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.

So this is what it’s all about!

I found some words the other day that were helpful for me. For some, they might be too churchy, for others, the style will be familiar. For others… go gently with it and see where it might lead you. I use these words to conclude this little reflection and hope you find them useful.

The words begin with.…

Compassionate God,
As you know, each star you have created,
So you know the secrets of every heart;

And here I could not help but think of a wise old adoring couple who, knowing each other’s every wrinkle and flaw, still chose to wake up together. Over the years, they found out not only the fun bits, but all the other uncomfortable, pongy, grungy bits. The way he kicked his slippers off at night… and left them there. Or that annoying little idiosyncrasy that made the hypertension flare up.

To be found out, known, forgiven and loved even when everyone knows the cost, pain, privilege and joy of the relationship and still wants to sign on for an eternal amount of time has to be good news, right?

The truth I have come to realise too late in my little life is that this is exactly the relationship that The Master chooses to have with me.

When I understand this and mirror this compassion to the others in my life, then all may be citizens in his city of peace.

Compassionate God,
as you know, each star you have created,
so you know the secrets of every heart;
in your loving mercy, bring to your table
all who are fearful and broken,
all who are wounded and needy,
that our hungers may be satisfied
in the city of your peace;
through Christ, who is our peace.

Sunday March 15th

Lent 4  15 March 2026

During this Lent, we will be offering some homilies under the theme of ‘Instruments of resurrection’. We are discovering 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 is tears, and it is also Mothering Sunday.

This reflection, written by someone else, combines both tears and Mums… and it’s short

“When God Created Mothers"

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way."

It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.

One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course, the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand, and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

God," said the angel, touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."

I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger mince...and can get a nine-year-old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can’t imagine what this mother can do or endure."

Can it think?"

Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."

"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."

"What's it for?"

"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

"You are a genius, " said the angel.

Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.”

Lord Jesus Christ, by the tears you shed at the grave of your friend Lazarus, sanctify our own tears that when we weep,
we may come to know that you are already there, embracing us in our distress.
Then bring us at last to that place where those who mourn are comforted, and every tear wiped away with your pierced hand.
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.

The Two Faces of ‘What If?’

They came to me with a bewildering tale of how they were lining up for a lifetime of ongoing tests. Each one is seemingly innocuous in and of itself, but any one could be life-changing. It wasn’t an easy way for this person to live, but that was their lot. In the end, we agreed that we were fortunate to live at this point in history and in this culture where we had such attentive medicos and access to such great medicine.

It took my friend a while to get into this way of thinking, but most of the time, that’s how they came to reason and live. Most of the time… But… with each looming appointment and icky test, the inevitable question would raise its hoary head and roar… “What if?” That was a long time ago, and the last time I heard, they had gone on to live a rich, long, fulfilling life.

But the question ‘What if?’ also has a flip side.

What if we made an honest and long-lasting attempt to be quieter for longer? What if we wrote that ‘Thinking of you card’? What if I didn’t look at a screen for 24 hours?

You see the two faces of the question ‘What if’.

When my fearful friend asked this question, it was an understandable inward-looking, at self-inciting doubt and fear. For a few days, it would cripple their potential and joy.

The other way of asking the question looks outward to others and how we might enhance someone else's life.

Both have their place, but the former will frivolously waste our time pondering unknowables, whereas the 'other face' can inspire us to actually do something positive and enriching.

I know which face I would rather gaze upon.

8/3/26 

Lent 3 

Instruments of Resurrection - The Lance.

During this Lent, we are offering some homilies under the theme of ‘Instruments of resurrection’. We are beginning to discover that the most unlikely, commonplace, mundane things are actually instruments of resurrection. We discovered last week in our reflection on the hammer and nails that God can even use the implements of suffering and death as instruments of His resurrection.

Today’s reflection is on the lance that a soldier used to pierce Jesus’ side on Calvary.

But I want to begin our reflection in a different place and a different time.

The place is Wimmera Base Hospital. The date is July 22nd 2008. The time is 5:20 am. My father has suffered a massive cerebral haemorrhage and has died. The nurse on duty astutely walks that delicate line between being compassionate and being professional. She courteously explains that there are a couple of minor procedures that have to be done to confirm my father's death. A doctor arrives, obviously dragged out of heavy slumber. First, a gentle light shines on my father's eyes. Then the stethoscope is used to make sure that there is no heartbeat.

I have been privileged to watch this procedure many times, and I guess if you were looking for a catchphrase to describe what is going on, you would call it ‘proof of death’ as opposed to proof of life. And I want to come back to my father's proof of death at the end of this homily.

Today I want to reflect on the lance that pierced Jesus’ side.

The story goes that to bury a corpse on the Sabbath day is breaking the Sabbath law and doing work. Our Lord died on a Friday, and so the Jewish leaders of the day did not want the bodies to remain on the cross but to be taken down by sundown.

To make sure that the criminals were really, truly, truly dead, soldiers were sent forth to break the legs of Jesus and the two criminals. Breaking the legs fast-tracks the process of crucifixion. The soldiers break the legs of the two criminals; however, when they get to Jesus, they discover that he is already dead; but just to be sure… (no funny business, the Romans were sensational at this death business), a lance is used to pierce Jesus’ side. Blood and water flow out, and proof of death is displayed for all to see. It cannot have been glossy and glitzy. In fact, it must have been a rather grisly and gruesome sight.

So for the soldiers and for us, the lance is the proof of death, and therefore it is vital for our own personal death and resurrection. Yours and mine.

Flip the argument over from the other side…

If Jesus was just pretending to die. Just sort of held his breath and somehow managed to survive and get out of the tomb, then somehow break out of the tomb, then our  Christian faith doesn’t address our mortality.

God would not have made death Holy, the grave holy; he would not have embraced my own death and taken it into himself.  The soldier’s lance is the proof of The Master's clinical, authentic, physical death, so that when I die a clinical, authentic, physical death…. I can also enjoy an authentic physical resurrection.  The lance is like the modern-day torch in the eyes and stethoscope on the chest.

Something else the nurse also said, which has stayed with me for the last couple of decades.

‘Well, Rob, I don’t know where you are now, but you aren’t here.’

It was compassionately said, and they are wise and helpful words.

It tells death as it is, but it also gives hope. The life Rob enjoyed was no longer with us in the way that we had known him, but that doesn’t mean it was over altogether. It was just that the life he was living was being lived somewhere else in another dimension, in another way. Thus I could pray…

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.