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Fr. Martin Browne OSB

When you look at the News these days, one of the first things you’ll see is people on the move. Refugees. Vast numbers of Ukrainians have had to flee their homeland over the past two weeks and we see images daily of huge crowds at airports and train stations, and long tailbacks on the roads towards the border. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees estimated on Friday that 2.5 million people had fled Ukraine so far. It really has been quite something to witness how hospitable and generous so many people across Europe have been. It is also striking to see how swiftly bureaucratic and administrative obstacles can be overcome in the case of a real continent-wide emergency.

Those millions of people are surely lucky to be safe and away from the bombs and shooting. But that doesn’t take away the fact that they have been uprooted from their homes. They have left loved ones behind, in many cases not knowing whether they are dead or alive. Many have arrived in countries where they don’t understand the language and are being hosted by people with whom they cannot speak. Some have arrived without passports or other papers. People have been extraordinarily generous. But we shouldn’t get sentimental about what is a truly horrific situation. Being uprooted and forced to go somewhere where you don’t belong is real trauma – no matter how warm the céad mile fáilte may be.

I thought of these refugees as I read today’s Second Reading. ‘Our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.’ We may be uprooted and displaced, but at the deepest level, our true homeland is not of this world at all, but of heaven. St Paul is encouraging his audience with these words, bidding them to ‘stand firm’, in their faith that the Lord will indeed bring salvation. God’s ultimate plan is to transform and heal the entire creation and make it whole. It’s not hard to see how these words might touch the heart of a refugee, newly arrived in a strange country and culture, bewildered and without visa or passport. How consoling it must be to hear: ‘Our citizenship is in heaven’ – where the waters of baptism are the only visa needed.

But we need to be careful not to use these words as mere escapism. Simply telling people who have lost everything that all will be well in heaven is the type of attitude that caused Karl Marx to describe religion as the ‘opium of the people’; a kind of drug to dull the pain of the human condition – and stifle the impulse to rebel – with illusory consolations. As one satirical folk song puts it: ‘You will eat, bye and bye, in that glorious land above the sky. Work and pray, live on hay. You’ll get pie in the sky when you die.’

The disciples, Peter and John and James, had a wonderful, mystical experience in today’s Gospel story. They experienced Jesus in his ‘glory’, accompanied by Moses and Elijah. It was an extraordinary privilege. They didn’t have to wait till they died or for life in the sky in order to taste heaven. They had ‘pie’ on earth while they lived…
And so, understandably, Peter wanted to prolong the experience. He offered to build three dwellings, one each for Jesus, Moses and Elijah. But Jesus wasn’t interested in having a mountainside ‘glamping’ holiday. He was focused on his journey to Jerusalem and what the Gospel calls his ‘departure’. He had told the disciples this just eight days before: ‘The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.’ That is the ‘departure’ that he was talking to Moses and Elijah about: his Pascha – his Passover through death to life, his cosmic battle – and victory – over the forces of sin and death. It is the mystery we celebrate every Sunday and most especially at Easter. They had forgotten what Jesus had told them, but the Father reminded them. Like Moses on Mount Sinai, they were enveloped by a cloud, signifying the presence of the Almighty and Holy One. A voice from that cloud said: ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’ This extraordinary moment of transfiguration on the mountain wasn’t a show or a treat for Jesus’s mates. It was a revelation and preparation of what was to come.

Just as the first Passover and Exodus had been the means by which God liberated and saved his people, the Passover of the Lord Jesus – his death on the Cross and his passing over from death into life – was how the Father willed to reconcile the whole world to himself and free us from death and sin. There would be suffering. There would be death. But the future would be one of transformed, reconciled, healed, freedom. It is something too beautiful for words, but the disciples were given a glimpse of it on the mountain as they saw the appearance of Jesus’s face changed and his clothes become dazzling white.
‘Then this world’s walls no longer stay my eyes, a veil is lifted likewise from my heart,
The moment holds me in its strange surprise, the gates of paradise are drawn apart,
I see his tree, with blossom on its bough, and nothing can be ordinary now.’ [Malcolm Guite]

‘Listen to him.’ ‘He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory.’ ‘Listen to him.’ Our citizenship is indeed in heaven, and these aren’t just nice words to pacify refugees and other suffering people into accepting their lot with stoic resignation. It is not ‘pie in the sky’. It is the deepest truth of our identity as God’s people. After the Lord God revealed it to Peter and to John and James, ‘nothing can be ordinary now…’ What was revealed to them at the Transfiguration gives context and meaning to all the madness and absurdity of human suffering and sorrow. ‘Listen to him.’ Let’s not expect too little of what he can and will do. There is more to existence than the bodies in which we suffer now. Greater things await us, infinitely more glorious than what we know now. Death is not the final word. And neither are Terror or War. ‘Hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord!’

Fr Abbot Brendan Coffee OSB

‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.’

There is only one other time we hear these words in the liturgy and that is at the graveside and if we are the one being buried, it is too late at that point to do anything about it. So, ‘now is the favourable time, this is the day of salvation.’

We have heard how the Israelites returned to the Lord with fasting, weeping and mourning to reassert their identity as the people of God. As we begin the holy season of Lent, we prepare to do the same. However, we have to be very careful and very honest, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.” We need to be particularly careful when trying to claim our identity as the people of God that we don’t make a performance out of it. The world is not a theatre and the God who made us won’t be applauding any kind of theatrical performance. Who is our audience in this season of Lent? ‘Our Father in heaven who sees all that is done in secret’.

Jesus tells us that we can easily become caught in the contradiction of audiences. On the outside we can appear to be seeking God, or trying to do what’s right; but on the inside we can be preoccupied with making a certain impression on other people.

It is not a question of whether we have kept the law or not, but whether the law has become so much ourselves that it has grown into the mystery of love. This then, is the point of Lent. ‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return’. Take stock of reality and open your eyes to the mysterious relationship that we call mercy. Come face to face with being human, being dust and accept the love of the Lord.

It is mercy that gathers us here. God came into a broken world because He had mercy on us. We can choose to remain broken and indifferent. We can look at the hungry and say, “Not my problem,” we can look at the terrible conflict in Ukraine and think, “that’s very far away”; or we can view these victims of violence and declare, “There but for the mercy of God go I”. If we know anything about mercy, we know that mercy doesn’t make us any better than anybody else. We are in this together and mercy only makes sense when we share it with others. Who needs our help? The question is not difficult to answer. That is the invitation for us this Lent. We remember that we are dust, nothing more than dust and it is only by the mercy of God that we journey forward in the middle of the mess, which is this world of ours.

The word ‘Lent’ comes from the old English word for ‘Spring’. Lent is not a time for feeling gloomy or miserable for forty days; it’s not even about giving things up for forty days. Lent is springtime. Lent prepares us for that great climax of springtime which is Easter. And as we prepare ourselves for Easter during these days, by prayer, fasting and works of mercy, what motivates us is not self-denial as an end in itself, but trying to sweep and clean our own minds and hearts so that new life may have room to come in and take over and transform us at Easter. All this clearing and cleaning brings us face to face with the accumulated dust and ashes.

The trouble with dust and ashes is that it’s always in the wrong place. There is no good place for dust to be and even though we know that the ashes we use and bless are made from burning last year’s palm branches and are a sign of the Paschal Mystery, we still can’t wait to wash them off! They are such a nuisance. And that is the whole point. ‘The Lord formed us from the dust of the earth’. It is our beginning and our end.

Lent is a gift from God to us; a gift of the essential. Lent returns to me this essential layer of life. Lent is the time for healing. Realising my own weakness makes me more tolerant of weakness in my neighbour. As St Isaac the Syrian puts it “The one who knows their own sin is higher than the one who resurrects the dead in their prayers. The one who is granted the gift of seeing themselves is superior to the one who has the gift of seeing angels.”

There is no real getting away from it: for we are dust, and to dust we shall return. That is why we must turn from sin and follow Christ, who is not merely a good idea, but the Word who was made flesh to dwell among the children of Adam and Eve, the people of dust.

The spirit of this holy season of Lent is neatly summed up in the much loved prayer of St Ephrem:

O Lord and Master of my life,
Give me not a spirit of sloth, vain curiosity, lust for power, and idle talk.
But give to me your servant, a spirit of soberness, humility, patience and love.
O Lord and King, allow me to see my own faults and not to judge my brother & sister,
For You are blessed to the ages of ages.

Fr Luke Macnamara OSB

In every human eye,  there is a natural blind spot. The optic disk conveys the nerve messages from the retina to the brain to be processed and produce images, but the area of the disk itself receives no messages and so there is a gap in the image. However, the brain produces a corrected image which makes up for the blind spot and so we see no black dot in our field of vision.

The natural tendency to hide blind spots is much overused. We all see what is before us in a particular way, noting some things, and not noting others. Some will see children playing in a park as making fun, others will see them as making a nuisance. The world is not observed in a neutral way but from one’s perspective. This perspective can seek to view signs of life and joy or seek evidence to judge and condemn. Jesus’ metaphor of the plank in the eye reflects the latter view, a distorted vision of God’s wonderful creation, that sees only the faults of others and ultimately renders such viewers bitter and resentful.

Jesus’ teaching to the disciples uses several sayings which explore not only how disciples might use their eyes, but also their mouths and ears, their hands and feet, and, most importantly, their heart. Our way of seeing, speaking, hearing, and doing, all flow from the heart. A sound heart is essential for life as a disciple of Jesus. Close examination of the signs of the state of the heart is important and such signs are observed in our speech, deeds and vision.

Jesus invites us to examine ourselves. Sirach uses three images to describe how speech might be tested. The sieve allows true speech to percolate through but leaves behind rough and coarse elements. The kiln tests the potter’s work, and a person’s conversation reveals his or her character. The tree is known by the quality of its fruit and so a person’s feelings are known by the quality of his or her words. Humans are relational beings, and speech is a key element of relationship. It is a powerful tool. To put in a good word – may change the outlook for someone in despair. To put down might provoke despair. Great care is needed in speech and should form a key part of self-examination.

Jesus reuses the metaphor of the tree and the fruit but focuses on action or production of fruit, to reflect on people’s deeds. Jesus has moved from considering eyes, mouth and ears to the practical activities of hands and feet. No part of the potential disciple is exempt from attention. There is to be no blind spot. Instead, the transformation of the whole person is in view. By this transformation, the disciple sees, speaks, hears and acts in accordance with the way of blessedness that Jesus has just exposited in the beatitudes.

Perhaps the greatest danger is self-deception, thinking we are clear-sighted but in fact either blind or having a plank in our eyes obstructing our vision. Too often we seek to judge others for their minor failings while not seeing our own. Jesus invites us to honestly examine ourselves, not to condemn ourselves, but to choose the way of life and happiness for ourselves and offer it to others.

Fr. Lino Moreira OSB

David had been badly wronged by Saul, but he spared the life of his enemy, putting his trust in the Lord who rewards everyone for their righteousness and faithfulness (cf. 1 S 26:23). As we have heard, Abishai had proposed an entirely different course of action, more in keeping with the ordinary notions of retributive justice, but David knew that the Lord shows himself merciful with the merciful (cf. 2 S 22:26) – that is to say, he understood that a compassionate and generous God wants his servants to be like him in returning good for evil.

What we see in David, however, is only a foreshadowing of what we find in Jesus of Nazareth, who revealed the full measure of God’s love for all humanity. Jesus said to his disciples, when they were urging him to eat: My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to accomplish his work (Jn 4:34). And similarly in the Temple of Jerusalem, at the age of twelve, he said to Mary and Joseph: Why did you seek me? Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business? (Lk 2:49).

These words emphasise that throughout the course of his earthly life Jesus was entirely devoted to the work of reconciliation that had been entrusted to him by his Heavenly Father. And his mission as Mediator between God and the human race was fully accomplished when he died upon the cross. As Saint Paul puts it: when we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son (Rm 5:10). Indeed, when Jesus Christ laid down his life for our salvation, he not only restored our friendship with the Creator of world – as the last Adam, who came from Heaven (cf. 1 Co 15:47) – but even made us partakers of his own divine sonship – as the true Son of the living God (cf. Mt 16:16).

To become God’s children is, therefore, the greatest and most wonderful gift we have ever received from Heaven. But every gift from God entails a task, and we can only be acknowledged as sons and daughters of the Most High if we in our turn are willing to reconcile ourselves with one another.

How? – we might ask.

In today’s gospel we are told that the only way to make our peace with all our brothers and sisters – with friend and foe alike – is to take God himself and his only-begotten Son as the model for our dealings with others. In fact what Jesus really means when he exhorts us to do to others as we would have them do to us (cf. Lk 6:31) is that we should follow his example in imitating his Heavenly Father, who is kind even to the ungrateful and the wicked (cf. Lk 6:35).

So we are asked to do good to those who hate us (cf. Lk 6:27), because our Creator showed his love for us when were we were still his enemies (cf. Rm 5:10). We are asked not to resist an evil person (cf. Mt 5:39), because Christ was delivered into the hands of sinful men to be crucified (cf. Lk 24:7). We are asked to lend and give freely, because God the Father did not spare his own Son but delivered him up for us all (cf. Rm 8:32). And above all we are urged not to pass judgement on others, because – as Jesus said to Nicodemus – God did not send his Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world should be saved through him (Jn 3:17).

By acting ever more decisively and perfectly along these lines, we will be helping to build up that true peace that Jesus left as his great legacy, when he said at the Last Supper: Peace I leave you, my peace I give you (Jo 14:27). This messianic statement, which we repeat at Mass every day, reminds us that it is Jesus Christ himself who gives us both the discernment and the strength to bring his work of reconciliation to fruition in our own time. We can have confidence, then, that our task is not an impossible one, and that by loving our neighbour as Jesus loved us we will indeed be acknowledged as his brothers and sisters, in accordance with what he said in the Sermon on the Mount: Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God (Mt 5:9).