Author: Simon Sleeman

Fr. William Fennelly: On Christmas Day we asked the shepherds‘Whom have you seen? Who has appeared on earth?’ Then came their answer: ‘We have seen the New-Born Child, and choirs of Angels praising the Lord.’ Today’s Feast invites us to ask again: ‘Who has appeared on earth?’ Remember ‘epiphany’ means ‘appearance.’

Let’s ask the Magi. They saw the stars align. They were led to the manger by their own questioning and their following of the star. Maybe the Magi would reply: ‘The heavens tell us of a King born in Israel.’ If they had talked to Mary and Joseph, they might add: ‘This King chose the time of his own birth so the heavens proclaim him.’

This Feast traditionally celebrates three events. In the West, we spread them out; in the East, Our Lord’s Baptism is today’s main event. So let’s ask God the Father: ‘Who has appeared on earth? ’We will hear God add at the Lord’s baptism next Sunday: ‘This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’

Let’s ask the Holy Spirit: ‘Who has appeared on earth?’ or, rather, let’s ask John the  Baptist what the Spirit meant by descending on Jesus. St John in his gospel records the Baptist’s answer: ‘He who sent me… said… “He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain, this is he who baptises with the Holy Spirit”.’

The third event is the Wedding at Cana, when Jesus worked his first sign. To the question, ‘Who has appeared on earth?’ it gives this answer: ‘The Creative Word who turns water into wine. The context in which Jesus worked this sign adds: ‘The Divine Bridegroom come to purchase his Bride.’ Let’s ask St John: ‘Who has appeared on earth?’ He replies, enigmatically: ‘Jesus… manifested (showed) his glory.’

In Greek, epiphany can refer to various types of appearances, among them to the appearing of a god. The Eastern Churches are a bit clearer, and call today Theophany, the Appearing of God. The Feast is not, primarily, about the visit of the Magi to Jesus; it’s about God’s Visit to us, the Solemn Visit in which the Divine King has let the world see him. The Magi, the star-sign they saw, and the others of whom we enquire, tell us whose Visit we celebrate.

They also point us towards a greater Theophany. Today’s the traditional day for the date of Easter to be announced. This points to the fact that it was on Calvary at Easter that Jesus, as King, drew all things and all people to himself. God isn’t only adored in some disembodied spiritual quest by an inward movement folded in upon myself and detached from all that might disturb and engage the heart. It has to be possible to find and adore God in the simple yet messy complexity of human experience’ of our experience.

Even in our own times which so profoundly distrust claims for absolute truth, there remains in the human heart a deep desire for the truth. The RB talks about the dilation or expansion of the heart. We believe that the child born in Bethlehem is the truth for which the human heart hungers. Like the magi, we need to be attentive and to seek the truth wherever it is to be found, for ultimately it is in Him who said, ‘I am the truth’, it’s in this great God who shows himself to us in a little child.

Fr. Fintan Lyons. Among other gifts, some people receive books at Christmas, and if one is fortunate enough, the book will appear interesting, and not one already read and already familiar. So, what happens next is likely to be a quick survey of the beginning of a new book received and then a check on how it ends. I think we are all inclined to do that. 

The story from the Gospel of Matthew today, is however already very familiar; the story of Jesus’ baptism is in each of the gospels and has been read many times, so we may find what we have heard today less gripping for being so familiar. 

I’m saying that because I want to focus on the person of Jesus at the centre of the story, and stay with him, rather than moving quickly to the implications of our own baptism, as we often do on this Sunday of the Baptism of the Lord.

And, familiar as the story is, we need to be reminded of the lead up to it in the gospel, not included in today’s reading. What precedes it in Matthew’s gospel is an account of John the Baptist’s personality and what he was doing at the Jordan. This fearsome ascetic, clothed only in camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, was calling on the crowds who gathered round, fascinated by him, to repent of their sins by immersing themselves in the Jordan. 

Baptism was not part of normal Jewish ritual – Jesus was not baptised as a child – though it was used for converts to Judaism from paganism, but a water immersion could also be part of a person’s expression of a conversion experience when they recognised God’s mercy in forgiving them; that would be the meaning of John’s ritual. 

Why then would Jesus, the sinless thirty-year old, leave his carpenter’s workshop and walk the 135 km from Nazareth to Bethany on the other side of the Jordan river, opposite Jerusalem, to go through that ritual himself? 

That question invites us to reflect on Jewish religion in the time of Jesus. John the Baptist obviously believed it was in a bad state. But he didn’t think his special cousin, Jesus, deserved to be included with those whom he addressed in harsh terms as a brood of vipers. So why did Jesus insist on being baptised, saying something about fulfilling all righteousness or justice? 

What it means, I believe, is that Jesus was identifying himself with the people of Israel, God’s chosen people, good and bad. He made no distinctions as he began the mission he sensed he had, to restore their relation with God – God whom he had called his Father as a teenager in the Temple, according to Luke’s gospel. 

It’s something to be marvelled at, this young man finding himself, finding his purpose in life, about to begin a career following on that of John the Baptist. If he needed reassurance that this is what he was called to do, all three accounts of his baptism speak of his hearing a voice from heaven declaring him to be God’s son, and of his sensing the power of the Holy Spirit confirming him in his mission, at whatever cost to himself. Soon, the Spirit led him – drove him, Mark’s gospel says – into the wilderness, where he had a bootcamp kind of encounter with the devil, if that’s not too irreverent a way to speak of the devil’s assault against Jesus.

His endurance, as one whose own relationship with God was unique, would enable him to restore to God’s favour not only his own who would accept his leadership, but all who would look to him as the one enabling them to address God as their father, including ourselves. Our faith is that he embodied within himself a new Exodus, a new journey to freedom, and, most important, he was the paschal lamb of sacrifice marking reconciliation with God for all humankind.

So, what of us, who I said benefit from Jesus’ saving mission? According to St Paul and  early church Fathers, Jesus by his baptism in the Jordan was not only finding himself, but emptying himself by descending into the water, not holding on to the dignity of being God’s son but leaving it there as a dignity humanity could acquire. According to Ephrem the Syrian, Jesus went down into the water of the Jordan to deposit there the robe of glory, thus making it possible for humankind to put it on. (Hymns on the Epiphany 12:1). St Paul says in Galatians 3:27: ‘As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ’.

So we do need to reflect today on what our baptism has done for us; it has made us sharers in the life of the risen Christ and the power he won to conquer evil, power we have also. The early Christians suffered from persecution like Christ, but in the strength of their faith in the Risen Christ overcame the power of a hostile Roman  empire. Aggressive empires exist today, both seen and unseen; each one of us faces the challenges of evil influences, but with faith in Christ we can overcome.

Fr. Senan Furlong: When the scientist Benoit Mandelbrot began studying patterns in nature, he noticed something strange and beautiful. The closer he looked, the more familiar everything became. A small rock resembled a mountain. A fern leaf was made up of smaller leaves shaped exactly like the larger one. A snowflake carried the same design in every branching arm. No matter how far he zoomed in, the pattern repeated itself—more detailed, more intricate, more beautiful. The same mystery, revealed more deeply. Mandelbrot called these patterns fractals: designs where the whole is present in every part. Fractal geometry is the scientific equivalent of the intuition to sense the great in the small, the infinite hidden within the ordinary.

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

This is why the mystery of Christmas is never exhausted. Like a fractal, it invites us to return repeatedly to the same scene, and each time discover ever-unfolding horizons. The pattern does not change, but our vision deepens. And the pattern is this: the unfailing love of God.

In today’s first reading from Sirach, we see the outline of that pattern. Wisdom comes forth from eternity, from the mouth of God. She is sent to pitch her tent among a people, to take root in Israel. God’s Wisdom chooses to dwell in his people’s life in the form of the Law so that the divine light might shine into the world.  Then, in the second reading, St Paul prays that we may be given a spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that the eyes of our minds may be enlightened. In other words, Paul is asking God to help us look more closely, to zoom in. In Christ, he says, we have already been chosen, blessed, and destined to become God’s children. What was once hinted at now begins to come into focus: God is not merely near to us; he is drawing us into his own life.

And finally, in the Gospel, St John takes us all the way in. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. This is the deepest level of the pattern. God’s Wisdom is not an idea or a force, but a person, Jesus Christ. The Word pitches his tent in our humanity. God does not stand outside our lives but enters them from the inside. This is the heart of Christmas. At Christmas, the infinite God is revealed in the smallest possible way. Like a fractal, the whole mystery is present in a child lying in a manger. We look at that Child and say: This is what God is like. And if we look closely enough, we see everything: humility, mercy, self-giving love, light offered without force or compulsion.

Christ is the image of the Father, and we are made in the image of Christ. When we look at a life lived in him, the same pattern should appear: love, mercy, light overcoming darkness. This is why St John says that those who receive the Word are given power to become children of God. Not copies, but true reflections, each life unique, yet each echoing the same divine geometry of self-giving love.

Scientists tell us that no two snowflakes are exactly alike, and yet all obey the same hidden design. God saves the world in the same way, not through force or compulsion, but through love patiently repeated: from eternity to infancy, from the eternal Word to a new born baby’s cry, from the crib to the cross, and from the cross into the everyday acts of mercy that quietly change the world.

We see this mystery most clearly at the Eucharist we now celebrate around the altar. Ordinary bread and wine: plain, familiar, and yet lifted up, revealing infinity. The whole contained in the small; a fragile host bearing the Lord of heaven and earth; the eternal Word placed into our hands. 

And so we are invited to live the mystery we celebrate: to let the eternal shine through our ordinary, unfinished, even broken lives; to let the great be revealed in the small; to make room for God dwelling among us.

To see a world in a grain of sand, 

To hold infinity in the palm of your hand: 

This is the mystery and message of Christmas.

Abbot Christopher Dillon: Mary, Mother of God. What an extraordinary concept, that God should have a mother! And that that mother should be a human being like one of us! This noblest of Mary’s titles says much about the graciousness of God, about the identity of the boy and the man, Jesus, and also about God’s regard for humankind and most of all about God’s regard for Mary herself. All of it expresses the realisation of the blessing which Aaron was ordered by God to invoke on humankind, the graciousness of God brought to fruition in this gift to us of God’s very self in the person of Jesus Christ; this gift which ennobles us as children of God, daughters and sons as beloved to the Father as the only begotten Son is beloved; and heirs with him to all that he is heir.

We have been resting with the majesty of this mystery over the past week, some of us, perhaps, more than others. We can and really should continue to ponder it in the weeks and months to come, along with Mary and indeed with Joseph, her most remarkable companion and spouse.

By devoting this first day of the year to the achievement of this solemn blessing of us by God, we acknowledge, at the same time, the splendour of God’s cosmic creation  project in our regard in the very meaning of our existence, namely, that God has become human in the person of Jesus, so that we humans may become God. Now, that is something to ponder with Mary; something to ponder through the year!

Fr. Jarek Kurek: There you go — we’ve been celebrating another Christmas, a truly beautiful time for any family.

And yet today, the loveliness of this season seems to have been disturbed. What we see instead is the Holy Family — Jesus, Mary, and Joseph — fleeing in fear.

Who caused this havoc? Herod. Herod, having heard of the rise of a new king, perhaps one mightier than himself, felt threatened. He might have thought, “I am the star of the show; I cannot let anyone else shine.” Cruel as it was, he chose to annihilate the potential danger.

Jealousy — that was Herod’s feeling, a trait that has marked the human condition since the beginning of the world.

And yet, from the very beginning, weren’t we meant, as humans and as families, to be united in love — as we see in the story of Adam and Eve?

But the Enemy came lurking — the Devil, diabolos, the one who divides.

Why did he disturb the harmony of human existence? Because he was jealous. In fact, he was the prototype of Herod: he too felt threatened and refused to let anyone hold a higher place than himself.

Cain was jealous and became a murderer of his brother Abel. The brothers of Joseph shared that same jealousy. And many others have followed that path.

But we hardly need those biblical examples. Just look at the news — from Ukraine, the Middle East, or Africa. Killing each other has become our daily bread, something once thought unthinkable after the tragedy of World War II.

Yet murder can take subtler forms. It can be found in our words — for words can wound, sometimes lethally. It can appear in our gaze — don’t we say someone gave a “murderous look”?

What does that say about us? Doesn’t it reveal our unhappiness, our bitterness, perhaps even hatred? And yet the worst of all these feelings is Herod’s feeling — jealousy. Because jealousy, believe it or not, leads directly to murder, though it may not always take a physical form.

Today, this Christmas, we have a great chance to reverse the cycle. It is a marvellous opportunity to turn our hard feelings into compassion and love — to be reborn after the model of Jesus and his family. Does that idea attract me?

But this renewal requires real effort. I must look within, examine my heart, and confess before the inner tribunal of my conscience any trace of jealousy — whether in my family or in my community.

Anyone courageous enough to begin this spiritual renewal will soon rediscover our true human and Christian destiny. 

And what is that? As human beings, we are meant to be a bond that unites all creation; as Christians, we are called to be witnesses to the bond of love.

There is no doubt that a destructive, divisive spiritual force is at work in the world. But we Christians, empowered by God’s love, have the mission of binding and unifying — wherever and whenever we can.

Fr. Henry O’Shea: ‘Paris is well worth a Mass.’

In 1592, after three years on the throne, King Henry IV of France, a vociferously avowed Protestant, guaranteed his grip on that throne by converting to Catholicism. On doing so, he is alleged to have quipped about Paris and its worth. A Mass.

Even if the king didn’t actually use these words, they sum up succicintly the cunning self-promoting cynicism which, from the beginning of time, has characterised many successful politicians. What matters is winning – at whatever the cost and regardless of human collateral damage. Does this sound familiar? 

Today’s first reading from the prophet Isaiah, mentions the king, Ahaz, but supplies none of the back-story of this walking disaster who was King of Judah in the eighth century before Christ. To avoid having his rather small kingdom attacked by hostile neighbours and in particular, to avert a take-over by the regional super-power, Assyria, Ahaz instituted and promoted what was in effect a cultural surrender. He permitted and promoted a cultural colonisation. Does this sound familiar?

Earlier on in the Book of Isaiah, we hear of how Ahaz desecrated the Temple in Jerusalem, placing in it idols of the gods of neighbouring kingdoms and halting or disrupting traditional temple worship. He also, for the convenience of citizens and visitors, for passing trade, had shrines erected at street corners for devotional quickies. He explained that he was not so much denying the God of the Jews as practising what today is called inclusiveness by giving other gods and other religious outlooks a look-in. Whatever you’re having yourself…you know.

As so often, the compliant, conformist, opportunistic and indifferent in society went with the flow. We’re all the same really, aren’t we. And isn’t one set of beliefs really as good as any other? Or, as Frederick the Great of Prussia would declare twenty-four centuries later, ‘Everyone should be allowed to be saved in his – sorry, in their –  own fashion.’ Isaiah tells us that Ahaz ducked the issue by refusing to oblige the Lord by asking for a sign. It was and usually is, too risky to put present compromises in jeopardy. 

So, it is no wonder that Ahaz refuses to ask a sign of God. He is not really sure to which god he should turn. He is not really sure if there are actually any gods to which, to whom, he can turn. He ducks the issue by claiming that he would prefer not to put the God of Israel, the Lord, to the test.

While Isaiah is as capable of a bad-tempered rant as most other prophets, in this case he simply tells the House of David about a sign that it will get from the Lord: ‘Listen now, House of David! Not satisfied with trying human patience, will you try my God’s patience too? The Lord will give you a sign in any case. Look, the virgin is with child and will give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel — God is with us.’ No explanation, no date, no century, no time-scale. Simply a promise.

Today’s gospel, by quoting the first reading, literally links up this promise with what we celebrate, with what we recall and look forward to every Advent and Christmas. Today’s gospel links this promise with what we celebrate, recall and look forward to at every liturgy – with what we celebrate, recall and look forward to all of our baptized lives. In his dream, Joseph is told just enough to make it possible for him to give his heart and soul.

Today’s second reading also describes, if only partly, who this Immanuel, this human descendant of David was, is and will be: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, ‘in all his power through his resurrection from the dead.’

Through his resurrection from the dead: that is, not by philosophical argument, not by political ideologising or activism, not by psychologising, not by magic, convenience, not by manipulability or mere usefulness. Importantly, too, not as the possession of any exclusive group, ethnic, cultural or cultic. 

While Paul, in his letter to the Romans, affirms that he received grace and his apostolic mission to preach through Jesus Christ, he affirms simultaneously, that every nation, every people, every one of us, has received that grace and apostolic mission to preach the obedience of faith…. the listening to and spreading of message of the baptised heart and the living of its consequences.

And this grace and mission can be undertaken only when each one of us starts with her or his own heart as the recipietnt of grace and as mission territory. This Immanuel, this God-with-us, at every moment of our being is calling us to be Advent, to be Nativity, to be Epiphany, that is, to be always waiting for his coming, to be constantly reborn, to give witness to, to radiate, this coming and birth. 

While there will always be an Ahaz in every one of us, and every one of us is our own Paris,  Immanuel, God-with-us, certainly can and does make us well worth a Mass.       

Fr. Denis Hooper: 

THE GLASS IS HALF FULL

THE GLASS IS HALF EMPTY

SOME OF US ARE SAID TO BE BORN OPTIMISTS

SOME OF US ARE SAID TO BE BORN PESSIMISTS

I DON’T THINK THAT IS ENTIRELY TRUE. THERE ARE TIMES IN OUR LIVES WHEN THE GLASS IS INDEED HALF FULL. THERE ARE OTHER TIMES IN OUR LJVES WHEN THE GLASS IS INDEED HALF EMPTY

RESEARCH HAS BEEN DONE ON PEOPLE WHO ARE GENERALLY OPTIMISTS. THEY LIVE LONGER AND HAPPIER LIVES AND HAVE GOOD AND LASTING RELATIONSHIPS

TODAY IS THE THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT – GAUDATE SUNDAY. GAUDETE AS THE LATIN SCHOLARS AMONG US WILL KNOW TRANSLATES TO ENGLISH AS “REJOICE”

THE COLOUR OF THIS WEEK’S ADVENT CANDLE IS PINK – IT SYMBOLISES THE LORD’S IMMINENT ARRIVAL – CHRISTMAS DAY IS ALMOST UPON US

“WHAT DO WE HAVE TO REJOICE ABOUT” SOME OF US MAY SAY? THE DAYS ARE DARK – THE WINTER SOLSTICE – THE DARKEST DAY OF THE YEAR IS A WEEK AWAY. OUTSIDE, IT’S BEEN MISERABLE FOR THE PAST MONTH OR SO. REJOICE? REALLY?

LET’S MOVE TO TODAY’S GOSPEL. JOHN THE BAPTIST IS IN PRISON.  A RECENT REPORT INTO MODERN PRISONS IN IRELAND TELLS US THAT THREE PRISONERS TO A CELL IS NOT UNCOMMON

BRENDAN BEHAN IN THE BORSTAL BOY GIVES US A GLIMPSE INTO THE CONDITIONS HE ENDURED IN PRISON:

“A HUNGRY FEELING, CAME ORE’ ME STEALING

AND THE MICE WERE SQUEALING IN MY PRISON CELL

AND THE OULD TRIANGLE WENT JINGLE JANGLE

ALL ALONG THE BANKS OF THE ROYAL CANAL”

BUT IN THE PALESTINE OF JESUS PRISONS WERE HORRIFIC WITH NO LIGHT, NO RECREATION, INFESTED FOOD – AND THE LIST GOES ON. YOU STOOD A FAIR CHANCE OF NEVER COMING OUT OF THEM ALIVE

TODAY WE READ THAT JOHN THE BAPTIST IS IMPRISONED. THE IMAGE I HAVE OF HIM IS THE DARKNESS OF HIS CELL

IF YOU REMEMBER, JOHN BAPTISED JESUS IN THE RIVER JORDAN. JUST IMAGINE THAT DAY, THE SUN WAS SHINING, JOHN BAPTISED THE MESSIAH, EVERYONE WAS IN GREAT FORM, EUPHORIC. THE VOICE OF GOD WAS HEARD TO SAY: “THIS IS MY BELOVED SON”. JOHN DECLARED THAT JESUS WAS “THE LAMB OF GOD”. THERE WAS HOPE IN THE WORLD: THE GLASS WAS HALF FULL

BUT NOW JOHN IS IN PRISON, UNDERGROUND IN A DARK AND DANK CELL, JOHN IS STRUGGLING. HE IS HAVING DOUBTS ABOUT WHAT WAS ONCE SO CLEAR TO HIM. HIS GLASS IS NOW HALF EMPTY

THE MAN JESUS SAID WAS “THE GREATEST PROPHET BORN” IS NOW IN THE DEEPEST DARKNESS OF A PRISON

JOHN IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO ASSURE HIMSELF AND TO QUELL THE DOUBTS OF DARKNESS HE TELLS HIS FRIENDS TO GO AND ASK JESUS IF HE IS THE MESSIAH AFTER ALL. WHAT A CHANGE FROM THE MAN WHO BAPTISED JESUS

JESUS COULD HAVE ANSWERED IN A YES OR NO TO JOHN’S QUESTION. BUT HE DOESN’T.  HE KNOWS THAT JOHN NEEDS TO HEAR MORE. HE SAYS: “TELL JOHN WHAT YOU HEAR AND SEE: THE BLIND RECEIVE SIGHT, THE LAME WALK, THE LEPERS ARE CLEANSED, THE DEAF HEAR, THE DEAD ARE RAISED AND THE POOR HAVE GOOD NEWS BROUGHT TO THEM” 

THAT’S ALL JOHN NEEDS TO HEAR. THE GLASS IS ONCE AGAIN HALF FULL

THERE ARE TIMES IN OUR LIVES WHEN SOME OF US CREATE PRISONS OF OUR OWN – EVERY BIT AS MISERABLE AS THE PRISON JOHN THE BAPTIST FOUND HIMSELF IN

WE FIND OURSELVES IN TOTAL DESPAIR – JUST LIKE JOHN. THERE IS NO POSSIBILITY OF US ON OUR OWN ESCAPING THE WALLS WE HAVE CREATED FOR OURSELVES

IT IS AT TIMES LIKE THESE IN OUR LIVES WHAT WE NEED TO LOOK AT JOHN THE BAPTIST AND TO SEEK REASSURANCE THAT LIFE IS INDEED GOOD. THAT THE GLASS IS INDEED HALF FULL

AND WHEN WE DO REACH OUT TO JESUS AS JOHN THE BAPTIST DID, WE WILL FIND HIM WAITING FOR US READY TO FREE US FROM THE CHAINS THAT BIND US. WE ONLY HAVE TO ASK. THE ANSWER WE GET FROM JESUS IS NEVER AN LAZY YES OR NO. IT IS ALWAYS DIRECTED PERSONALLY AT US. IT IS ALL WE NEED TO FREE OURSELVES

AND WE WILL KNOW LIKE HOW JOHN THE BAPTIST DID AFTER JESUS REPLIED TO HIM- THAT THE GLASS IS INDEED NOT JUST HALF FULL BUT FULL TO THE BRIM

AND WE WILL INDEED HAVE A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT GAUDETE SUNDAY MEANS NOT JUST FOR OURSELVES BUT FOR THE WHOLE WORLD

I LEAVE THE LAST WORDS TO ANOTHER IRISH WRITER AND POET, OSCAR WILDE IN HIS POEM “THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL”:

THE WARDERS WITH THEIR SHOES OF FELT

CREPT BY EACH PADLOCKED DOOR

AND PEEPED AND SAW WITH EYES OF AWE

GREY FIGURES ON THE FLOOR

AND WONDERED WHY MEN KNELT TO PRAY

WHO NEVER PRAYED BEFORE

ENJOY YOUR GAUDETE SUNDAY. AMEN

 

Fr. Christopher Dillon: This season of Advent in which we find ourselves has a prophetic character; and prophets are regularly anti-Establishment, insofar as they call the Establishment and its keepers to account for their ministry or the lack of it. During the past week, we have heard the prophet, Isaiah, excoriate the hypocrisy of the priests and those conducting the sacrificial ritual of the Temple worship, because it bears no relation to their everyday behaviour of corruption and greed. 

Today, the same theme is continued under the aegis of the Baptist. When the representatives of the Jewish Establishment appear, in the persons of the Pharisees and Sadducees, John is quick to observe the discrepancy between their apparent readiness for penitential reform and their actual behaviour; “If you are repentant, produce the appropriate fruit, and do not presume to tell yourselves, ‘We have Abraham for our father’; that is, ‘We are members of the Chosen People’”. 

We, here, might all say of ourselves, “We are Mass-going Catholics”. The Baptist responds, “So what?!” Our ploughing through the ritual of our prayers and services counts for nothing, unless our behaviour manifests the goodness, the holiness and the generosity of the Father.

But there is more, much more, to what the Baptist has to communicate to us; he has a profound sense of the unique transcendence of his divine cousin and of the relative littleness of us, mortal human beings. “I am not worthy to carry his sandals”, he says of himself; and of Jesus, “He will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.” What he meant by that, what he understood by that, is for the scholars to discuss; but it is clear that he appreciated the littleness of human achievement in the context of the grandeur of God and, by association, the insignificance of the Pharisee and Sadducee agenda. Incredible as it may sound to our ears, both Pharisee and Sadducee, whatever the difference in their theology, believed that the merits of Abraham before God were such as to guarantee the favour of God for every Jew, simply because he or she was a descendent of Abraham. 

For all of us, here, today, the Baptist is calling us to take account of our real situation, to consider the meaning of our existence in the vastness of God’s creation. We, Christians, could be at risk of presuming too much on the merits of our Baptism; for our faith teaches us that God became human so that we humans might become God. “Not so fast!”, the Baptist interposes, “Show me the fruit of your Baptism”. Through the centuries, the history of the Church as the community of those who believe that Jesus has risen from the Dead, for all its sins and faults, has been uniquely characterised by its care of the poor and the sick; just think how many religious orders have been founded for precisely that purpose, providing hands and feet to work God’s kindness among his people. 

Working God’s kindness among his people, that is the meaning of our existence; that is the fruit of our conversion, as we make our way through the maze of life, to realise the glorious goal for which God has created us, the goal for which God became a human being in Jesus of Nazareth. Only by this means, only by this work, does our attendance at Mass and our other religious practice have any value, any meaning. Advent is the time to consider these things.

Fr. Luke Macnamara: The vision of the end of time is compared to the flood in the days of Noah. Strikingly, the people swept away by the flood are not described as great sinners; they are simply going about their ordinary lives—eating, drinking, marrying—yet they are unprepared for the coming of the Lord’s salvation. Noah, whose Hebrew name signifies “rest,” embodies in his person what the Lord desires to offer his people. It seems that most were too busy with their daily tasks—perhaps even neglecting the Sabbath rest—and so failed to respond to God’s call in their lives.

Isaiah presents a hopeful vision of all nations streaming to the temple of the Lord. There, all will hear the Lord’s teaching and learn how to walk in his ways. The Lord’s instruction brings about profound change: not only do the nations gather together as one, but their relationships are transformed.

The teaching of the Lord promises change to all who heed it. The word of the Lord, which caused the hearts of the disciples on the road to Emmaus to burn, can smelt the hardened metal within us, transforming it from weapons of war into tools for tilling the land—tools that provide food and foster peace. These metal objects can be seen as symbols of our human capacities: our ability to relate to God, to ourselves, and to one another. St Benedict’s vision is that these capacities become tools of good works. If some of these capacities have become instruments of conflict, the transforming word is given to us to smelt and reshape them. The metal that enters the foundry of the word is the same metal that emerges again; nothing of our human capacity or energy is lost—rather, it is transformed and redirected toward good works.

Tools must be properly crafted to fit our hands and to be of service. God has revealed to us the proper shape our capacities—our will, our energy—should take in order to live in communion with God, with ourselves, and with others. This shape is revealed in Jesus Christ, which is why St Paul can speak symbolically of Christ as our armour.

We require armour—not swords or spears—but the tools of good works. These are the tools that will keep us aligned with Christ when the burglar arrives at an unexpected hour. Conformed to Christ, we and our households are safeguarded against the shifting tides of human relationships, the disappointments of life, and the shattering of dreams. Christ reveals our true destiny in a sustaining vision: that we will all come to the one house of the Lord, dwell there together, and continually hear his word, which holds us in peace in his presence.

Let this vision guide our hope and shape our lives. Let the word burn within our hearts so that our capacities may be transformed for good. And let this vision and this word open us to welcome and receive the empowering gift of the Eucharist at this Mass.

 

 

Fr Henry O’Shea:

Abroad the royal banners fly,
now shines the Cross’s mystery:
upon it Life did death endure,
and yet by death did life procure. 

These lines are taken from one of the most beautiful hymns of the liturgy, the Vexilla Regis or The Banners of the King. This hymn is sung during the monks’ evening prayer in the last two weeks of Lent. Sung in Latin to a plaintive, haunting, melody, the hymn reaches a dramatic climax in the lines, 

Hail Cross, of hopes the most sublime, Now and in the end of time…

The monks kneel in their places for these lines.

The fact that the hymn is sung in the run-up to the three days of Easter underlines the reality that Easter is the main feast of Christ the King, the great feast from which all others flow, the great feast from which all others get their meaning.

Why then, do we celebrate another feast of Christ the King as the Church’s year enters its last week?

When we think about it at all, we probably consider monarchy a thing of the past. Here in Europe, the surviving monarchies – with the exception of the Vatican – are constitutional monarchies, essentially ceremonial and toothless. But the reality of monarchy remains, and not only in the absolute or quasi-absolute monarchies of which there still are several in the world. Actual, effective monarchy, even if not officially so designated, flourishes in what are and have ever been the predatory empires that have always existed and are, once more, unblushingly, showing their teeth and their grasping winner-takes-all claws. 

Nor do contemporary empires always have to be official states. Global corporations are frequently limitless in their resources and untrammelled in their exploitative, imperialistic, greed and ruthlessness. 

It is true that from at least the fourth century, it was usual to refer to Christ as King/Rex and even Emperor/Imperator. But today’s feast of Christ the King is a very modern feast. To understand its origin, we need to cast our minds back to 1925. In that year, it seemed to the Pope of the time, Pius XI, that in the face of three ideologies or political and economic systems, it was necessary to remind the world of where true and ultimate power lay, of where true and ultimate power lies. 

Remember that in 1925, the Fascist regime in Italy, though only three years in power, was revealing its true colours. Hitler’s perfection of the fascist model was still eight years in the future. In 1925, it looked as if uncontrolled capitalism of the American variety with its adoration of the golden calf of individual greed and socially irresponsible accumulation was going to sweep all before it – at least outside the Soviet Union. 

This was only four years before the crash of 1929 caused the sobering cold shower of the Great Depression. In 1925, the Soviet Union was getting into its godless stride. To some naive commentators in the West and elsewhere, it was the future that was already working. Think of George Bernard Shaw. In the end, the Soviet vision of a humanly perfectible humanity would lead, until its collapse in 1989, to the death of an estimated 65 million individual human beings in that empire alone. And this is a conservative estimate.

Even if Pius XI was still bound by the language of monarchy and proposed Christ as the King of the Universe, his insight into the potential and ultimately realized disasters of the three ideologies we have just mentioned was prophetic. And, since at least the 1980s, but more obviously since 2000, it has become clear that not only has history not ended, but nothing has really changed. Force, violence, greed and disregard for human life and human rights are once more centre-stage. Just turn on the news.  

The preface of today’s Mass sums up what this feast is all about. It expresses concisely what kind of kingdom Pius XI had in mind: a kingdom of truth and life, a kingdom of holiness and grace, a kingdom of justice, love and peace. It is distinctly possible, even likely, that these ideals of truth and life, of holiness and grace, of justice, love and peace will always remain that, ideals, but they will always be ideals worth striving for. 

Today’s readings talk about the one who makes belief in these ideals possible, who helps us to make these ideal realizable, who promises us that these ideals will eventually triumph.

The Jesus we hear about in today’s readings has none of the attributes we associate with kingship, either inherited or elected. He has none of the refined splendour of contemporary and mostly politically emasculated constitutional monarchs. Nor has he the smug air of entitlement or vulgar brashness of the elected or unelected monarchs of our powerful republics. 

What he does have in common with certain hereditary monarchs is lineage. 

The first reading tells us that Jesus is of the house of David. David, the anointed king of Israel, who despite his many human flaws, united all the tribes of Israel. The tribes said to him, ‘Look. We are your own flesh and blood…to whom the Lord has said, “You are the man who shall be shepherd of my people Israel, you shall be the leader of Israel.”’ It is this Jesus who is the leader of the new Israel, that is, of the whole of redeemed humanity. It is he who has made us his own flesh and blood, made us members of himself and, with that, members of each other. 

In the second reading from the letter to the Colossians, St Paul describes what God has done for us in Jesus Christ: ‘..he has taken us out of the power of darkness and created a place for us in the kingdom of the Son that he loves, and in him we gain our freedom, the forgiveness of our sins.’ St Paul then goes on to give a marvellously poetic and theological description of who and what Jesus Christ was and is: ‘…before anything was created he existed, and he holds all things in unity. Now the Church is his body, he is its head.’ Through Baptism, we belong to that body and belong to one another. He is our head – a monarch, perhaps yes, but of a kingdom where all are equal, a kingdom without any claim to confer nobility except that of being part of Jesus. 

There is nothing at all regal about the gospel reading, this year from the evangelist Luke. Stripped and crucified, Jesus on the Cross is exposed to the ridicule of the powerful and of their hangers-on, exposed to the despair and disappointment of those who loved and believed in him, or in what they imagined him to be. And also present are the perplexed, if even still grimly and dimly hopeful, family and few disciples who cling to what remains of him. And then there comes in the very final sentence of today’s gospel, one of the most kingly, most majestic, most power-filled and simple statements of Jesus, ‘today you will be with me in paradise.’ 

Many monarchs can promise this, but only one can make it real. Only this monarch can relativize all earthly power and make the cross a throne.

That which the prophet-king of old
hath in mysterious verse foretold,
is now accomplished, whilst we see
God rule the nations from a Tree.

Hail Cross, of hopes the most sublime!
Now and in the end of time; 
grant to the just increase of grace,
and every sinner’s crimes efface.