we show Jesus to the world.

Today is a Sunday that also celebrates the mercy of God through Jesus. And so, I think it’s important that in treating others, we not forget to be merciful to ourselves as well. That we need not get discouraged. It’s important not to get discouraged. It can feel like we try and try again to no effect, but we shouldn’t get discouraged because God never gets discouraged in forgiving us. That mercy is always there, waiting for us. We don’t see his wounds, nor do we touch them; rather it is Jesus who both sees and touches our wounds. It’s a hard thing for us to believe that God really wants to be with us. It’s not something we have to make happen. We don’t go up to God. God has come down to us and he’s with us. So, as we go out today, let’s remember that, while Jesus does not have hands and feet in the world today. We do. And that’s our work.

Categories
Abbey | Latest News

Homily – Easter Vigil – Year A

Abbot Columba McCann: I wonder:  when is the last time you threw a tantrum? Can you remember throwing a tantrum, perhaps as a teenager?  Imagine a young person is really angry at their parents.  When the parents are out he takes some eggs out of the fridge and flings them at the kitchen wall.  That feels good! So he goes a little further.  He takes a slab of butter and uses it to write obscenities on the kitchen floor.  Then he really gets into the swing of it.  He slits open a bag of flour and throws it everywhere.  Then just to make it even worse he throws sugar on the floor so that it will crackle under his parents’ feet.  Finally, to make it all look a bit dirtier, he takes a tin of cocoa and empties it around the room.  Then he leaves the house, slams the door and goes off to meet his friends.

Well you can imagine the reaction when the folks get home, faced with utter chaos in their brand new designer kitchen.  Pretty awful, to put it mildly.

And yet you have in all that chaos all the right ingredients to make a beautiful chocolate cake.  I know because I have made them myself.  All you need is to put them together in the right way.  And so you create a chocolate cake.

It’s not a million miles away from the description of how God creates, as recounted in the first reading from Genesis.  This particular piece of writing, more like a poem than a documentary, is not too interested in ideas like creation out of nothing, or the big bang, or how long it really took, and so on.  It’s hard to find the right English words to translate the original Hebrew description of what it was like before God got to work:  tohu vavovu.  Formless and empty, void, desolate, waste and void, without shape.  And it was dark, with some kind of watery mass.  All a description of chaos, you might say.

But the breath of God, the Spirit of God was breathing, blowing like a wind over all of this incoherence.

There are chaotic moments in all our lives:  moments when things don’t make sense or are empty; moments when you don’t have a clear shape about what is going on; moments when you may feel out of control, where everything is uncertain.  But all the ingredients are there, and God is ever-creative.

God brings light into the darkness; God brings order out of chaos; God brings beauty out of wasteland; God brings forth life where there was none.  And how?  God’s Spirit hovers over everything that happens.  And God speaks.  When God says ‘Let there be light’, there is light.  When God speaks, it happens.

Amid the awfulness and chaos and sheer depravity of what was done to Jesus on Good Friday, the Spirit still hovered.  The Spirit raised Jesus from death.  The same Spirit hovered over the waters of our baptism.  Tonight we baptise John and Sara’s baby:  Fionbarra Edward John.  The Spirit hovers over him tonight and for the rest of his life.  The same Spirit accompanies us.  The word of God continues to speak.  Every time we hear the voice of Christ and respond, God continues to create in us and through us.  Every time we respond to the words of Jesus with faith, our world becomes a better place.  If we keep responding, always open to God’s Spirit, attentive to the presence of Christ, we finally grow up into what we were always intended to be:  the image and likeness of God himself.

The amazing fact of the death and resurrection of Jesus is that God, not chaos,  always has the last word, and it is always a word of light and life.

Categories
Abbey | Latest News

Homily – Holy Thursday – Year A

Abbot Columba McCann: Moving house is a high-stress event.  It’s there alongside changing job or losing a life-partner.  Letting go of the familiar and having to adapt to the unknown.  Wondering what it is going to be like.  It’s a kind of bereavement, and it’s also a moment of uncertainty.  A leap of faith into the dark.  Wondering:  will I survive?  Will I get through this?

In ancient times this kind of transition was a regular event for nomadic herders, who moved their flocks every now and then into new pastures.  It was a risky moment, and there was the tradition of offering up one of their lambs and painting the doors of their tents with its blood as a sign of divine protection for the journey ahead.

Small wonder then that this becomes the ritual for the Jewish Passover, celebrating a really extraordinary journey, an amazing transition, out of the slavery of Egypt to freedom, from darkness to light, all under God’s guiding hand.  And every year the Passover meal brought it all back again:  the memory of what God is like:  the one who sets free, the one who protects us on life’s journey.

Around the time of Jesus’ earthly life there was an expectation that the Messiah would finally show himself at Passover, that a new and greater moment of liberation would happen.  And here he is, this evening, at table with his friends at Passover time, about to complete the greatest journey of all before our eyes, the journey all of us must make, the journey from this life to the next.  But for him it’s not a comfortable slipping away under palliative care; it’s the worst possible way to go:  condemned as a blasphemer by his own religion, and crucified like a criminal by the Romans.  Tortured to death and abandoned.

It is perhaps his way of saying:  no matter how dark it gets, no matter how hopeless it looks, I have been there before you.  I have been through the worst that human life can throw at you, and I am alive.   I am your Passover Lamb.  The blood I shed is the sign that I am with you now as your protection on life’s journey.  My lifeblood is not something sprinkled on the outside, but something for you to take into yourself, so that you take me into yourself and begin to live by my risen life.  No matter whatever passage you may walk through, my life will sustain you and lift you up.

Categories
Abbey | Latest News

Homily – Palm Sunday – Year A

Abbot Columba McCann: After such a long and moving gospel account, I will simply share one idea.

We may often think we know the meaning of what the Bible says, but sometimes the real meaning can be surprising and liberating.

When Jesus speaks of Judas, the one who betrays him, he says ‘Alas for him’ or ‘Woe to him’ and goes on to say, ‘It would be better for him if he were not born.’

It can sound like a word of condemnation, suggesting that Judas is going to get what is coming to him in retribution for his betrayal.  But one day a scripture scholar opened my eyes to what Jesus was really saying.

In the language of his own time and place, Jesus’ words ‘Alas for him’ or ‘Woe to him’ meant,  ‘I’m really sorry for him, he’s in a dreadful situation.’

What about the words ‘better for him if he had not been born’?  Does the Bible itself give us any clue as to what this might be about?  These are the words of Job, in the book of Job, the story of a man who goes through intense suffering.  In his pain, Job cries out, ‘Better if I had not been born!’   Jesus is commenting on the sufferings of Judas.

It seems that Jesus is really saying something like this:  ‘I feel so, so sorry for this man.  He is suffering terribly’.  No condemnation.  Words of compassion about the one who betrays him.  This is the kind of Messiah we acclaim waving our palm branches…

Categories
Abbey | Latest News

Homily – 5th Sunday of Lent – Year A

Fr. Henry O’Shea:

I, Lazarus, have seen the brickwork sky,

Its throne is made of night!

Its salt and lime are drying to the eye,

My wandering… 

a sound! a rumble, and a flash of light!

Andrew Fairchild

In exactly two weeks time – despite all current existential terrors and dangers in and from Iran, Ukraine, South Sudan, Washington, Doonbeg and Moscow, just to name a few – we hope to be celebrating the greatest feast of the year – Easter. 

Is Easter for us just one of the growing string of bank-holiday weekends here in our country; a chance to gorge on Easter-eggs, get sozzled and/or stoned, eat too much or take a quick break in the Bahamas – or Bundoran – or all of these together?  

In the night from Holy Saturday to Easter Sunday morning, from the 4th to 5th April we, the Church, will re-tell once again, in the Great Vigil, the wonderful story of what God has done for us in the past, what he is doing now and what he promises for the future. And in re-telling the story, we will re-live it. And in re-living the story we will renew our looking forward to all that it promises. 

One of the most stirring readings in the Easter Vigil is the account from the Old Testament Book of Exodus of how Moses led the people of Israel through the Red Sea – as the account says, ‘water to the right of them, water to the left of them’.   In the course of subsequent centuries the people of Israel – not to be confused with the present Zionist regime – meditated on this experience and came to realise that this text was not just about a political or historical event. This reading was not just about the rescuing of an oppressed minority from a hostile, unwelcoming environment in Egypt, the land of exile.   Rather, they began to see that this account was about God’s leading them into a new way of being with him.   

This account was and is about their, about our, being rescued from the Egyptian captivity of an aimless, hopeless and endless circle of human inadequacy, greed, injustice, exploitation, dissatisfaction, despair and fear.   This account was and is about a saving of the people of Israel from themselves, the saving of us from ourselves. This account is about their and our being made able to imagine, being made able to believe, being made able to live, being made able to love, and above all, being made able to hope.   

In all the gospel passages in the weeks leading up to Easter, we are told something about the mind and workings of the God whose great deeds we are going to sing about this Easter and at all our Easters, including those that happen outside the actual season.  And in this singing we are also told about the demanding possibilities opened to us by the mind and workings of this God who, we believe, became man in Jesus Christ. We are reassured that what we might regard as humanly impossible can become incarnationally possible.

Today’s gospel, with the story of the raising of Lazarus, is a kind of preview, showing as it does Christ’s capacity to give life, to be the life of the believer.  The writer of the gospel passage has Jesus say: ‘I am the resurrection. If anyone believes in me even though they die, they will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.’ And then Jesus asks Martha, asks each one of us, ‘Do you believe this?’ And then Jesus goes on to call on the Father in whose power he raises Lazarus to life. This speaks to the Lazarus in all of us.

Remembering that all the readings at Mass have to be listened to through the echo-chamber of their reference to Christ, today’s first reading from the Prophet Ezekiel promises that our graves will be opened, that he will put his Spirit in us and we will live. In the Letter to the Romans St Paul reminds us that the Spirit of God, the Spirit of Christ, has made his home in us and that it is this Spirit who does give and will give meaning and resurrection to our own living, meaning and resurrection to our own dying.

When Christ promises to settle us in our own land, on the soil of the new Israel of the baptised, he is not promising only a bodily resurrection. He is also promising to bring us – and reminding us that he has already brought us – safely across the Red Sea of the officially nice and holy, bringing us safely across the Red Sea of the any current consensus, safely away from those who want to snatch from us our responsibility for our own lives and hearts – those who want to  diminish us, confine us, within the constraints of their own frightened, regulating, essentially tiny minds and shrivelled hearts.   We are told that along with this liberation, we are beckoned across to a responsibility which is big-minded, big-hearted, honest, open to the truth; able to recognise that truth with a sensitive and sensitised conscience; able to do that truth.

In the situations in which we find ourselves, one might ask if what has just been said doesn’t sound like so much bluster, bad poetry or whistling in the wind. One thing is sure: this is not a time for glib, superficial answers, fraudulent explanations, not a time for scoring theological or anti-theological points. 

The present world crises are proving not just a challenge to do, a challenge to live the truth. All day every day we experience examples of thousands of people risking and even laying down their lives for others. Crises can bring out the best in people. Crises require us to put our hearts and hands and, indeed, our money, where our mouths are. Crises such as the one we are going through in these weeks and months, these Red Seas we are crossing, put things in perspective. Crises challenge us to use our intelligence, ingenuity and generosity to conquer them but also force us to ask ourselves what is really true, what is really valuable, what is really worth living for what is really worth dying for. We are challenged to love our fellow humans not just in a milk-and-water theoretically benevolent way –‘be kind’ – but by doing, or sometimes not-doing; by being there for one another, however much we may differ in areas of belief and aspiration.    

As the community of those who are saved from ourselves, from our smallnesses, from our absurdities;  as the forgiven community of those rescued by the skin of our teeth from the death of our sins, we Christians try to be worthy of Jesus’s compassionate words, ‘This sickness will end, not in death but in God’s glory, and through it the Son of God will be glorified.’ 

This is what we are looking forward to singing about at the great Vigil on Holy Saturday night.

O bright the door that leads me back to life!

But, bidden! I must change my sleep for strife!

Thank you, heart-friend!

I thought that you’d forgot!

Who made me breathe, ‘I AM!’ when I was not.

Forgive!  I cannot hear, my head’s like snow,

AH!  That’s it, ‘loose the man, and let him go!

Andrew Fairchild

Categories
Abbey | Latest News abbeynews

Homily – 4th Sunday of Lent – Year A

Fr. Simon Sleeman: John, in his gospel is on an urgent mission but he is not in a hurry. He is patient…he gives us every chance to get it – gives us sign after sign to convince us that this man, Jesus, was sent by God and is truly the Son of God. Sent, sent, sent….40 times John says it in one way or another….Today we have the sixth sign…one more to go…the raising of Lazarus…and then the biggest one of all, the resurrection…Today he is after our possible blindness to the truth.

John sets this ‘sign’ up carefully. First, Jesus heals the man born blind – something he didn’t even ask for – breaks the Sabbath, and having stirred things up sufficiently, disappears – his longest absence in the gospel.

And then John then goes at…challenging us, putting us, his audience to work for some self-reflection on the health of our sight  – invites to watch his carefully chosen protagonists, enter the stage, in pairs – and decide…. ‘Who do you say I am?’ ‘A man sent by God?’  Well, I’m not sure about that…and we watch as blindness unfolds before our very eyes.

First the Indifferent Eye: the locals – friends, neighbours – filled with curiosity at this happening in our quiet village…nothing ever happens here. They are don’t care who did it they just can’t wait to bring him to the religious experts, the Pharisees and see how they react. Their indifference and sense of inadequacy blinds them.

And the man born blind sees this man, Jesus.

Next the Judgemental Eye: Enter the Pharisees –  the respectable people, the religious experts of their day, the recognised authority on the scriptures and the law – they don’t hesitate – they pronounce their verdict quick time, their minds settled…closed…‘he is a sinner’ ‘breaking the Sabbath’. No question…end of matter.

Judgement blinds them and the man born blind acknowledges Jesus as a prophet.  (I sometimes wish this man had a name, but maybe he is all of us)

Next up, ‘The Fearful Eye: The Pharisees, irritated by the whole scene send, as one does on such occasions, for his parents.  ‘The parents are out of their depth and intimidated by the authorities. ‘It is not our fault, we know nothing about this’, ‘Ask him. He is old enough’. And fear takes over, and blinds them.  And the Pharisees murmur.

The Man born blind acknowledges that Jesus is from God.

The parents exit, quietly, and more Jews arrive. Our friend gets a further grilling …Now it is his turn to be irritated – he even makes fun of them and is not the least intimidated but just astonished at their lack of insight.

Next the Resentful Eye: The Jews, angry with this once blind man and resentful of this disruptive, meddling Jewish Jesus, chase the Man born blind into darkness – they think, they hope…their anger and resentment spilling over, they are blind.

And then as if from nowhere, Jesus re-appears. He heard how the Pharisees had mistreated his friend and he went looking for him… they meet and Jesus looked at him and loved him. The man born blind sees Jesus for the first time and recognises the sign which everyone else missed… God present and at work in his life and the man born blind believed in this man sent by God, this Son of Man and worshipped him.

John leads us slowly.. Who do you see? Maybe we don’t, can’t see- sight dimmed by indifference, sight closed by judgement, by murmuring, sight shut down by fear, clouded by resentment and anger? 

And finally, John  presents the Loving Eye. See the ‘truth’, ‘love’ standing before you  …The Son of Man inviting you…. ‘Unless you see a thing in the light of love’, John tells us, ‘you will not see it at all’. It is with the loving eye that reality is revealed, blindness healed, and life transfigured and renewed. Love is the light in which we see light.

‘Yes’ you are the Christ, the Son of God’. You have the message of eternal life….Yes, yes, yes.’  I see….

Categories
Abbey | Latest News abbeynews

Homily – Third Sunday of Lent – Year A

Fr. Denis Hooper: THE ENGLISH COMEDIAN NOEL COWARD SANG A SONG IN THE 1950’S TITLED “MAD DOGS AND ENGLISHMEN GO OUT IN THE MIDDAY SUN”

SOME OF YOU WILL HAVE GONE ON HOLIDAYS TO HOT COUNTRIES IN THE SUMMER AND WILL HAVE EXPERIENCED WHAT IT IS LIKE DURING A SEVERE HEATWAVE. ANYONE WITH A BIT OF SENSE STAYS INDOORS DURING THE MIDDAY SUN WITH THE AIRCONDITIONING TURNED UP TO FULL!

I CAN ONLY IMAGINE THE HEAT OF THE MIDDAY SUN IN PALESTINE. PEOPLE CAN COLLAPSE FROM HEAT EXHAUSTION. SOME PEOPLE EVEN DIE FROM IT.

I LEARNED A LESSON FROM A PARAMEDIC WHO TREATED A MAN WHO HAD COLLAPSED FROM HEAT EXHAUSTION – NEVER WEAR LONG PANTS IN A HEATWAVE – THEY TRAP THE HEAT. ONLY WEAR SHORTS…

IN FLORIDA THEY SAY THAT AT MIDDAY YOU COULD FILE A MISSING PERSON REPORT. LOOKING FOR YOUR SHADOW.

WHEN YOU COME INTO THIS CHURCH – ON THE LEFT AS YOU ENTER – YOU WILL SEE A PAINTING OF JESUS AND THE SAMARITAN WOMAN AT THE WELL. THE TITLE OF THE PAINTING IS “DE PROFUNDIS” WHICH TRANSLATES “OUT OF THE DEPTHS”

“OUT OF THE DEPTHS” IS A QUOTE FROM PSALM 130 AND THE PAINTING IS INSPIRED BY THIS QUOTE – ALONG WITH TODAY’S GOSPEL FROM JOHN

THE COLOURS IN THE PAINTING SUGGEST THE BURNING HEAT OF THE MIDDAY SUN 

THE SAMARITAN WOMAN IN THE PAINTING IS HOLDING A BUCKET. JESUS HAS HIS HANDS FREE  – SHE LOOKS STRESSED – HE LOOKS CALM. LOTS OF CONTRASTS

JEWS AND SAMARITANS DID NOT GET ALONG – THEY BELIEVED IN THE SAME GOD BUT HAD FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCES ABOUT HOW AND WHERE THEY WORSHIPPED GOD.

JESUS STARTS THE CONVERSATION WITH THE WOMAN

IT SOON BECOMES CLEAR THAT THEY ARE NOT ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH. BOTH OF THEM TALK ABOUT WATER BUT THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT DIFFERENT KINDS OF WATER.

SHE IS TALKING ABOUT WATER THAT QUENCHES THE THIRST. IT IS A LIQUID JUST LIKE A COLA OR ANY LIQUID WHICH QUENCHES OUR THIRST

JESUS OFFERS A WATER WHICH IS DIFFERENT – A SPIRITUAL WATER – THE WATER OF LIFE – “UISCE BEATHA” -THE WATER WHICH ADDRESSES OUR MOST FUNDAMENTAL SPIRITUAL LONGINGS

I RECENTLY LISTENED TO BOB GELDOF BEING INTERVIEWED BY BRENDAN O’CONNOR ABOUT HOW HE DEALT WITH THE TERRIBLE GRIEF HE HAS EXPERIENCED IN HIS LIFE: THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER WHEN HE WAS NINE; HIS FORMER WIFE; AND HIS DAUGHTER. I RECOMMEND ANYONE TO LISTEN TO THE PODCAST OF THE INTERVIEW AS IT IS – PROFOUNDLY DE PROFUNDIS- PROFOUNDLY “OUT OF THE DEPTHS”!

I CAN’T HELP ASKING MYSELF THAT IF HE WAS AWARE OF THE HEALING WATER JESUS OFFERS THAT IN SOME WAY BOB GELDOF WOULD HAVE FOUND A DEEPER WELL HE COULD HAVE DRAWN FROM. 

JESUS TELLS US: “BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO MOURN, THEY SHALL BE CONSOLED”

BOB GELDOF SAID HE DIDN’T PICK HIS SCABS OF GRIEF. BUT I KNOW THAT WHEN I HAVE A SCAB I INEVITABLY BUMP IT AGAINST SOMETHING, OFTEN CAUSING IT TO BLEED. 

TO CONTINUE WITH THAT IMAGERY, I AM CERTAIN THAT THOSE OF US WHO EXPERIENCE GRIEF AND WHO TURN TO JESUS FOR THE HEALING WATER HE OFFERS US IN OUR GRIEF –

– WE DO NOT HAVE “SCABS OF GRIEF”. RATHER THOSE SCABS FOR US ARE HEALING SCARS WHERE WE FIND SOME COMFORT AND MEANING IN OUR GRIEF… –  BUT THEY ARE SCARS NONETHELESS AND THEY NEVER DO GO AWAY

THE LESSON FROM TODAY’S GOSPEL IS THAT IF YOU TURN TO THE LORD YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED. YOU TOO MAY DRINK OF THE WATER OF LIFE – “THE UISCE BEATHA” –  JESUS OFFERS TO EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US

LET’S TURN TO PSALM 130 ONCE AGAIN 

TOWARDS THE END OF THE PSLAM GIVES MEANING TO THE KIND OF WATER JESUS OFFERS THE SAMARITAN WOMAN:

PSALM 130 SAYS: “HOPE IN THE LORD

FOR WITH THE LORD THERE IS UNFAILING LOVE AND FULLNESS OF REDEMPTION”

I HAVE JUST FINISHED READING JAMES PLUNKETT’S BRILLIANT NOVEL, STRUMPET CITY. ONE OF THE CENTRAL CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK IS RASHERS TIERNEY – A MAN BARELY ABLE TO SURVIVE FROM DAY TO DAY, LIVING IN THE AWFUL POVERTY OF THE DUBLIN SLUMS IN THE EARLY 20TH CENTURY.

RASHERS HAS A ROW WITH A YOUNG PRIEST, FR.O’CONNOR AND SAYS HE IS GOING TO CHANGE PARISHES AS A RESULT. HE SAYS HE IS GOING TO KNOCK ON THE DOOR OF A CHURCH IN A NEARBY PARISH. HE KNOWS WHAT GOD WILL SAY TO HIM: “COME ON IN RASHERS, I KNEW YOUR KNOCK”.

WE PRAY THAT GOD WILL RECOGNISE OUR KNOCK ON THE DAY WE CALL ON HIM FOR THE WATER OF LIFE

Categories
Abbey | Latest News abbeynews

Homily – First Sunday of Lent – Year A

Fr. Jarek Kurek: Some fifteen hundred years ago there lived a holy man who, like Abraham, who we heard about in the 1st reading, was not afraid to take risks. Because of that courage, that holy man was richly blessed by God; and again, like Abraham, he became a blessing for countless people in the centuries that followed.

Most of you here, I’m sure, know this saint well, as students of a Benedictine school. It is St Benedict—Benedictus in Latin, a name that simply means “blessed”—whom I want to speak to you about today.

Benedict must have been around your age when he made his first major life decision. Disappointed with the world he lived in—despite receiving a good education—he chose to leave it behind. At first glance, this might seem like a reckless move. But deep down, Benedict knew exactly what he was doing. It was not an impulsive escape, but a well-informed decision. As his biographer tells us, “even as a boy, Benedict had the heart of an elder.” Already as a boy he had the heart of and elder…

So he left everything because he wanted to respond fully to God’s call and to serve Him alone. This marked the beginning of Benedict’s journey into the mountains—both literally and spiritually.

The beginnings were not easy. Benedict chose a harsh way of life: high up in the wilderness, with little food and great isolation. Yet aren’t these very challenges the ones that test a person’s character and shape true resilience?

Before long, word of his radical way of life spread, and disciples began to arrive. People wanted to learn from him and to live as he did. Eventually, Benedict was asked to lead a nearby community. This is where he truly began to learn about human nature—about how difficult it can be to guide others. And believe me, this was not an easy lesson. In fact, this was the moment when Benedict lived out, in its fullest sense, the exhortation we heard from St Paul in today’s second reading: “Join with me in suffering for the Gospel.”

What happened? The very community he was leading tried to poison him. Why? Because Benedict’s standards were too demanding for them. He aimed too high. And how did he respond? He did not retaliate or argue. Instead, he calmly left. Once again, he made a wise and well-discerned decision.

At that time, Benedict felt it was better to live alone with God. He withdrew because he saw things differently. He had a broader, more global vision—one that allowed him to grow even further in wisdom.

In time, Benedict was blessed with deeper spiritual insight and new disciples who truly wanted to learn from him. It was through these experiences, and his remarkably visionary approach, that the Rule of St Benedict was born. This famous document responded to the needs of people in Benedict’s own day, it paved the way for many generations—and it continues to guide thousands of monks around the world, as well as many lay people who strive to live according to its spirit.

It was also Benedict who set the pattern of placing monasteries high in the mountains—think of Monte Cassino. Even today, many Benedictine monasteries are blessed with truly spectacular locations, places that lift both the eyes and the soul.

Finally, consider Benedict’s own experience of a kind of Transfiguration. All his life, he aimed high, relentlessly moving upward. In the final phase of his life, he was granted an overwhelming vision of light. We are told that he saw the whole world gathered into a single ray of sunlight. Within that light, he saw a soul being carried upward by angels in a ball of fire. And I like to believe that there, as in today’s Gospel, Benedict beheld Christ himself—revealed in his cosmic glory.

Gregory the Great, Benedict’s biographer, explains how such a vision was possible. It happened because Benedict’s mind and heart had grown so vast that they could embrace the whole world.

And that is my message to you: aim high. Take risks. Grow in wisdom. Imitate St Benedict by expanding your heart and your mind, and step by step, become a person of his stature. Thus you too will be a blessing for many.

 

Categories
Abbey | Latest News abbeynews

Homily – First Sunday of Lent – Year A

Fr. Lino Moreira: When Jesus was baptised in the River Jordan, the Spirit of God descended upon him (cf. Mt 3:16), and a voice from heaven declared, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’ (Mt 3:17). This event marked the public anointing of Jesus as the Messiah. One might expect him to begin his ministry immediately, but Matthew reports that he was first led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil (cf. Mt 4:1). Jesus spent forty days and forty nights in the wilderness fasting, and when he was hungry, the tempter came, seeking to divert him from his mission. 

“If you are the Son of God,” says the devil, “turn these stones into loaves” (Mt 4:3). The suggestion seems reasonable, even compassionate. Surely, the Messiah’s first and most urgent task would be to feed the hungry, starting with himself, by changing the stones of the desert into bread. Yet human experience shows that even if the world’s scarcity of food and necessities were suddenly overcome, a far deeper hunger would remain: the hunger of the soul. Therefore, Jesus replies, quoting from the Book of Deuteronomy: “It is written, ‘One does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God’” (Mt 4:4). It is only by turning to God that the human soul is satisfied, and it is only by listening to God’s word and living it out that a fair distribution of this world’s riches can be achieved. The role of the Messiah is not to act as a deus ex machina by miraculously providing for everyone’s material needs, but to purify our hearts from selfishness and greed.

Then the devil took [Jesus] to the holy city and set him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘they will bear you up on their hands, lest you strike your foot against a stone’” (Mt 4:5-6). This time the tempter urges Jesus to test whether God will protect him during his mission. Quoting Psalm 90 (91), the devil reminds Jesus that God has promised to watch over his own, particularly within the precincts of his sacred dwelling. Therefore, if the Son of God were to throw himself down from the pinnacle of the temple, his Father would surely keep him from harm. Jesus replies with another quotation from the Book of Deuteronomy: “It is also written, ‘Do not put your God to the test’” (Mt 4:7). Indeed, to seek a demonstration that God is true to his word would be an attempt to reduce him to an object of experimentation, and such pride, which makes genuine trust impossible, undermines the love that alone can sustain a real relationship with God. 

Next, the devil shows Jesus all the kingdoms of the world and their glory, saying: “All these I will give you, if you fall down and worship me” (Mt 4:8). Now Jesus is invited to establish a worldly kingdom, ushering in a golden age of peace and prosperity for all. However, to fulfil what the Law and the prophets say about him (cf. Lk 24:27), the Messiah must remain in the course of human history the seemingly powerless one. He is the suffering servant spoken of by the prophet Isaiah, and only through his obedience and self-giving – through his passion, death and resurrection – can he bring about salvation in accordance with God’s plan. Therefore, quoting from the Book of Deuteronomy for the third time, Jesus replies: “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘The Lord your God shall you worship, and him alone shall you serve’” (Mt 4:10).

When we reflect on Jesus’ temptations, we begin to recognise our own temptations. Our preoccupation with solving immediate problems can make us forget that true life – and indeed peace and justice for our world – comes from listening to God’s word and putting it into practice. Bitter disappointment or fear of what lies ahead can lead us to seek certainty on our own terms rather than trusting in God’s unfailing love. And finally, we can be tempted to worship power and wealth instead of the Lord God, the only one we are called to serve. 

During the forty days of Lent, we are invited to spend time with Jesus in the desert, learning from him how to identify and resist the devil’s deceptions. In this way, our hearts are purified for the joyful celebration of Easter.

Categories
Abbey | Latest News abbeynews

Homily – Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time – Year A

Fr. John O’Callaghan:If you choose you will keep the commandments and so be faithful to his will’. This statement, which we heard from the Old Testament, was followed by the words of Jesus in the gospel ‘if your righteousness does not surpass that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never get into the kingdom of heaven.’ It was the Ten commandments, and a multitude of other precepts, that the scribes and Pharisees were teaching. So there is a difference between the teaching of the Pharisees and what Christ calls for, one surpasses the other. That is what we should consider today, with reference to the examples Christ himself used: murder, adultery and breaking an oath.

Christians know well that the sixth commandment, against adultery, is concerned with the special respect due to, the inviolability of, the relationship between husband and wife: that that relationship is not to be intruded upon by a third party, it is not to be a transitory connection, but a permanent and profound one, where spouses share with each other their true worth and stature. The attraction of the sexes, which in the first instance is a biological law, one of nature’s tricks (one might say), receives a human and spiritual dimension within which fidelity and ties of love can develop.  It is a relationship in which what is sensual becomes spiritual and what is spirit become sensually tangible. A relationship of married love is a way in which a human being can open him or herself up for another.  And that love is not all giving, but it is not all taking either. Anyone who gives love must also receive it as a gift. As Christ said (Jn 7:37) one can become a source from which rivers of living water flow. Yet to become such a source, one must constantly drink anew from the original source. 

And this, we may add, gives us some insight into God. God’s love for us, by  contrast, is totally giving. We know, by simply reflecting, that by his very nature, by definition, God does not need us. He has choosen freely to enter into relationship with us. And his love is more than creative generosity for God is one who forgives, as we see in sacred history. Israel betrayed him, in the language of the Old Testament, committed adultery against him, broke the covenant made at Sinai and worshipped other gods. It would have been entirely fair and right for the people of Israel to be judged, condemned and repudiated. For the relationship to end. But his excess of love was revealed when, in the words of the prophet Hosea, he said: ‘How can I abandon you, O Ephraim! How can I hand you over, O Israel! My heart recoils within me my compassion grows warm and tender… I will not destroy… for I am God, not man, the Holy One in your midst’. God turned against Himself, God’s love is greater than his justice’. It is a prefiguring of the mystery of the Cross: God’s love for humankind goes beyond all reason, beyond justice, by becoming human in Christ, by sharing in our life, our death and gifting us with the resurrection. 

When we encounter this love, as an event, perhaps as a personal experience, we are inspired to a more mature discipleship than straightforward obedience to Ten Commandments and precepts. This is all the difference between the teaching of the Old and New Testaments. The Old is at best a preparation for the New, an education for a better way of living.

The same logic of love applies to the other demands made on us in today’s gospel. ‘You shall not murder’. Within ourselves we may find it obvious that we should not kill someone else. However at the two extremes of life, its beginning and its end, Christian love inspires us to go beyond evaluating life in terms of practical utility and therefore possibly eliminating it; rather we are inspired to  preserve life from conception through to death. We are called to help people to live rather than help them to die. 

And, thirdly, ‘you must not break your oath’. Tell no lie! Do not bear false witness! Truth is a fundamental gift for humanity. All the commandments are commandments of love or are developments of the command to love.  In that sense they all have to do quite explicitly with the precious gift of truth. One recalls the dictum of Edith Stein: ‘Accept nothing  as love if it lacks truth,  accept nothing as truth if it lacks love.’

To conclude, the Christian faith has retained the core of Israel’s faith, while at the same time giving it new breadth and depth. We are not simply called to obey commands for good behaviour; we are called to a personal response to the gift of love received from the God in Christ and which flows over to love of neighbour. The first line of the First Letter of St John articulates the heart of Christian faith and our calling: ‘God is love, and the person who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in that person’. (1 Jn 4:16)

Subscribe To Our Newsletter To Receive Updates

[hubspot type=form portal=6886884 id=9e1d6d0d-c51e-4e35-929d-3a916798de64]