Category: Abbey | Latest News

Fr. Abbot Brendan Coffey

Last Sunday a man disguised as an elderly woman in a wheelchair, wearing a wig and lipstick, threw a cake at the Mona Lisa in the Louvre. Leonardo da Vinci’s famous painting was unharmed in the incident as it sits behind bulletproof glass. The episode was a publicity stunt to get attention for climate change. We all know what the Mona Lisa looks like, right down to that enchanting smile; but there is still something very special about being able to go and see the real thing, the original, in person.

Today we celebrate another original, the birthday of the Church, the day of Pentecost, and that birth occurred among the Jews. The Holy Spirit descended on the Church on the day Israel recalls the gift of the law and the covenant to show that the Spirit is the new law sealing the new and eternal covenant.

In May 1975 Pope Paul VI asked, “Have we forgotten the Holy Spirit?” The Church is not an institution; it is a mystery and even a miracle – it is original. The Church is a mystery, something that can be known only through communion with God. The Church is a miracle, because we could never have expected such closeness to this divine reality.

The one who speaks to us within, is the Holy Spirit. This is the ‘real deal’, the original. The Spirit unveils before our minds and hearts what the words spoken in the Gospel truly convey. Under the guidance of the Spirit we believe and understand what Christ spoke, because words in themselves are not enough.

Today people are not interested in anything that is not completely honest and original. Saints are not people ‘playing a role’ called holiness; they may very well be characters, but they are not actors. To the deeply observant they are unmistakable, because the presence of the Spirit cannot be faked. Sooner or later the person behind the curtain is exposed and the truth revealed and the world is always the better for it.

The Spirit is called the Paraclete, meaning ‘Comforter’, but most of us have grown perfectly comfortable in our lives. Therefore, we have to ask, have we forgotten the Holy Spirit? Have we settled for a copy instead of the original? Because the original is available, right here and right now.

We are a world where very little is transparent, where humility is confused with weakness, where selfishness reigns, where we are all too easily offended, where there is a lack of compassion and no peace and where I always know best. We are paralysed with shame because of scandals, divided into liberal and conservative camps; we are a world at war – which we rightly and very easily condemn, but what about our private little wars to which we are so committed?

We need the Holy Spirit in our world and in our lives, we need that touch of originality; and let us not forget that when we come to the celebration of these Sacred Mysteries, we stand where no one can stand but the High Priest of all creation. We call on the Holy Spirit to make the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ in an act that we can only mediate in obedience to Christ’s command.

The Holy Spirit has written the new law on our hearts by pouring love into them. Love is the ‘weight’ of a soul, which draws it, as if by a law of gravity, to what it loves and where it finds its rightful rest. Christian life is meant to be lived by attraction, not by force, out of love, not out of fear! Pentecost is the door to the fullness and joy of Christian life. It is original, a masterpiece, not a cheap copy.

 

‘Now you see me, now you don’t!’ could be a good description for Jesus’s various appearances to his disciples after his resurrection from the dead. He materialises mysteriously in a garden and a house, on the road to Emmaus and on a lakeshore and it isn’t clear to them at first that it really is Jesus. And then, just as they recognise him and the marvellous reality of his triumph over death finally dawns on them, he disappears again.

But the Ascension – the return of the Eternal Word to the glory of the heavens – is different. This time, he took his leave of them properly. He gave them instructions, and promised that the Spirit would be poured out upon them, and blessed them. This time he was gone for good. There would be no more opportunities to put their hands in his wounded side, or to break bread or eat grilled fish with him. He was gone.

We might expect this to be a cause of great sorrow and grief for them. But the Gospel says the opposite – that they ‘returned to Jerusalem with great joy’. For this parting was not bereavement, but fulfilment. ‘Everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled’, he had said. He opened their minds to what they had been hearing in the scriptures all their lives. And then he commissioned them to bear witness to him. Faith always requires a response, and knowledge of God is not something to be kept secret, but is to be shared.

‘Everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled’, said Jesus. We heard one such psalm today. ‘Gabhann Dia ’n airde le gártha molta’… ‘God goes up with shouts of joy; the Lord goes up with trumpet blast.’ He is the One the psalmist was talking about. Begotten before all ages, he consented to exist in time and became human, humbling himself even unto death. He shattered the gates of Hades, calling humanity to share in the new life made possible by his resurrection. Now, all is accomplished. As the hymn puts it: ‘The strife is o’er, the battle done; the victory of life is won; the song of triumph has begun.’ And so, he returns to the place that was his from all eternity – the right side of the Father. ‘Tá sé ina Rí ar na náisiúin, tá sé ina shuí ar a chathaoir naofa’: ‘He is king over the nations, he reigns on his holy throne.’ His leaving is not bereavement, but fulfilment and a cause for celebration. As a sixth-century poet wrote:

‘So now, be joyful and radiant… It was for you I came down and went through all . . . It is for you again that I ascend into heaven, to prepare the place where I must be with you.’ [St Romanos the Melodist]

And that, dear friends, is the real good news of today’s feast. Just as his becoming human, his teaching and miracles, his suffering and death, and his resurrection were FOR us, so was Jesus’s ascension FOR us. ‘It was for you I came down and went through all . . . It is for you again that I ascend into heaven, to prepare the place where I must be with you.’

The eternally begotten Word took on human flesh in Jesus of Nazareth, and when all had been accomplished, Jesus the Christ took that humanity – our very nature! – with him to the right side of God – to that ‘cathaoir naofa’ to which he has gone up with shouts of joy and trumpet blast.

‘We saw his light break through the cloud of glory whilst we were rooted still in time and place

As earth became a part of Heaven’s story and heaven opened to his human face.

We saw him go and yet we were not parted, he took us with him to the heart of things.’[Malcolm Guite]

After the Lord’s Ascension, humanity has had a place – the place of honour – at the right hand of God for all eternity. Jesus wasn’t abandoning his people, but rather, he was going before them, manifesting the gloriously beautiful fruits of his resurrection from the dead. Paradoxically, in his Ascension, Jesus didn’t become more distant from his people, but instead was making it possible for us to have a closer and more intimate connection with the life of heaven. As the second reading described it, he opened a ‘new and living way … for us through the curtain’. And where Jesus, the Head, has gone before in glory, we, the Body are called to follow in hope…

This joyful and hopeful Good News comes with implications too. In both the first reading and the Gospel, Jesus tells the disciples that they are to be witnesses. They are to carry on his mission in the world. Like students reaching the end of their time at school, they must now step up and take responsibility. There’s something almost comic about the two angels appearing as the disciples watched Jesus ascend into heaven. ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?’ It’s as if they’re saying that the party is over now and it’s time to get on with the work of being his witnesses. He promised the Holy Spirit, to equip them for that task, and of course he would continue to be present when they gathered for the Breaking of Bread.

Jesus, the Risen Conquering Son, is with us as we gather today, as we listen to his word and as we celebrate the sacrament of his Body and Blood. And we are called to make him present too by loving our neighbours and serving one another. Those men in white robes who chided the disciples for standing there and gawping up at the sky would definitely have a challenge for us too if they appeared in this church this morning.

‘Christ has no body but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours,

Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world,

Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,

Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.

Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, Yours are the eyes, you are his body.

Christ has no body now but yours.’ [St Teresa of Avila]

Martin Browne OSB

Fr. John O’Callaghan OSB

In today’s second reading, from the Book of Revelation, there is the image of a city, a ‘holy city, coming down from God out of heaven’. It has all the radiant glory of the presence of God. It is the ‘new Jerusalem’, a spiritual home, the ultimate home where the people of God live in his presence.

We note that this heavenly Jerusalem has twelve gates over which are written the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. There are also twelve foundation stones, and each of them bears the name of one of the twelve apostles. This is obviously very symbolic. The relationship between the tribes of Israel and the apostles is being alluded to.

The Christian church inherited a great deal from Israel: belief in one God only, and that he is the Creator of the universe. The Jewish religion also taught us basic standards of moral behaviour through the prophets as exemplified by the ‘ten commandments’. It led us to hope for a messiah figure, and even to entertain the daring hope of life after death.

In today’s readings the issue is precisely how much Christians were to adopt or leave aside from their Jewish heritage; We cannot perhaps imagine today how momentous it was to abandon traditions which had shorn up Jewish identity for over a thousand years or how humbling it would be for Jewish people to now share table with those of pagan birth.

It is interesting to witness how the decision was made. It involved, as we are told,’ the whole church’, a first synodal action! Delegates were chosen, and even leaders as prominent as Paul submitted their opinions of the the apostles and elders in Jerusalem. The work of the Holy Spirit through the community was recognised by disciples and, to sum it up, we get that amazing phrase ‘it has been decided by the Holy Spirit and ourselves’. The work of the Spirit, hand in glove with the disciples and the leaders, does not fracture its unity. The holy, apostolic church remains one.

Since that council in Jerusalem to this day there is no question of Christians being bound to follow Jewish practices of circumcision, of obeying Kosher food laws of Jews, or observing their feasts and traditions. The foundation of the church, on the contrary, is the teaching of the apostles, namely that God has come to us in Christ, shared our life, died and rose to new life and this as fulfilment of the Jewish scriptures. This is our core belief and what we celebrate at Easter. It is the good news which permeates our lives, giving us the hope we need to live as disciples.

And we recognise that this city, the new Jerusalem, has more to it than what was inherited from Judaism. We would do well to note the intimacy with God it affords its citizens : as today’s gospel says ‘if anyone loves me he will keep my word and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him.’  It is in God’s presence that we live and move and have our being’. This is our new home, the new Jerusalem, now ‘under construction’!

It is a community growing to be the city of God, the city of Peace, as its name indicates. ‘Salem’, a variation of ‘shalom’, means ‘peace’. And our role is to be peace-makers. To contribute by our lives to make this a better world, allowing the Holy Spirit make it a home for all.

Fr. Abbot Brendan Coffee OSB

John Patrick Murphy, Paddy to his family, was born in England on 28 September 1935 to Irish parents, the eldest of five children. Always conscious of his Irishness, which was an important part of his identity, Brian developed a lifelong interest in things historical. On leaving school he entered Douai Abbey where he was professed in October 1955, taking the name Brian after a seventh-century bishop. Throughout a long life, firstly at Douai, then at Trinity College and St Gerard’s School in Bray, and finally here in Glenstal, where he returned to monastic life, he continued his historical research and writing.

As a historian, Brian was not afraid to take an unconventional view. His books, letters and talks, where he expounded the fruits of his own research, often challenged the accepted position. Brian was not shy about expressing his views, as anyone who knew him can well attest. Always the historian, Brian adopted the historical narrative even in his letters. I always recall receiving a letter from him when I was a student in Padova, apologising for having moved into my room. I had to read to the end before I discovered a pipe had burst over his room and the ceiling collapsed on top of him during the night. Most people would have written that first!

We’re told that Herodotus, the father of history, spent his entire life working on just one project. There was a similar unity and focus in Brian’s historical work. It too was the labour of a lifetime. The final chapter of which was written last Monday, when Brian became seriously ill. We thank the staff of University Hospital Limerick for their care for Brian in his final hours. His leaving us was very sudden, but he was at peace.

As we journey through life, many of us develop a hobby or special interest, something we love to do simply for the joy of doing it. Music, reading, exercise or sport. Brian was hugely blessed that his two great interests in life, history and gardening, found a happy intersection here in Glenstal. If God has a hobby, then I think we would have to admit that it is gardening. One of the first things God does in the Book of Genesis is plant a garden.

Every afternoon, without fail, Brian went to the garden here in Glenstal, tending the plants, nurturing seeds and caring for the fabric. In this task, some men of the roads, with whom he built a relationship, assisted him over the years. One of them offered him some advice, of which he became particularly fond – Dum spiro spero, ‘while I breathe, I hope’. In more recent times Brian was ably assisted in the garden by Seamus Hayes.

Most people who met Brian did so in and around the garden. He loved to talk to people and would happily tell you in great detail about its 17^th century walls, the Mulryan castle, Capercullen House and of course the story of the Barrington family, estate and castle.

Today, we have not gathered here to speak about gardening, neither have we come for a history lesson, we have come to ask the mercy of God on our departed brother Brian who, like all of us, is a sinner in need of God’s mercy. Our Lord Jesus laid down his life on the tree of the cross for Brian, for you, and for me. This is what we celebrate in this Easter Season.

Rooted, planted, and grafted onto the Risen One in baptism, the promise to Brian and to us all, is that we will be clothed in greater raiment than all the lilies of the fields. On the day of his Baptism, God planted Brian in the soil of Christ’s death and resurrection.

This is our faith and hope, as it was Brian’s, Dum spiro spero. For he knew what all good gardeners know, no plant can live without being fed and nourished with water, good soil, and sunlight. That apart from Christ, our true Vine, we wither and die. But Brian also knew that God is no ordinary gardener. For unlike most gardeners, who dig up the flowerbed and start over when it is full of weeds, God does something truly amazing. Jesus, the Son of God became sin for us. He became the weed and died on a tree to make his cross our tree of life.

He was planted in our tomb. But this divine Gardener could not and would not stay dead. He rose from the dead in a garden, of all places. And so, we have come full circle, from the Garden of Eden, through the Garden at Glenstal, to the Garden of the Resurrection.

On the 16 May, Brian saw what John saw in the Book of Revelation. The river of life flowing from the throne of the Lamb. The tree of life whose leaves are given for the healing of the nations. And the Lord of life, the Lamb of God, the divine gardener, waiting to welcome him home.

May he rest in peace.

Funeral arrangements

Fr. Brian Murphy OSB died on May 16^th 2022, at University Hospital, Limerick; sadly missed by his children Miranda and Frances; his monastic brethren at Glenstal Abbey; his brother Peter; grandchildren Paul and Amelia; and a wide circle of relatives and friends.

Reposing in the Monastery from 3.30 pm until 5.00 pm on Friday 20^th May, followed by removal to the Abbey Church for the office of the dead. Funeral Mass on Saturday 21^st May at 11.30 am,  burial will follow in the Abbey Cemetery.

All services will be available online via the webcam.

Obituary

John Patrick Murphy – known in his family as Paddy – was born in England to Irish parents, on 28 September 1935. Following his secondary education, he entered Douai Abbey, near Reading in Berkshire. He was professed in October 1955, taking the name Brian, in honour of the seventh-century Bishop of Dorchester, Saint Birinus. He was ordained priest in October 1963.

In 1974, Fr Brian discerned that he should leave Douai. He spent an extended period in Glenstal shortly after that, but eventually decided to return to lay life. He qualified as a teacher in Trinity College Dublin, and taught for several years at St Gerard’s School in Bray, Co. Wicklow, eventually becoming Head of the Junior School. His book, St Gerard’s School: An Educational Initiative, was published in 1999.

Brian arrived in Glenstal once again in September 1984, this time for good. Initially a guest, he spent his time on historical research and teaching. He was awarded a PhD in History from UCD in 1987. Sensing a call to return to monastic life, he was permitted to begin a period of probation that same year, and his definitive incorporation into the Glenstal community became effective on 1 August 1990. Throughout the decades that followed, Fr Brian had two primary occupations – scholarly historical work and the restoration and care of Glenstal’s historic gardens. He was passionately committed to both, and brought them together most elegantly in 2014, with the publication of Glenstal Abbey Gardens.

His 1990 book, Patrick Pearse and the Lost Republican Ideal, offered a notable and somewhat controversial challenge to prevailing ‘revisionist’ interpretations of the history of the revolutionary and civil war period in Ireland, and he continued writing and lecturing on related topics to the end. Less controversial was his 2018 book on the traumatic experiences during this time of the family who built Glenstal castle, The Life and Tragic Death of Winnie Barrington.

Devoted to daily work in the terraced garden and the Lady Garden, Fr Brian was a familiar and welcoming face for countless visitors over the years. He had a loyal band of assistants throughout this time, including many ‘men of the roads’, who had come to stay in our hostel.

Fr Brian became ill on the afternoon of Sunday 15th May and was transferred to University Hospital Limerick on Monday 16th May, where he died later that day. He is survived by his brother Peter, daughters Miranda and Frances, and grandchildren, Amelia and Paul.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.

PDF: Brian Murphy OSB + RIP

 

Fr. Cuthbert Brennan OSB

We are now five Sundays after Easter, that day when we gathered to proclaim the truth that the crucified Jesus broke the bonds of death and came forth from the tomb. The future was cracked open and we glimpsed a shadow of our future selves. But five Sundays from Easter is a long time. We get back from the tomb and we wonder what if anything has really changed. The Easter sun has gone down and when we awake we discover that it’s the same old world, the same old you, the same old me. We return to our old ways and identities and put back up the boundaries which secure those identities. These boundaries which provide us with such comfort that we don’t even see how confined we are behind them, how limiting they can be for our life and vision.

Contemporary leadership and management theories emphasize with unrelenting zeal how important it is to have a vision, a vision statement, an imagined direction for individual leaders and companies if they are going to be successful. Such a vision is not understood to be some kind of dreaming completely unmoored from reality; rather envisioning a successful path requires that a leader is deeply cognisant of their context.

Beyond its contributions to business ventures, there is a long tradition for employing our imagination, the power to envision, even holy daydreaming as a way to come closer to God. And in the vision from John in our reading from Revelation this morning the church offers us, the baptised, it’s best vision of our identity.

In this vision people do not go up to heaven, heaven comes down to them. The same God who created heaven and earth the first time is pleased to create them both anew. And God comes too – joining humans right where they are “See the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God, they will be his people and God himself will be with them. With a future like that we can’t dismiss the earth.

In this vision, the destination is not a garden but a city. We are not headed back to a perfect paradise for two but forward to a city for all nations. The vision of a new Jerusalem is bound to be a disappointment to people who thought they were going to have God all to themselves since this city is going to be full of people from every corner of the earth. Anyone who cannot get along with their neighbours now is going to be miserable then, unless they let the vison get to work on them ahead of time, softening their hearts and opening their minds to embrace all whom God embraces.

To choose this destination is not about securing an advance ticket to heaven but it is saying yes to being grounded in the very vision of Jesus Christ. And saying yes to it will not give you a risk free, cost free, pain free life. The challenge of embracing this vision leads us to appreciate the other and particularly the poor. People on the margins can best reveal how our societies are structured to grant privilege to some at the expense of others.

To say yes to Christ may in fact make things harder rather than easier for you, with one important exception – you will never suffer from a shortage of higher purpose in your life. You will never wonder why you are here or where you are headed. Your feet are pointed in a certain direction – toward full communion with God and neighbour.

And in choosing this destination you gain a whole new family, a family of the baptised created by Christ, where water is thicker than blood. And the greater part of the family has already gone before us – the Saints who are dedicated to helping us get to where we are meant to go, so our lives unfurl towards their purpose.

The gospel passage today succinctly summarises the whole

of the Jesus vision

of the very daydreaming of God

of the most sacred hope of the divine imagination;

That we might love one another and so reveal us as true disciples.

In a favorite rabbinic story, a rabbi asked his students how they could tell when the night had ended and the day was begun.  “Could it be,” asked one “when you can see an animal in the distance and can tell whether it is a sheep or a dog?”  “No,” said the rabbi.  “Is it,” asked another, “When you can look at a distant tree and tell whether it is an olive or a fig?”  “No,” said the rabbi.  “Is it,” asked a third, “when you can gaze into a cup and tell whether the liquid is water or wine?”  “No,” said the rabbi.”  Then tell us, they demanded, “Tell us when you know that the night has ended and the day is on its way.”  “It is,” said the rabbi, “when you can look into the face of any woman or man and see that they are your sister or brother, because if you cannot do this then it is still night no matter what the time.

Living a life of faith requires an imagination

a vision of what could be in God:

the possibility of treating all people with equal dignity

the possibility of acts of service and sacrifice

the possibility of peace rather than war

the possibility of John’s vision of a new heaven and a new earth.

May this Eucharist fortify us with these mystical gifts

that we might see and enact

this revolutionary vision of Christ,

whom we call Lord and God, forever

 

Fr. Luke Macnamara OSB

Saint Benedict opens his Rule with the words “Listen O my child to the ear of the master, and incline the ear of your heart.” This is a different quality of listening than we are used to. It is not the simple decoding of the sound waves that cause our ear drums to vibrate. This special listening involves a deeper organ, the ear of the heart, a listening in the very core of our being.

Why does Benedict insist on this special quality of listening? There is a great risk that most of life passes us by? Sadly, we too often miss out even what is most important. I remember observing a couple at a train station. The woman boarded the train, the man remained on the platform. The woman kept looking out at the platform. When the train pulled out and she gave her final wave, she closed her eyes to keep the memory of her partner safe, to hold it close. I do not know the woman, but I suspect that she never really left her partner. While physically apart, her love for him was very much alive.

Saint Benedict insists on this deeper listening because the stakes are high. Jesus wishes to give us nothing less than eternal life. It is hard to imagine what eternal life looks like. It will be something akin to the change at birth when we left the womb to enter the world. We were quite satisfied in our little dark sack. We had everything supplied by a tube and were in a warm bath with no intruding light. Entering into the world, our bodies took on a whole new range of activities. Our mouths which had no real function before are now used for breathing, nourishment, speaking, smiling, and kissing. Our previous life which had appeared full, now appears so limited. In like manner, when we die and our transformed bodies rise to eternal life, there will a quantum leap, whereby we will see Jesus and the Father and be under the shelter of God’s tent. This is what is pictured symbolically in the book of revelation. Gathered before the throne of God and the lamb (namely Jesus), dressed in the white robes of our baptism, we are sheltered in the tent of God and will never hunger or thirst or be afraid. The lamb will be our shepherd.

How might we prepare for eternal life? Benedict advises tuning into the important moments of life every day and asks his monks to begin each day by singing this psalm verse “O that today you would listen to his voice”. This awareness involves not only the five senses but the deepest inner sensory organ, the heart. This is the organ I was privileged to witness in action in the young woman on the train. After her eyes opened she was somehow transfigured. The stress of the journey and the separation was gone. Physical absence was transformed into spiritual presence.

At this Mass we have heard Jesus offer us eternal life and now will shortly receive his nourishment at this altar for the journey. May we not limit our horizons to the physical world and ready ourselves for the great future that God has in store for each us – eternal life. Some of you will be called to fulfil that vocation in marriage, others perhaps as monks, nuns, or missionaries. Be open to the Lord’s call as he is the one who truly wants the best for you.

 

-Fr. Henry O’Shea OSB

In the early Church when the catechumenate was still a living reality, the weeks after Easter were used as a period of further instruction for those who had been baptized, confirmed and had received Communion for the first time at the Easter Vigil.

Baptism was regarded – and was often referred to – as the great illumination of mind and soul.   Along with the sealing with the Spirit in the chrismatization or confirmation and the reception of the Eucharist for the first time, it prepared the candidate for the further period of so-called mystagogy, or instruction in the mysteries into which she or he had been initiated.   The initiated soul was now considered capable of grasping the full implications of her or his initiation.

It is, I think, not untrue to say that we are now living in an environment in which any sense of baptismal initiation has largely evaporated. Baptism is for many a social rite of passage or, worse, an insurance against the time when a child needs to get a place in a local school.  Along with this evaporation comes an attenuated understanding of the Christian mysteries – a limited and limiting grasp of what faith in Jesus means and demands.

The liturgical texts that we pray and scripture readings to which we listen  celebrate and in meditate on the implications of initiation to the mysteries. This happens in every liturgical gathering of the faithful, but very markedly in the weeks after Easter and leading up to Pentecost.

All three of to-day’s readings are taken from the New Testament.   In the readings from the Acts of the Apostles, from the book of Revelation – also called the Apocalypse – and from the Gospel of John, the community of the new covenant indulges, as it were, in celebratory introspection on, or joyful examination of, its own beginnings.   As in all liturgy, the community reflects on how things were, on how they were intended to be and on both of these with a view to how they might, ought and still can be.

As in all liturgy, each of these readings has to a greater or less extent, three dimensions or aspects. The first aspect is historical, that is, it deals with where we came from, how and why. The second aspect is rather grandly called eschatological (which is a word derived from the Greek eschatos/ last or final) that is, where we are going and how and why we are going. The third aspect is existential, that is what we can do and be now, how and why we can do and be now in our present time.

The reading from the Acts of the Apostles depicts a community living with the dawning implications of faith in the resurrection. But this is a community still feeling its way. Peter and the apostles are still coming to terms with what they had experienced. The consequences of this coming-to-terms are immediately recognised by the Jewish religious establishment as dangerous, as a threat to the regime. And the Roman occupying forces are always there in the background.

The book of the Apocalypse or the Book of Revelation is a book of which we tend to be nervous.  Its language is too redolent of mystery, mystery in the non-liturgical meaning of the word, that is, something not understood, even a fairly-tale.   That is partly the point, partly the intention, of the book.   This book tries to describe a reality beyond words, a reality before and beyond and after time. So language is strained. The limits of language are stretched.  The Book of Revelation tries to put into words who and what Jesus Christ is and was and who and what those who believe in him are and can become.   It tries to put this hope, this life, into words.

From this attempt comes the time-out-of-time image of the throngs of thousands of angels, animals and elders around the Throne of God. From this desire to go beyond language, is the shout, the proclamation, of the reality of who the Lamb, the risen Jesus, is: ‘the one who was sacrificed and worthy to be given power, riches, wisdom, strength, honour, glory and blessing.’

Crucially, this gathering around the Throne of God and this proclamation are not confined to the heavenly throngs. All of creation is included in this cosmic vision; past, present and future – including ourselves and especially the throngs of the baptised. Along with the four animals, representing the four Evangelists we see on the panel at the front of our altar; along with the elders in the reading, we are called to prostrate ourselves, to worship and to proclaim.

In all preaching, there is a danger of succumbing to the lure of words, of being seduced by word-play or by bad poetry. Today’s gospel puts us right.

Saint John tells us that Jesus really rose from the dead. Ghosts do not eat bread and fish. Ghosts do not eat at all. Such is the bewilderment of the disciples that they still cannot quite grasp that they are dealing with the risen Lord. They want to believe –  but cannot quite make the leap. They remind us of ourselves.

John tells us that the disciple whom Jesus loved – most likely John himself – says to Peter, ‘It is the Lord.’

Then, everything falls into place. The large catch of fish after an unsuccessful night – but now 153 caught in obedience to Jesus’ instructions to try again. The seemingly senseless number of 153 is used to show the concreteness, the reality of the catch; the breakfast of bread and fish showing that the Jesus eating with them is truly risen.

But, Jesus does not stop, is not satisfied with spectacle. Jesus is not about show or conjuring tricks. He pushes on to ask Peter – the very one who so recently denied him – ‘Simon, son of John, do you love me?’ Jesus is asking Peter, as he asks us, ‘Have you moved on from knowing about me, to knowing me?’ ‘Have you moved, are you moving on, from knowing to loving. Have you moved, are you moving to knowing by loving, so that you can know and love yourself, so that you can become your real self and in so doing, catch followers for me and feed and serve them as I have fed and served you?’

We can believe in, even occasionally catch a glimpse of, the Throne of the Lamb. We can confess, proclaim and worship the Lamb. That Lamb, Jesus, the risen Lord, wants this and makes it possible, but also wants and makes it possible for us to live out this confession, this proclamation, this worship in the concrete here and now.

‘Simon, son of John, do you love me?’

Fr. Senan Furlong O.S.B.

On the occasion of the first Mass of Fr Jarosław Kurek O.S.B.

Throughout the long sweep of Christian history, today, the Sunday that concludes the great Octave of Easter, has been known by many names.  It is Low Sunday: ‘low’ perhaps being in contrast to the ‘high’ feast of Easter Day, but more likely coming from Laudes, the first word of a sequence sung on this day, Laudes Salvatori: Let us sing praises to the Saviour.  It is also White Sunday, Dominica in albis, because on this day those who had been baptised during the Easter Vigil put aside their white baptismal robes which they had worn for the entire Octave.  In the Middle Ages it was known as Quasimodo Sunday on account of the opening words of the entrance chant that we sang earlier: Like new-born babes, long for the pure spiritual milk.  Finally, and more recently it has become known as Divine Mercy Sunday, because today marks the conclusion of the Divine Mercy Novena, a devotion originating in Our Lord’s revelations to St. Faustina. Today, Jarek, as we conclude this eight day celebration of Easter — a day whose different names inspire praise, joy for the gift of baptism, new birth, trust in God’s merciful love  —  you offer your first Mass.  You celebrate it in the midst of the assembly of the faithful, with your family, your confreres and your friends, here in this Abbey church of Ss Joseph and Columba at Glenstal where God in his divine mercy has willed that you pitch your tent.

As a priest, Jarek, it is your privilege — for privilege indeed it is — to preside at the celebration of the Eucharist, to lead the people of God in this timeless celebration of the mysteries of Christ.  It is your privilege to preside over the Liturgy of the Word: God’s revelation to his people.  It is your privilege, in the name of the Church, to stand at the altar of God as earth unites with heaven in this great act of thanksgiving and praise.

To understand what all this means we need only think of the scene portrayed in today’s gospel. The disciples are gathered in the upper room, behind closed doors, on the day of resurrection. The Risen Lord, still bearing his wounds, comes and stands among them. He speaks a word of peace, shalom, a word of tender mercy that banishes fear. The disciples see, they can even touch the risen Lord. The same risen Lord comes and stands in the midst of his Church, age to age, even to this day whenever two or three are gathered in his name. Here, now, he stands among us, despite the closed doors of our fears and doubts.  And what we celebrate is the very icon of heaven.  It reveals the face of God to us.

To lead God’s people in prayer, Jarek, you must adopt the attitude of Christ himself: the one who serves, who humbles himself, who bends down and washes the disciples’ feet; something, which as a monk, you also learn from the daily worship of God in choir and from your life in community. As a monk-priest you are called to serve your brethren and all those who draw life from this place, bearing their griefs, carrying their sorrows, sharing their joys. The more you do this, the more perfectly you will be conformed to Christ himself who came to serve, not to be served.

St Benedict, as you know, is somewhat ambivalent about the presence of priests in a monastic community, though not near as harsh as he is about the prior.  Benedict’s reservations spring from the fact that priests sometimes get notions about themselves. But it is also clear that Benedict has a tremendous respect for the priesthood. For like all the sacraments, the priesthood is one of God’s great gifts to his people, a treasure contained in frail earthenware vessels.  Echoing St Cyprian’s admonition to the confessors of his day who in time of persecution showed great courage but in time of peace were proving difficult, Benedict urges the ‘frail vessel’, the monk chosen to exercise the priesthood, to “make more and more progress toward God”. His words resonate with those spoken by the archbishop when he presented you, Jarek, with the bread and wine brought to the altar by Witek and Mirka: “Accept from the holy people of God the gifts to be offered to him.  Know what you are doing, and imitate the mystery you celebrate: model your life on the mystery of the Lord’s cross.”

When the Risen Lord appeared to the disciples in the closed room he breathed on them the breath of God, the Spiritus Sanctus, the Holy Spirit that enlivens the whole world. Jesus has breathed into each of us the Holy Spirit that we might become to the world we live in a bearer of mercy.  That is the vocation of all the baptised. That is the heart of being a priest.  To paraphrase the core of St Faustina’s message and mission: Breathe into your world what the risen Christ has breathed into you, which is divine mercy. May this message and mission resound and reside in your heart, Jarek, and may you become like Christ, your master, a living spring of mercy, flowing out into an arid world, a world hungering and thirsting for God.  Ad multos annos.

 

 

 

 

Fr. Christopher Dillon OSB

Against the backdrop of the war in Eastern Europe, it seems almost obscene to shout, “Alleluia”, as Christians of the Western tradition are doing today. But the fact that we are doing so is itself an indication of the overwhelming importance of the day. After the solemn liturgical celebration of these past three days, during which we have marked, scene by scene, the drama of our being bought back from destruction at the price of God’s blood, if we can say that of the blood of Jesus Christ, we cannot withhold our rejoicing at the achievement of Jesus’ resurrection. We are celebrating nothing less than the defeat of death. From the moment of Jesus’ “return to the Father”, by means of his death, the phenomenon of death for all humankind has been changed irrevocably. Thenceforth, death is no more than the point of graduation from this temporal human manner of being to the fulness of life in God, however that is to be understood. This is the heart of the Good News of Christianity, the goal of the Incarnation of God in Jesus of Nazareth.

In our world of alternative facts, fake news and disinformation, you may well ask what it means to make this assertion of the resurrection of Jesus from death. It is a critical question and one that needs both to be asked and to be answered. Is the testimony of the self-styled “eye-witnesses” which we heard in the first reading sufficiently compelling? “We have eaten and drunk with him after his resurrection from the dead – and he has ordered us to proclaim this.” But what does “resurrection” mean? Read for yourselves the various accounts of the resurrected appearances of Jesus, in the different Gospels. Jesus’ rising was clearly not a raising from the death, as Lazarus had been raised, only to die again, at some later date. This was/is a physical rising from death, which allowed for eating and drinking; but also for appearing and disappearing, for a manner of being which exceeds our normal experience and description.

This testimony, we are told, was supported by the working of miracles and manifest heroism of those witnesses in martyrdom, later on. All of us here have been brought up to believe this testimony and to live accordingly, in the community of believers which we call the church. But, do we believe it? And if we do, how does our believing affect the way we live our lives, if at all?

These are questions which deserve responsible enquiry by every one of us. Indeed, the credibility and the future of the church in the West depends on the quality of our engagement with them.

The synodal process on which we are struggling to embark offers an obvious opportunity to address them and the many other matters which follow from them. We need to inform ourselves of the real issues in the community of believers, men and women – more women than men, don’t forget – and to hold our leaders in the church to account both in what they teach and in how they live.

All this makes us an Easter people, involving engagement and hard work, but always in the certain knowledge that the Spirit of God which Jesus breathed into the world is with and within us. We have good news to share and good news to live by: Christ is risen, Alleluia!