Speak Lord…

A bit of background for today's first lesson. At the time of our first reading, the Israelites were in a state of moral decline. The judges who had led them previously had sadly passed away, and the Israelites had turned to their old ways of idol worship. The people were crying out for a king, but God had intended for them to be led by Him alone. So it’s very much a time of flux and the people are crying out consciously and subconsciously for some stable leadership.  Today I still think we yearn for good, solid, stable, leadership at all sorts of levels and in every organisation. Stability, continuity and wisdom seem to be in short supply.

When our story opens Samuel is serving in the temple under the guidance of the high priest Eli. One night, while he is sleeping, God calls out to him three times. Samuel, not yet aware that it is the Lord calling him, goes to Eli, thinking it is him who called him. Eli then realises that it is the Lord calling Samuel, and instructs him how to respond. From this point on, Samuel becomes a prophet of God, and God uses him to deliver important messages to the Israelites.

In ancient Israel, Prophets were called by God to deliver His message to the people. They were used to warn the Israelites of impending judgment and to call them to repentance. They also had the role of foretelling future events, and often God would reveal to them the hidden things. Prophets were very handy people to have around.

In the past, the folk had the great prophets Abraham, Isaac and Moses but these folk aren’t around any more.

Against this rather sombre moral and political background enters the prophet Samuel although once again God (in his wicked sense of humour and to teach us some humility) calls a little lad.

The call of Samuel has many salutary lessons for us.

First, we all need an Eli in our lives. Someone who we can go to when God interrupts us with his love. When we have been prodded and nudged just a little off-kilter we are disturbed and disquieted. The really good news is that they don’t necessarily have to have a clerical collar around their neck. Some of the finest ‘Eli’s’ I know are faithful lay people. Also remember that it took Eli no less than three goes to figure out what exactly was going on. Notice also that Eli simply points Samuel in the right direction. He doesn’t need to be privy to the conversation between Samuel and God. Eli just gives Samuel some direction in order for the future to be fruitful.

Secondly, Samuel's call is our call. We too carve out some time just to be with God. To read our Bibles, to come to the altar and be attentive to what God is saying to us. Our time is precious and spending time with God will mean not spending time doing something else. It’s that unpopular word ‘sacrifice’.

And when you have made the sacrifice and you are listening, then what is it that God is saying to you and then, if you are really brave… ask yourself ‘How am I responding?’

Thirdly, you are also an Eli. Your vocation should you choose to accept it is to help others cultivate their relationship with God and as lay people you are often far better placed to do this than us 'priesty' people. People expect clergy to say these sorts of things, but when it comes from the lips of lay people, it is often far more potent because of its unexpectedness. And you can do it. I have seen you do it and I have rejoiced. You can and you do help others to hear and recognise God’s voice.

Now in our story, Samuel went back to bed on the third occasion and simply waited. Often we think we are waiting on God. Waiting for him to forgive, waiting for him to act, waiting for him to fill our shopping order, waiting for him to do something... anything. Waiting for Him to explain Himself. And all that is normal and healthy and true and understandable.   But what if the opposite is also true? What if God is waiting for us? Waiting for us to be still and listen. Waiting for us to stop playing with our frivolous distractions. Waiting for us to listen. Waiting for us to stop procrastinating and turn again to Him. Still, he waits.

Finally my brothers and sisters

Look out! God is trying to get your attention. Are you ready? And if you are, then maybe your prayer should simply be … ‘Speak Lord your servant is listening’. If you’re anything like me you will find this is a hard prayer to pray for 2 reasons

1. We are too preoccupied and too rushed. We don’t have the presence of mind to listen.
2. We don’t actually want to hear what He has to say. What he has to say to us makes us squirm.

Even if we don’t want to listen, when we simply just can’t be fagged; we can still want to have the desire to listen.

If you dare…

Speak Lord... your servant is listening.

Our Defining Discussions.

I once made the point that the Archangel Gabrielle knows before he visits the Virgin Mary that this will be a defining discussion. He is well aware that once he steps over the threshold, Mary’s life will be changed forever. There can be no going back to her uncomplicated, quiet life.

The angel’s next step will slice her story in two, dividing all the days before, from all the ones to come.

It occurs to me that this is not the only defining discussion that has ever occurred in the history of the world. These sorts of discussions are happening all the time. Some of them are appalling. Like when you are made redundant or given a grim medical prognosis. That really slices your life in two. ‘Dividing all the days before from all the ones to come.’

Some are actually questions like ‘Will you marry me?’ Whatever the answer, the two people can never be the same again and a series of unstoppable events is ushered in.

It’s worth reflecting on these defining discussions and wondering what might have happened if we had answered differently. It’s even more important to reflect on the timbre of the conversation. The way things were said, particularly if you initiated the discussion. Then you had the advantage of knowing that the discussion was about to happen and therefore some power. With this comes responsibility and a duty of care for the respondent.

Finally, there is adjusting to the new circumstances. How are the people travelling in these new days? Even couples that have ‘reunited’ find themselves in a ‘different landscape’ with new rules and new ways of operating.

All of us have ‘defining discussions’. It’s not a matter of if they occur. It’s when they occur and how they occur.

Baptism of Our Lord. January 7th.

OK… so what happens next?

The couple who have been together for several years are walking along a stunning mountain track when they come across an open plateau. The vista and scenery are spectacular.

The handsome young man goes to set up his camera equipment a little way off explaining that this is going to be great. His girlfriend is perplexed and not quite sure what is going on.

The camera looks towards them and frames them against a breathtaking backdrop.

With a noticeable spring in his step, the young man walks back to his girlfriend, looks her in the eye and says … Nothing.

Intrigued and curious the young lady asks

‘OK, so what happens next?’

In her poem, Jan Richardson points out that the Archangel Gabrielle is aware that once he steps over the threshold, Mary’s life will be changed forever. For Mary, there will be no going back to her uncomplicated, quiet life.

The angel’s visit will slice Mary’s story in two, dividing all the days before, from all the ones to come.

We also have such moments.

A winning tattslotto ticket would be such a moment. A grim medical diagnosis, confirmation of a pregnancy, the birth of a child, the arrival of a new pet into the family home, a wedding.

The sacrament of reconciliation is also a life-changing moment. The penitent has the slate wiped clean using the counsel and authority of the confessor. You know how it goes… “Whosoever sins you forgive they are forgiven..”

Jesus’ Baptism is also one of these life-defining moments. Once Our Lord emerges from the water His public ministry has begun. He can’t go back under the mucky waters of the Jordan and somehow be unbaptised. He’s out there now, for all to see, for everyone to hear, for anyone to love and for all to reject him.

These moments, these life-changing events are special and unique in and of themselves. But… they are only the starting point. What follows is also very important.

In the example of the person with the grim medical prognosis we frequently see how they use the rest of their life for a very fruitful and inspiring ministry. We are left humbled, moved, enthralled and encouraged. Resolved once more to get our own stuff together and to try in different ways to be the person that the Master has called us to be. You can all probably think of someone, who under the most crushing of circumstances, shone brilliantly and brightly in magnificent ways and in so doing changed you.

It is what happens next after these life-changing moments that matters. The consequences of these special moments must take flesh in the grist of our every today. The penitent comes away with a fresh resolve to live life differently. The marriage is just as important as the wedding. The raising of the child or the pet is just as important as the birth or the bringing home of the boundy new creature.

The baptism of Jesus starts out lovely. Right towards the end of the gospel, the voice of the Father is almost like a hug. It all seems gooey and luscious and right. ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you, I am well pleased.’

Hey! What could possibly go wrong?

But ….Whatever else Jesus knew of his role and his many titles conveyed by the prophets of old, this was the one he knew first and best in his humanity.

This was the one he knew so well that even when his very life depended on his claim, he could not deny that he was the Son, the blessed. It was the title that would be flung at him in mockery as he was dying

“If you are the Son of God come down from the cross”

“You are my Son, the beloved; my favour rests on you. Some favour. Yes, this was heard by Jesus at his baptism and when we were baptised we were joined into his family and we also became a child of God. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly, he did us a favour, but when God’s favour rests on us.. look out. He means business and we can never be the same again.

The couple who have been together for a number of years are walking along a stunning mountain track when they come across an open plateau. The vista and scenery are spectacular.

The handsome young man goes to set up his camera equipment a little way off explaining that this is going to be great. His girlfriend is perplexed and not really quite sure what is going on.

The camera looks towards them and frames them against a breathtaking backdrop.

With a noticeable spring in his step, the young man walks back to his girlfriend, looks her in the eye and says … Nothing.

Intrigued and curious the young lady asks

‘OK, so what happens next?’

‘This is what happens next’ and with that, he descends to one knee, produces a ring and then, right then, in that very second, in this very serious but thrilling business, their lives are spliced in two, dividing all those days before from the ones to come.

OK, so what happens next…?? Well, they are just beginning to find out, just as we are finding out, until that life-changing moment when we find out what really happens next and we see ourselves as He has always seen us.

Making the world a place of possibilities

It's a great phrase. It sounds as if anything could be possible. I wanted to clasp it firmly in my right hand like a baton and run with it and surely this is the vocation of us all. To make the world a place of possibilities.

As I thought about it a little more I became painfully aware of my limitations of time, place and resources.

I thought of the disadvantaged and I wondered if their possibilities had changed. Was there any effectual, ongoing change from the little possibility that I had tried to create?

I thought of those who are displaced and had their homes destroyed by flood, fire, bombs or earthquake. What possibilities for them?

Three little ways forward.

First, we must not give up trying to make our world a place of possibilities for others. The task is enormous and seems insurmountable, but a quick letter of resignation is not the answer.

Secondly, I find that my prayers have become more outrageous these days. I ask for the impossible and incredible. When all seems futile and forgotten I return yet again to that insatiable God who can never get enough prayer.

Thirdly, At this time of year, we look back to a beleaguered couple at the back of the pub in a cave that would not pass any O.H & S. Standards. They probably had no idea that more than 2000 years later their struggles, tears and grubby surrounds would continue to inspire us and change lives. So too with us. Our tiny, seemingly ineffectual and insignificant actions will have ramifications generations down the track. The world can be a place of possibilities if, just for today, we do the little things.

The first Christmass didn’t seem like much but… it made the world a place of possibilities

The art of letter writing

Some of us will have written and received Christmass cards this year. Often people will write a little letter to include with the card letting the recipient know what has been going on over the last 12 months. While I joyfully receive any card, it is the ones with an epistle inside that gives me a special joy.

Letters make us pause and imagine the lives behind the letters and the circumstances of their origin. They help deepen our understanding of these inspiring artefacts of the human condition. They are windows into the love, beauty, pain, and humour of their creators and recipients.

And these are not the only types of letters we write. Letters of complaint, job applications, thank you letters, letters requesting changes or making suggestions — the list goes on and on.

But the thing that really moves me when I receive a written letter or card is that at some level I am aware that the sender actually sat down and physically wrote this letter. Their hands touched the card I am now holding. The words on the page are in their own handwriting. They moved the pen over this card, they sealed the envelope and posted it by hand. And no matter the content, no matter how glib or trite or illegible the writing, there is a very real sense in which the sender has offered me a small part of themselves. A glimpse into their life and a physical, tangible, re-readable artefact of themselves.

Emails may connect us in a shiny, slick way but there is something more heartfelt and beautiful in a written card or letter than words on a screen. Maybe in a world that has failed to connect, we might rediscover the art of letter writing which can connect us all.

Epiphany 31 December 2023

In praise of an empty cup.

It took quite a time for the three kings to get to the Holy Family, so the image that you may have seen on your christmass cards with them visiting a squawking infant in the manger, is not entirely accurate, although it is rather cute. We are blessed to have a window in our Lady Chapel of this encounter.

Heaps is going on in the window and it’s well worth a look and a contemplate. We are fortunate to be able to leave Christchurch open for reflection and private prayer from 8 am to 4 pm and anyone and everyone is welcome to pop in. Plenty we know about and there are plenty that we will never know about.

In the window, the Magi who has the gold looks straight out at us. The gold is in the shape of an orb which is a spherical symbol given to a new monarch. It usually has a cross on the top.

The second king has the frankincense. It is in a nifty looking container. He is looking to the right of the window presumably to Mary, Jesus and Joseph although they are not visible. Our imaginations are left to run amuck as to where these kings actually are and who they are with. Both the king with the gold and the king with the sweet incense are standing.

That just leaves the guy with the myrrh which was  a substance that was used to anoint corpses. Now just as the gold tells us that Jesus is a king and the frankincense tells us that Jesus is God, so too the myrrh foreshadows an early and grizzly death. The magi with the myrrh is also looking to the right of the window, again we presume he is gazing at the Holy Family.

There are many things that make each of these gentlemen unique. Where each is looking, whether they have a beard, the way that they are dressed. There are a few things that sets the guy with the myrrh apart from his buddies and I hope that a picture of him may appear in the pew sheet today.

For one thing, he is the only one that is kneeling. He has adopted the posture of humility and respect. Perhaps he’s aware of who it is before him. He might be aware of his own inadequacy, maybe even some of his own naughtiness.

Our friend is holding a cup and it looks a lot like a chalice. My money is on the theory that the artist understood that at the eucharist the blessed wine in the chalice becomes Our Lords blood in some special lovely way that we can never understand but do need; hence the symbolism of the chalice /myrrh foreshadowing a rather mucky death.

At one level, each of these gentlemen are a bit like us.

There are days when we worship the King all glorious above and we realise who it is that exercises the most potent authority of authentic and undying love over us.

There are days when we worship God and it is marvellous and exuberant. We glimpse or rather sense ‘That other dimension’. The heavenly perspective. These moments are usually unplanned and very fleeting, but sometimes just sometimes, the God of surprises allows us a fleeting peek.

But there are times too when we are like the man who brings the myrrh. We come on our knees, physical or metaphorical. Our hearts are gashed, our lives have unravelled and the thing that that is  front and centre of our hearts is very confronting and difficult.

And I want to say in the most reassuring, pastoral, Fr. David way that I can, if this is you today, then it is OK. Those that argue that you have to be exuberant and joyful 110% of the time and to be down cast is a sin, have it quite wrong. Our Lord wept and bled just as much as he laughed and danced and ate and drank.

All He asks is that we be authentic in what we offer. It’s not that hard.

Like the gent in the window, sometimes we hold up the chalice of our heart and all we have is some swishy dregs that to us seem mightily unworthy and inappropriate. And if for you  today there is just some skanky residue… then offer it with much gusto and know that God accepts it, treasures it, sanctifies and makes it holy. You wouldn’t be the first and you won’t be the last.

One more thing. With the other two kings it is easy to see the gold and the frankincense. However, with the gentleman on his knees we assume that the guy on his knees actually has something in the chalice he is holding. But… we cannot see into the cup. What if … what if… his cup is actually empty and no-one else knows this is the case? Not his 2 buddies and certainly not us who are looking in on this scene. Yep, maybe there is nothing at all in his cup and he is really on his knees because he is asking for his cup to be filled. Wouldn’t that speak so very reassuringly to those times when we come empty and no-one else knows? And who are those around us today that have empty cups?

Christmass 25/12.
“Dooga Dooga Dooo”

During Advent we have used the theme  ‘The Faces She Saw’ and so we have been thinking about some of the faces that Mother Mary saw. The Angel Gabrielle, St. Joseph, The Innkeeper and The Shepherds. Today we come to another face. His face. The face of her son. And I wonder what that moment must have been like the first time Our Lady saw her son’s face.

From the perspective of a midwife, Bishop Stephen Cottrell speculates that it might have been like this.

“I sat with her. I held her hand. I wiped her brow. I told her stories of my own seven births. I felt between her legs to judge whether she was ready or not. After a few hours, my husband came out. ‘What pretty sight is this?’ he muttered angrily. ‘there are customers to be looked after and dishes to wash, you know.’ then he stomped back inside.

Her husband – Joseph, I gathered his name was – paced. He was what you might call a traditional father. He didn’t do anything. He just kept muttering – or was he praying? – that all this was from God and was safe with God.

‘Well, you’re safe with me,’ I told him. ‘now hold this cloth, and wipe her face when I tell you.’

In the darkest hour of the night, I suppose about two or three o’clock, the baby’s head appeared. He stared, blinking and gawping at the world for what seemed an age. And she was crying out with the pain of it, and the great longing for the baby to be free. It was one of those strange halfway moments between the womb and the world, between what was and what is. then with the next contraction, on a spasm of pain and joy, he was born.

I pulled him free and held him up for his mother to behold: a boy, all green and grey with the mucus of the womb and the effort of birth. I didn’t need to spank him or pat his little back. the breath seemed to rush into him, and he filled his lungs and let out a loud, piercing cry. I laughed at him. ‘Loud enough to wake the dead,’ I said to his mother, ‘or at least my sleeping tenants. He’s a strong little fella.’

I laid him on his mother’s breast. That was a beautiful moment. It always is. tender. As old as the world itself. As new as the dawn. And she moved his little face to her breast, and he suckled there, and she held him and stroked his head.”

You see how incisively Bishop Stephen captures that twinkling when Mother Mary sees the face of her child for the very first time. The intimacy, the tenderness, the love, which is so powerful and so tremendous that our cloudy language, our flimsy vocabulary dare not, cannot contain it. Our futile words can only make rash guesses, fallible attempts, half-truths. Adequacy and encapsulation are never going to happen.

“Dooga Dooga Dooo” comes just as close to describing this moment as “How stupendous”.

What is it about the face of a newborn child?

In part, it is the fresh hope that has come into the world. Here is a new life with no mistakes in it. Maybe, just maybe, through the tortuous and joyous life that is about to unfold, a new world, a better world may become a reality, especially when in our honesty we should admit that we have not left this world the place we had hoped for.

What is it about the face of a newborn child?

As parents, we glimpse something of ourselves. Through this infant, we shall leave a tiny imprint on this planet, All is not lost. Part of us, if only through our DNA, will live on even after we have drawn our last breath, just as surely as this child has taken their first breath.

Our Lady may have sensed all of this or none of it. When we are told ‘she pondered all these things in her heart’ the ‘things’ are not explained and expounded for us. Our imaginations are left to run amuck.

In that first moment when Mother sees the face of her child, a threshold is crossed and we can never go back to the way it was. You can’t put a child back into the womb and somehow reverse a birth. And when we see that face we are changed. Even our language is different. You see it yourselves and you’ve probably done it yourselves. In the googly mess of exploding waves of joy, child speak is the only appropriate language. We are made children again. Gibbering idiots, wanting to reclaim our innocence and naivety. We know that as a child we can trust and love and skip and giggle and burble. ‘Unless you turn and become like little children.’

‘Dooga dooga Dooo’ becomes our new/old mantra.

Goodness knows what we will say when we see Mother Mary’s face. Or what we will say when we see His face; especially when we discover He is looking at our face.

Dooga Googa Dooo

The art of letter writing

Some of us will have written and received Christmass cards this year. Often people will write a little letter to include with the card letting the recipient know what has been going on over the last 12 months. While I joyfully receive any card, it is the ones with an epistle inside that gives me a special joy.

Letters make us pause and imagine the lives behind the letters and the circumstances of their origin. They help deepen our understanding of these inspiring artefacts of the human condition. They are windows into the love, beauty, pain, and humour of their creators and recipients.

And these are not the only types of letters we write. Letters of complaint, job applications, thank you letters, letters requesting changes or making suggestions — the list goes on and on.

But the thing that really moves me when I receive a written letter or card is that at some level I am aware that the sender actually sat down and physically wrote this letter. Their hands touched the card I am now holding. The words on the page are in their own handwriting. They moved the pen over this card, they sealed the envelope and posted it by hand. And no matter the content, no matter how glib or trite or illegible the writing, there is a very real sense in which the sender has offered me a small part of themselves. A glimpse into their life and a physical, tangible, rereadable artefact of themselves.

Emails may connect us in a shiny, slick way but there is something more heartfelt and beautiful in a written card or letter than words on a screen. Maybe in a world that has failed to connect, we might rediscover the art of letter writing which can connect us all.

Thank You Nick Cave

Chat GPT is the official name for a computer program that can generate essays with just a few suggestive words.

The following quote is from a letter by Nick Cave about Chat GPT. It was read by Stephen Fry on a YouTube series called ‘Live Letters’

“In the story of creation, God makes the world and everything in it in 6 days and on the 7th day, he rests. The 7th day is significant because it suggests that the creation required a certain amount of effort on God’s part. That some sort of artistic struggle had taken place.

This struggle is the validating impulse that gives God’s world its intrinsic meaning.

The world becomes more than just an object full of other  objects rather it is imbued with the vital spirit, the essence of its creator.”

There is much to draw out of this. Like… the very serious matter of keeping a day off. Clergy are notorious for not doing this properly, always to their own detriment and thus to their families' angst, sadness and unravelling.

Secondly, we often think that God just clapped his hands, muttered a few well-chosen words and in a puff of smoke, everything was created with no effort at all. What if it really was like Nick Cave suggests? What if things did not come that easily to God… That there was a struggle? Wouldn’t that mean a more approachable, sympathetic, understanding, compassionate God? A God who could quite genuinely say ‘I know the work of creating is a striving and difficult.’

Finally, just as a potter imbues the pot with something of himself, so too does creation throb with the heartbeat of God. His signature, his thumbprint and his joy are all around and within.

Thank you Nick Cave for reminding us to look and listen afresh.

Advent 3

This Advent I will be offering a series of reflections with the theme ‘The Faces She Saw.’

We’ll be thinking about some of the faces that Mother Mary saw in the lead-up to Christmass and today we reflect on the face of someone who said ‘No’ to Mary.

Only Luke gives us the birth narrative of Jesus and we have this intriguing line

“And Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger because there was no place for them in the inn.”

This is jam-packed with questions. Like who was it that actually told them there was no place for them? Was it the barmaid, the innkeeper, the innkeeper's mistress, or a friend of the family who just helping out in the Census rush? We are simply not told. When the rooms were filled and the animals at pasture, an inn would improvise quarters for the poorer people in the animal courtyard. The humility of Our Lord did not begin at Calvary rather began here in an animal courtyard… in a feed trough.

But someone said ‘No’. Hopefully, they also said ‘Sorry’

So at some point, there must have been a conversation. Joseph and or Mary asked the question and an answer was given.

And one of the points I would rush to make is that there is a huge difference between saying

‘No, because I just can’t. I want to, but I just physically can’t do it. '

and

saying ‘No’ because I don’t want to or I don’t like you or I simply can’t be bothered.

It’s OK to say ‘No’ if you speak it with love and moral integrity.

The common legend and that is all we have is that it was the innkeeper and while we are not told it does make sense and I will lay odds that Our Lady and St. Joseph were not the only ones shown to the animal pasture.

And I can’t help but wonder what was going on with the innkeeper’s life.

I speculate that he would not have been enamoured with the Roman government which would have taxed him with great glee and great gusto.

I spectate that he would have worked hard and not every patron would come in peaceful and well-intentioned bonhomie.

On ‘That’ night, that special night, he would have been overrun, over worked overwrought. He would I imagine be longing for the peace of his own bed and some quiet after the rowdy hubbub of the bar.

I speculate too that he would have heard the rumours of a coming king. Longed for the Messiah and maybe practised a faith. That perhaps he was tired. Tired of waiting, tired of being taxed, tired of working, tired of the drunks who are belligerent. He was so tired of the strain that the hospitality industry put on his wife, their marriage. He was just simply tired out.

His work is all consuming and all he wants is a little peace. Peace in all its forms and all its expressions.

Someone called Jason Gray wrote a poem about our mythological, but probable Innkeeper. Listen as he skillfully tells the story that we all know so well and also gives us a hint as to some of the things that we will never know. Like what was going on in this innkeeper's life, his mind and heart.

I found them standing in my door
In the clumsy silence of the poor
I've got no time for precious things
But at least they won't be wandering
If they're sleeping on my stable floor
There were no rooms to rent tonight
The only empty bed is mine

'Cause I'm overbooked and overrun
With so many things that must be done
Until I'm numb and running blind
I need rest, I need rest
Lost inside a forest of a million trees
Trying to find my way back to me
I need rest

As a boy I heard the old men sing
About a Kingdom and a coming King
But keeping books and changing beds
Put a different song inside my head
And the melody is deafening
I need rest, Oh I need rest

Like a drowning man in the open sea
I need somebody to rescue me
I need rest

To Rome we're only names and numbers
Not souls in search of signs and wonders
But we're waiting for the day of our salvation
The Messiah who will be our liberation
We're waiting, I'm waiting
I need rest, I need rest
Oh come oh come Emmanuel
With a sword deliver Israel
I need rest.

Tonight I can't get any sleep
With those shepherds shouting in the streets
A star is shining much too bright
Somewhere, I hear a baby cry
And all I want is a little peace.

St. Joseph.

This Advent I am offering a series of reflections with the theme ‘The Faces She Saw’.

We’ll be thinking about some of the faces that Mother Mary saw in the lead-up to Christmass and today we reflect on the face of St. Joseph. What I hope this particular reflection teaches us, is that the Blessed Virgin Mary was a real person, with real thoughts, real emotions and real feelings. She lived, breathed, wept, laughed, ate and drank just like everyone here. We read about her ‘God side’ so often that we easily forget that she was just like you and me. Hec, she probably even smooched Joseph. So if she were writing a memoir it might go something like this.

He was ‘the older man’ in my life. I was flattered by his second glance, the first stirrings of womanhood pooling in my stomach. My heart beating faster and lighter. He had a fizzled grey beard with soft compassionate eyes that twinkled when he saw me. I tried to hide the smile that played on my lips whenever I saw him... It came unbidden, instinctive and it was there on my face before I had even thought about it.

Sure there were plenty who muttered and gossiped about us. Glowering looks at the fish market and my parents Joachim and Anne had plenty to say about it when I told them that we were engaged. Yes, they were pleased that I would be financially secure; but Joseph?… Really… of all people. “Are you quite sure about this?” Then when I came home to tell them the bewildering annunciation and that I was now with child, Joachim left the house in a blind fury determined to teach Joseph a lesson he would never forget. Mum broke down in uncontrollable inconsolable sobs. Her body heaving and wracking, moving to a rhythm that was beyond her control. I thought all the town would hear her sobbing… and they probably did one way or the other before the sun came up.

I knew where Joseph would be and I ran to him. We had already had ‘that uncomfortable chat’ and his befuddlement and bewilderment had evolved into a deeper love, a profound respect and a steely determination to support me no matter the harsh realities that we both knew would come our way. He too had said ‘Yes’ to God’s plan. Not with an angel to explain or to help. But by dreams and thinking and praying and wrestling and hurting. This is what made him so beautiful to me. This is what made him so good for me. In his way he had fought for me and he wanted to marry me.

As he took me in his arms I felt safe, secure, complete. I was whole and it was as if nothing could ever frighten me again. It would of course, many times over in so many ways that I could not see now. Like the time when we took Jesus to the temple as an infant only to have some old cook babble on about a sword piercing my heart. Not exactly an encouraging parish priest. The three fraught, angry days we spent looking for Jesus in Jerusalem only to find him unperturbed, almost arrogant in the temple. And even after Joseph had died, his face would always be visible to me. Surely he was there with me at the wedding at Cana, with the dancing and the food and the wine. Joseph would also be there at Golgotha. I could sense him speaking to me. His voice was clearer than the sound of the iron shocking the dumb wood. His words louder than the noise of the nails tearing through the flesh. Where else would Joseph be but there with me? His sense of comforting reassurance would always envelope me. This beautiful man. This lovely face, the one who loved me even when he didn’t, couldn’t understand.

But on this night, when my dad was breathing threats and stomping all over town, I was hiding with Joseph. I turned again, kissed him and I looked at his weathered, lined face. I stroked his thinning hair and watched the helpless tears run down his cheeks.

The world, for all its bitter confusion and uncertain future, was still wonderful, bursting with promise, just as long as I could go on gazing at this tanned, wrinkled, face. Here, looking into his eyes everything was so right, all was perfect. Everything was exactly as it should be. In his arms I was ‘home’. And yet… and yet.. if this was true. If this lovely mans face was the most reassuring, comforting, exquisite sight that I could ever hope to see, am seeing and want to go on seeing… then why am I crying?

Fasting from your phone

The wizened, mature retreat Conductor grinned and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye suggested that we fast from our phones during retreat. Whether many did or not I will never know. From my perspective, I found it an interesting exercise. I only glimpsed at the screen on my phone to change the alarm so that I could awaken in time for the next dress - meal - set of prayers.

It worked well for me because I was on retreat. It would not work so well if I was back in the parish where I rely on it a bit more strenuously and frequently. I found it a liberating adventure, but a few questions came bubbling to the surface while ‘fasting from my phone’.

• Question One. On what day in recent history did we become so reliant on this gadget? I guess that as the phone was able to do more and more things we became incrementally just a little more addicted. Just a little more reliant. I remember speaking in another forum and saying ‘Our world is our phone is our world. Yes, it was a gradual transition but as far as the pace of history goes it happened rather quickly. Say the last couple of decades?
• QuestionTwo. Where would we be looking if we were successful in this venture? Ie If we weren’t looking at our screens so much, what would we be gazing at with all this spare time?
• Question Three. What would happen if we all had the occasional fast from our phones? I’m not advocating switching them off altogether, nor having them out of reach, just in case however maybe only looking at them between 4 - 5 pm each day. Could we do it? Could you do it? Could I do it?