Of Headphones

At Park-run and occasionally when I go around the lake by myself, some people use headphones. I have always assumed that the people who are wearing them are listening to music and that by some blue-toothy magic, their headphones are ‘feeding’ them inspirational noise to speed up their steps and quicken their heart rate.

But it occurred to me the other day that this might not actually be the case. What if these people use their headphones for something different and are actually using their headphones to block out all other noise so that they are deluged in syrupy silence? Is it not possible that the headphones can be used not only to supply noise, but also to block it out?

My pet theory is that we can access lots of noise, whatever noise we choose, as often as we like, and we don’t get enough silence to nurture and inspire us, in much the same way that music can nurture and inspire us.

The trick, I suspect, is to know when you need silence and when you need music. Then, to create the opportunity for what you need. Would it be a mortal sin if I got myself a pair of these headphones, slipped them on and played silence through them as I tottered around the lake? This might actually cause me to open my eyes afresh and gaze at the scenery that surrounds me. Good thoughts might come to mind. The tricky letter, the uncomfortable phone call might be thought through afresh, and ways forward may be found. Headphones, I have decided, can do lots of things that are not labelled on the box, and those who wear them may actually be doing more than just listening to the latest workout. Now what colours do they come in?

26/4/26

Address 2 on Affirmation

Today, I would like to offer a couple of examples of how others have affirmed me.

Years after I was ordained, Bishop John Hazlewood

Reflected that “I was like a little puppy dog falling all over itself in a rush to get to the altar.”

His imagery of a little puppy dog was astute and incisive, for puppy dogs are not just abounding in limitless enthusiasm and marvellous fun, but they also make lots of little puddly messes. Sadly, it is the lot of a Bishop to quietly and discreetly do the mopping up and wiping down.

Towards the end of this necessary cleaning process, Bishop John also said, “Please don’t be too hard on yourself. Our Lord knew what he was getting with you whilst you were still in the womb.”

He was doing at least two things here.

First, he echoed a reassuring biblical reference.

Jeremiah 1:5
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.”

While I was still kicking and squirming around in my mum’s womb, our Lord had plans for one of them, and I was to be here at Hamilton with you today. What an undeserved and thrilling treat.

Secondly, he affirmed that I had always been God’s even before I knew this myself. Even when I am in the middle of yet another puddly, piddly mess, he is right there with me.

This is what affirmation looks like. It is what affirmation sounds like. It is what affirmation feels like. To know that God is involved in every second of your life, even when and especially when it doesn’t feel like it, or you are forgetful of it.

Bishop John also ordained one Fr. Peter Treloar, who had many gifts and affirmation was just one.

Fr. Peter once said, “Dave, you have a wonderful gift for loving people…” I beamed and blushed. But then he added, “and it will pain you for the rest of your priesthood.” And as I reflect upon it he was right.

Affirmation must always be authentic, and Fr. Peter’s words were. I know this now not just on a cerebral, academic level, but on a daily, existential, emotional level. This double-edged sword of joy and piercing is something that I am privileged to experience on a weekly, if not daily basis. How insightful of Fr. Peter to see it in me, to articulate it and also to foreshadow that a sword will pierce my own heart as well. Perhaps the ministry of affirmation is also to say the hard things graciously and lovingly. To tell the whole truth about the other’s gifts and that some gifts come with a hefty price tag.

Finally, a piece of affirmation which came from a parishioner.

Their name, of course, is quite lost to me, as is the context of our conversation, but I can still hear them saying.

“You have grown into your priesthood, Fr. David”.

I, of course, had been unable to discern this googly, developing, unfolding mystery. To my shame, I have seldom made the time to step outside myself, look back, reflect and realise that this growth has been happening. I guess it’s like a garden. For some time, you diligently just work away at it. The work goes on, and you don’t realise what you have accomplished until you get a visitor;  you are showing them around, and they make a Costa ‘Gardening Australia’  type compliment. ‘Oh yeah… I hadn’t realised.'

It’s one of the reasons why I go to confession at least once a year. The poor old confessor can see and discern the things that are too close to me. Sometimes you have to get an industrial-strength guru to deal with the sludge that has insidiously, indiscernibly been building up over time.

For your reflection, you might like to think about those gifts that are blindingly obvious to you but are hidden from the other. And if you are very brave, you might like to gently point out to them the sparkle that you see, but which they might be blind to.

You could start with something gentle like…

“Esmeralda,… I wonder if you have ever given any thought to the possibility that … when you polish the brass, you do such a great job I can see my face in it”

We can also affirm others by offering listening silence with them. One of the most affirming questions I ever heard came from my son-in-law as he was speaking to one of his work colleagues on the phone. He simply asked, ‘Where would you like to start?’ He was making it very clear that this work conversation is not about me telling you what to do. It is about you and what you need, and how I can help you to do a great job and be productive. Perhaps in our affirming conversations, we should begin with the attitude and or words… ‘Where would you like to start?’

I have prattled on about a couple of people who have affirmed me, so three quick questions to take home.

Who has affirmed you?

How did they do it?

What was your reaction and why?

19/4/26 

Of Affirmation. PART 1 of 2

I thought that I would start with a true story to show you what affirmation does not look like.

I experienced ‘Non-affirmation’ frequently in college because  I was an overly sensitive, immature student at theological college.

One of my tutors went to great lengths to point out my incompetence when they cheerfully wrote the following note on one of my hard-fought essays…

“Dear David,
Thank you very much for this piece of work. Sadly, the logic of your essay completely escapes me.
However, if you wanted, I would be happy to buy you a beer, and perhaps you might try to explain it to me.”

That is not what affirmation looks like.

So what does it look like?

In his book ‘Christ in the wilderness’, Bishop Stephen Cottrell wrote.

“No human being can thrive without affirmation…
this is the truth that lies in the scriptures.
In sixth form, I found teachers who believed in me.
They did not think that education was pouring knowledge in,
rather it was drawing potential out.”

And this is what affirmation looks like. Affirmation does not seek to impose its own form of wisdom and stringent restrictions. Its own self-serving body of self-righteous knowledge. This style of teaching can only stifle and crush. As Bishop Stephen incisively wrote. ‘No one can thrive without affirmation.' Affirmation is essential to us.

Authentic affirmation starts with the other, the underlying, the apprentice. It looks into the heart and soul of the student, sees what is there and draws out the potential and possibilities by offering consistent and constant affirmation. Rather than diminishing the other, it celebrates them. Affirmation fosters possibilities and encourages them to flourish. And having blossomed and flourished it can then offer fruit, fruit that will last. This fruit will be enjoyed, it will nurture others and be rejoiced in.

The Master’s affirmation of St. Peter is well known, and it is worth repeating here as we look at it through the lens of affirmation.

It begins with a simple Q n A session. Peter gets the answer right and is affirmed for this.

‘When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”

 Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven.”

However, the bit that I want to refer you to is a line that we frequently skimp over.

“ For this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven.”

And there in lies our own shiny key in showering others with affirmation.

We must always try to see others in the same light as our heavenly Father does. How does our Heavenly Father see them?

What can He reveal about them to you?

That they are flawed, certainly. That they are scarred and bruised… always. That they are loved continuously, that they are to be offered unflinching forgiveness.

A really good place to start is to ask our Heavenly Father to reveal to us who this person truly is. It is quick, easy and tempting to listen to what flesh and blood has to say about others. It’s a much harder but much more fruitful exercise to have some silence and listen to what our Heavenly Father has to say about them.

And if you are very brave, perhaps you might stop and listen to what our Heavenly Father has to say about you. Your own self.

You are my child, whom I love, and with you I am well pleased.

What if we really owned those words for ourselves and integrated them into our everyday lives? Wouldn’t we then understand that we are affirmed and … how much easier it would be to affirm others, knowing that the Heavenly Father is saying exactly the same thing to Fred Nark, who drives us bonkers and has that nasty anti-social habit that must never be mentioned.

So perhaps my tutor was not so far off the mark. The things you and I dabble in do not quite fit into a concise, well-reasoned, 3 points and a conclusion, footnoted essay. No wonder they wrote…

Thank you very much for this piece of work. Sadly, the logic of your essay completely escapes me. However, if you wanted, I would be happy to buy you a beer, and perhaps you might try to explain it to me.”

In the end, I didn’t take him up on the offer. The opportunity to affirm one another was missed.  But I reckon if we had, we would have seen each other and affirmed each other as only brothers and sisters can and should.

For your reflection.

What is the heavenly Father saying to you about your own Fred Nark?
What is the Heavenly Father saying to you about yourself?

Step Inside Love … and stay

In 1968, Cilla Black released a song, ‘Step Inside Love’. It’s about a woman who waits for her special friend to come and visit. When her friend leaves, she makes it very clear that she would like to see them again. In my mind’s eye, I can still ‘see’ Cilla on the screen, and I can most certainly hear the music.

So here’s the thing. Even after all these years, the music and vision are still part of me. The music and images, like the person in the song, stepped across my threshold and stayed.

I’m sure you have these special songs and images from days of yore. They are to be re-remembered, re-lived, re-lived, and relished.

But this stepping across the threshold and staying, this getting under our skin, also applies to our relationships with people, and it applies to our relationship (if you're so inclined) with the Divine.

He will politely stand at the door and knock. The rest is up to us.

It’s a risk when we allow others to step inside and stay because our lives are set on a whole new trajectory, and things can never be the same again. For me, it is utterly enjoyable, and I could not have it, would not have it any other way.

The song was written by Paul McCartney, no less, and the end exquisitely encapsulates this ‘wanting more', this ache for the next encounter. Thus…

‘When you leave me
Say you'll see me again
For I know in my heart
We will not be apart
And I'll miss you till then
We'll be together
Now and forever
Come my way
Step inside, love, and stay.’

Do we dare take the risk? Do we open the door, find them a place and ask them / Him to stay?

Easter 2. His Wounds are our Wounds.

It was a very simple business card, and its simplicity is what made it so striking. There was no gloss on the card; there were pretty pictures or elegant curly whirly script.

Just the person’s name, their role and some basic contact details. The absence of dizziness and complications was what made it so powerful and attractive.

It gave me pause to think. If Our Lord had a business card, then I wonder what it might look like. You could go all out with all his titles, Messiah, Lord, Friend, Brother, Saviour and add some nice crosses around the edge of the card for special effect. The contact details might prove a little trickier, though. To the best of my knowledge, I have never discovered an email address, Google account, fax or mobile phone number.

Instead… maybe something like this could be printed.

“For all enquiries, sit still, listen and if you need to … then speak. The things you have to say are important to me, but not nearly as important as the things I have to say to you.”

But I believe that today’s gospel gives us a clue as to what The Master’s business card would look like.

‘Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!”  After he said this, he showed them his hands and side.’

The wounds that were inflicted so brutally are actually transformed into symbols of loving peace. Yes, you can string me up. You can drive big rusty nails through my hands and feet, you can pierce my side, but I will not be sucked into your petty and heinous trap, the unending, vicious cycle of retribution, retaliation and revenge which can only disappoint and must result in death.

Instead, I will meet you behind your locked doors of fear and questions. And instead of showing you a clenched fist pumping in the air, I will gently open my palm and show you where the nails went through.

And it’s the same with Thomas. Here Thomas.

Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side.

His business card has the imprints of my wounds. The graphics of love and the simplicity of those scars make them so potent and so irresistible.

In my little time as a parish priest, I have discovered that the most spectacular folk are those who carry their scars with panache and grace. There’s little or no fanfare; they just get on with the very serious but enjoyable business of loving others into his nearer presence.

So for reassurance to his jittery disciples, who want to believe but who understandably can’t quite believe …Our Lord says look at my wounds.

He doesn’t say Look at my eyes, or my hair, or face, but look at … my wounds.

I invite you to meet me in my wounds. And yes, there are times when I will meet you in the dancing and wine and eros and joy of the wedding at Cana, but when the chips are depleted, and the bottle is empty, and despair ensnares you, and you are wounded in whatever way you happen to be, I will meet you exactly where you are. I will reach out my wounded hand and gently hold your wounded hand.

Let me tell you how I have a tiny sense of this. One of the loveliest things about being in a parish for longer than 30 seconds is that you come to know some of the wounds of those who you serve. Those who have selflessly and with limitless generosity invited you, like Our Lord, to gaze upon their scars and scrapes. And when I come along the altar rail and place the broken Him on the palm of your hand it’s almost like I am saying

“I know your brokenness; here is he who was also broken. The pierced one longs to heal you.

And even after more than 40 years, when my hair has turned a different colour, and my jowls are … umm… jowelly. All of this is still an undeserved, humbling and thrilling privilege.

Part of the message of today’s gospel is simply this.

We discover each other at our finest and best when we discover each other not just in that winning smile, but when we discover each other in our wounds.

When we hear him say with gentle, tender clarity. When you are looking for me

You will find me in my wounds

And I will find you in your wounds.”

Then the doors of fear are unlocked. The walls of doubt crumble, and the light of the resurrection can flood our lives, our community and our world.

His wounds are our wounds are my neighbours' wounds are His wounds. They always were. They always will be forever and ever, Amen.

Would it be OK if I said …. ‘I don’t know’?

In the story about Adam and Eve, we have that rather delicious-looking fruit that didn’t turn out to be so palatable after all. I don’t think Adam and Eve ate it because they were hungry. Hec no, there was plenty of other fruit that was available for the plucking.

No, they desired to have all the answers. The knowledge of good and evil. And they got to know all about good and evil in their sons. With the selfless goodness of Abel and the evil of Cain, who slaughtered Abel in a jealous rage.

It’s tempting when you are first starting to have the shopfront of knowing all the answers. But as time goes on, you realise that actually you don’t know it all and your shopfront facade, far from looking smart, shiny and sleek, is actually a bit dusty and tired.

Some of the most fruitful conversations in my later years have been when I have answered a tricky question with

“Goodness gracious! What a jolly good question. I don’t know the answer to that, but I was just about to put the kettle on and perhaps you might care to join me over a cuppa, and together we might learn from each other and about each other”.

It’s OK not to have all the answers at your fingertips and not to rattle silly smooth-sounding phrases with lightning speed and 100% accuracy; in fact, I’m a bit suss on these types. I’d much rather a gentle pondering, massaged with silence, punctuated only with the crunch of a chocolate biscuit and the slurp of a cuppa.

The honesty when we respond with ‘I don’t know’ is always more to be desired than the voluptuous fruit of the quick, glib and easy from Mr Know It All.

Easter  4/4/26

The Rolled Away Stone - Proof of Life.

There are three popular theories to explain the resurrection of the Master.

First, that Jesus held his breath and stopped his heart long enough so that everyone thought he was dead, no stethoscopes or ECGS in those days. Then, when he was safely ensconced in the tomb, he simply got up, shifted the gigantic stone, walked out and started appearing all over the place. Hey presto, we have a resurrection. And I have met people who genuinely believe this with everything they are. Thus, they also believe that death really is the full stop of life and there is absolutely nothing that follows. Nothing.

There are a couple of problems with this theory.

You don’t actually survive Roman Crucifixion. These guys are crackerjack at their job, and death by crucifixion was as brutal as it was certain. We tend to think that Our Lord was just one of three that were crucified, but the reality was that there was a whole forest of crosses. It was a well-run and efficient industry of death.

Further, I ask you to remember the lance that pierced Jesus’ side with blood and water flowing out.

The second theory to explain the resurrection was that the apostles came to the tomb in the middle of the night, overpowered the well-paid, grumpy guards who were working night shift, moved the stone and stole the body.

Then it was just a quick little broadcasting announcement to tell the world that He had risen as he promised. Ta Da!

Somehow this doesn’t fit with the frightened and fearful disciples who scarpered off after Jesus’ arrest and who dared not show their faces at the crucifixion. Understandable really. I’m sure that our Roman soldier friends would have found a spare cross lying around, and it would have been a simple matter to do the obvious. The apostles were marked men and met in fear behind closed doors.

I’m not convinced by the stealing of the body theory, and neither is Mother Church.

Which leaves, of course, the third option that the Resurrection happened as the gospels and creed tell us, and we say every Sunday.

We believe in the resurrection and life everlasting. And just as the Stone and tomb could not confine Him, neither will our coffins and graves confine us.

This year, the thing that strikes me most powerfully and I find the most compelling is that rolled away boulder.

I remember the woman on the way to the tomb talking about the cost of living increase, the rising price of fish and olives at the market. They were also asking, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us?’ Clearly, this was a substantial task and would take some doing. It was an obstacle for the women in their mission to anoint the body of the one they loved.

But Obstacles are also our wings.

Every single one of us, just like those women encounter obstacles. We see the path ahead, we see what could be, and yet there always seems to be this insurmountable boulder in the way. It blocks our path and causes us to say ‘O bother!’ I’m sure there are other words instead of ‘O Bother’. So we are faced with choices.

We could…. Turn around and mutter, ‘Well, clearly it will never happen.’ But the women trod on in the eerie early morning darkness … in faith.

We could wring our hands and dither for a long time and be stuck with exactly the same result as the previous option. Or…

We could say to ourselves,’ Whacko! An opportunity.  Here’s what I’m going to need, and these are the skills I’m going to have to find. ‘Who will roll away the stone?’ Let's show this boulder who is boss and continue along towards the new dimension with joy and alacrity.

This is not the easiest option. It will demand of you vigour and resilience. It will involve asking, and often there will not be progress for some time. Boulders can be mighty stubborn if they choose to be.

No matter the success or bitter failure in dealing with our day-to-day boulders, we will discover much later that we are different people because of this adventure, as were the women who, in the end, didn’t have to worry about the stone.  We will have learnt, and we will have been enhanced, and we are older and a little smarter. It might have been wiser to get a forklift than to use dynamite. But in the throes and parry and grist of our enterprise, we will also discover that we have grown wings and learned to fly.

I think a lot about that particular boulder at this time of year. The one in the garden that seemed to seal the grave and death forever, but actually became proof of life with winged angels inside waiting for us.

Christ is Risen… He is risen indeed!

Softly and gently, dearly-ransom'd soul,
In my most loving arms I now enfold thee,
And, o'er the penal waters, as they roll,
I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee.

And carefully I dip thee in the lake,
And thou, without a sob or a resistance,
Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take,
Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance. {370}

Angels, to whom the willing task is given,
Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest;
And masses on the earth, and prayers in heaven,
Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most  Highest.

Farewell, but not for ever! brother dear,
Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow;
Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here,
And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.

The Oratory.
January, 1865.

Palm Sunday  - The Donkey

During this Lent, we will be offering some homilies under the theme of ‘Instruments of resurrection’. We will discover that the most unlikely, commonplace, mundane things are instruments of resurrection. How clever that the master would use everyday, simple things to communicate and help us enter into the most profound mysteries.

Today it’s a donkey. … or rather The Donkey or That  Donkey. That’s right… the one who carried the Messiah on his back into Jerusalem.

Why use a donkey? Because the Master really needed to get to Jerusalem, the holy city, to offer up his sacrifice, the new and everlasting sacrifice, and he needed to do it in such a way that would make us stop and think.

So, a few things about THE donkey.

Our Lord could have entered Jerusalem on any beast or any first class ticketed chariot he liked. When you’re the Messiah, you have choices, many choices and some of them are rather lush, salubrious, flashy and very much ‘Look at me’.

A big, black, shiny war horse, such as one might see on the racetrack on the first Tuesday of November, was also an option for the Messiah and friend, but it is not the one he chose.

I think he chose the donkey because it authentically symbolised his style of leadership. Humility. “I am gentle and lowly of heart, and you will find rest for your souls”. A big brute of a warhorse would come crashing into our world, an intrusion and an act of confrontation. This is not the Master’s style.

He always came as an unobtrusive invitation. There were some who accepted and followed. There were some who fell in love… for a little while, and there were some who saw and understood the price tag and decided that this little man wasn’t for them.

When I think… about it, a donkey was exactly the right beast to carry our Lord to a selfless crucifixion and thus resurrection.

If you’re anything like me, you have days when you try to do the right thing consistently over a period of time, and the road is long, hot, rocky and uncomfortable. Being only a lowly Donkey this animal could have no idea of who he was carrying or the importance of the trek. I’ll lay odds, pretty jolly good odds, that when we get to the other side of the grave, and we see things much more clearly than we do now, that these tiresome treks, those confusing conversations and the rubbish tasks were actually some of our finest and most important missions. They may not have been gratifying and to our liking, and we may have wanted nothing more than to shirk this responsibility, but carrying it through to its completion, without faltering or questioning, will be our reward when we are with Him.

Something else about that donkey. One author of disrepute postured the theory that the donkey heard the Hosannas and cheers and, for a few minutes, thought that the adoration was all for him. How easily we can be deceived. How easily we are flattered. Our palms that turn to crosses say it all. The way to love must include pitstops of vulnerability, disappointment and rejection; for the vocation of love and service must involve mistakes and failures.

A little anecdote to finish. One priest I knew, and I have known many, began our relationship with words like these.

Well, Fr. David. I’m a bit of a donkey. You will learn far more from mistakes and blunders, the things that I get stupidly, stubbornly wrong, than you will from the few things that I get right.

He spoke with great honesty and authenticity, and he was absolutely, categorically right. I did learn many things that should not be done. He may well have been a bit of a donkey. He may well have been seduced from time to time with the ‘hosannas’ that were offered to him on his better days and he would be first to say that sometimes he just didn’t get it.

But his greatest strength was just to stay the course. To simply persevere, be persistent and get on with it. Like the donkey, he never pretended to be anything else or anyone else than who he was. As such, like the donkey, he too was an instrument of resurrection.

Lord Jesus Christ, by the three days you lay in the tomb, you sanctified the grave to be a bed of hope of resurrection.
Grant that when we lie in our own grave, we may sleep in peace until that glorious day when you awaken us to your glory.
Then we shall see you face to face and in your light we shall see light and know your splendour, for you live forever and ever Amen.

Remember…

On Ash Wednesday, we have a splendid custom where the ashes from last year’s Palm crosses are imprinted on our foreheads. You may have seen folk walking around with this grey smudge on their forehead and wondered what all the fuss was about.

The words said while the ashes are being placed on the person’s head are…

“Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return”

It’s pretty confronting stuff, but it is both real and authentic. There’s no getting around it. The mortality rate for any given population anywhere on the earth is always 100%. Nothing more… nothing less.

Ash Wednesday this year saw me having some surgery.  You see, clergy, too, are mortal. Very mortal. Cut us, and we bleed. Snatch away our loved ones in death, and we sob. Hearten and embolden us, and we grin broadly. If you happen to be part of a worshipping community, you may consider how to minister to your minister… if that makes sense.

As I tried to prepare for surgery (how do you do that anyway?) I pondered that as my mortal body was being sliced open, right around the world, people were praying, being reminded that they are dust and to dust they shall return.

Ash Wednesday catapulted us into the forty days of Lent, onto Easter, to infinity and beyond.

The good news of Ash Wednesday is that death does not have the last word. Life does. The cross on the forehead should be a visible reminder of that. The seemingly inconsequential guy on the cross actually has great consequences for us, especially when we find ourselves gathered with others in the presence of a shiny coffin.

And it all began with a smudgy cross on our forehead and muttering those humbling but necessary words.

Remember you are dust… and to dust you shall return.

Everyone's an Expert/Ambassador

Around the time Jeanine and I were considering a Parish exchange (2013), we were deluged with advice on a whole raft of subjects, which was the best time to fly, which airlines to fly with, who was grumpy at which border, which cities to avoid, which pub serves the best pint and who does the most marvellous English breakfast. Not necessarily the most nutritious, but something that meant you’d only have to eat a single banana for the rest of the day. Everyone was an expert, of course and spoke with the authority of experience in 2010 or earlier.

Of course, things change, people change, businesses change hands, or go out of business altogether. What was purportedly the place to go to have great bangers and mash now had the windows boarded up and no one around.

Everyone’s experience is different, and what sort of day the staff were having will determine the vivaciousness of hospitality. It’s very easy to come out with a brash and sweeping generalisation like… All the people in that quaint little village are… great fun, grumpy… hungover… snobs.

But it works the same way with us, too. When people come to our communities to live, holiday, or shop. Every time we interact with someone who is not known to us and we have not met before, we are an ambassador for Hamilton and sometimes for Australia.  Of course, our visitors will tell their friends and relatives about the time when they met those people in Western Victoria and how … and then they …

How quickly we are to make a quick assessment of a broad population on a single fleeting encounter. Every day we are an ambassador for our community, our parish and our nation. A great privilege and joy.

Sunday March 22nd

Lent 5

Vinegar

During this Lent, we are offering some homilies under the theme of ‘Instruments of resurrection’. We are discovering that the most unlikely, commonplace, mundane things are actually instruments of resurrection. How clever that The Master would use everyday, simple things to communicate and help us enter into the most profound mystery of resurrection. Today, we’ll be thinking about Vinegar and Our Lord’s thirsting on the cross.

Here’s the reference to vinegar from St. John.

“Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said, (to fulfil the scripture), ‘I am thirsty.’  A jar full of vinegar was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth.  When Jesus had received the vinegar, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”

This is not the first time that The Master asks for a drink. He shows his humanity, his need, to the woman at the well in John chapter 4. At Sychar, he comes to Jacob's well and asks a woman for a drink.

Over the next 19 verses there ensues a conversation between Jesus and the woman. Jesus gradually draws out more information from her,… or rather shows the woman that he actually knows quite a bit about her.

Peel away the top layer or two of the story, and we learn that the real issue is not just Jesus’ thirst for water, but what is going on here is his desire for the conversion of the woman herself. By drawing her into a clever dialogue, she learns a lot about who The Living water is.

So at Jacob's Well, we glimpse both a human Messiah who needs to quench his thirst and also the divine one who offers eternal life. It’s a masterful piece of work by John.

From the cross, we also see the same Messiah who is both human and divine.

When I read the story of Jesus on the cross expressing his thirst and being given vinegar, we know that sometimes we thirst as well. Sometimes, when we ask for water, we only seem to get vinegar.

I am also pretty sure that there are times when The Master asks for water from us, and if we hear his request, and sometimes we don’t, then what we offer is not to the same high standard and quality that is needed.

Still, like the Master on the cross, he accepts what is offered, and even in the spirit of our ambivalence and sometimes downright reluctance, he can use even vinegar to his glory. Even then, it is enough for him to accomplish what He needs to do. Yep. Even vinegar can be an instrument of resurrection.

And there is an understandable temptation to hang our heads and give way to despair. I could have, should have done better, but that is not the way forward. The way forward, I am fairly sure, is to give thanks that we were even asked, that we had a go, and to offer something, no matter how rudimentary or lacking, is better than nothing at all.

The cry ‘I thirst’ is an expression of vulnerability. He is needy, perhaps dare I say it, even weak and helpless. His words are our words. To be fully human is to say “I thirst”.

In his cry from the cross, we hear Jesus saying to us, ‘I understand, I know your limitations, I can and do identify with you.’

Augustine put it this way

“Man's maker was made man that He, Ruler of the stars, might nurse at His mother's breast; that the Bread might hunger, the Fountain thirst, the Light sleep, the Way be tired on its journey; that Truth might be accused of false witnesses, the Teacher be beaten with whips, the Foundation be suspended on wood; that Strength might grow weak; that the Healer might be wounded; that Life might die.”

But like the woman at Jacob's Well, the deep abiding thirst is actually The Master’s unending love for us.

The vinegar and his wanting of us, his need for us, his vulnerability is what makes him such a necessary and loving saviour. The vinegar and The Master’s thirst are the instruments of salvation. Even from the cross, especially from the cross, when death is imminent, and it is then that his work of resurrection is accomplished.

Lord Jesus Christ, by your thirst on the cross and the three days you lay in the tomb, you showed your relentless desire for us, and you sanctified the grave to be the bed of hope of resurrection. Grant that when we lie in our own grave, we may sleep in peace until that glorious day when you awaken us to your glory. Then we shall see you face to face and all shall be accomplished and fulfilled in you. Then we shall see your light and know your splendour, for with you we shall live forever and ever, Amen.