I was reading the story of ‘The precious pearl’ the other day only this time the story was dressed up for our younger viewers.

Once upon a time, there was a merchant who had everything he wanted. Houses, cars, a fish pond, and even his favourite fluffy hat with a feather in it. The stock market was booming and he had more money under his bed than he could ever possibly spend. Until… he spots a pearl at the local jeweller. This pearl is an absolute corker! It is seriously big, rich and creamy in colour and there is not a blemish to be seen.

It costs an eye-wateringly huge sum of money of course and so begins the biggest real estate/garage sale ever.

The merchant sells everything. Even the fish in the fish pond. Even his lovely fur coat and he is left with just three things. His nightshirt, his favourite hat and a pair of boxers.

Sadly he is still just $6.20 short. The jeweller is a harsh hombre and won’t budge., but…says “Sell me your lovely floppy hat. The one with the feather in it”.

Now you might have thought that the merchant would have wept, cried, pleaded, negotiated or simply walked away from the deal. But he doesn’t. He laughs and in the time it has taken you to read this, he is minus his favourite hat and has his precious pearl. When we hear this story we think that the punchline is that the Master is like the pearl. There is a cost to discipleship. There is a cost to love but it is worth more than anything in the whole wide world. And that’s right. The cost of love is immeasurable. But what if … what if …we are the precious pearl?

Dear Lazarus,

I have put off writing to you until I could take no more. You don’t know me, but I have certainly seen you from time to time wandering the dusty streets of Cana. I have noticed that you sleep under the gorse bush/tent at the end of my very long driveway.

My name is Diver Dan and you must have noticed me. I dress in purple which is perhaps a bit exotic but it is what I am used to and I think it rather suits me.

I have made a career out of property management and tax evasion and I must modestly confess that I have done rather well. I am able to entertain Matthew the tax collector and Zaccheus, together with their wives and concubines. They come for a soiree on a frequent basis and we have a wild old time.

They have healthy appetites as do I, for Champagne, Beaujolais, stilton cheese, tiramisu and roasted pheasant doused in healthy amounts of gravy and sauces. I’m proud to say that there is not a piece of fruit or vegetable anywhere to be seen on my table.

There has been an odd complaint from the neighbours about the noise of my parties but it is nothing that can’t be bribed away.

I have two dogs; Buck and Buddy and I know that they are quite fond of you. I have noticed that they come and jump all over you when you are going to the market. Odd, but I have never seen you actually buy anything and I have often wondered why that it is.

My slightly wilder side of life began when my wife left me because of one too many indiscretions and I have sought consolation in all the wrong places. Food, wine, dinner parties and the wrong sort of house guest. For a few hours each night, everything is swimmingly pain-free, but then I wake the next morning worse for wear and while I may not be physically alone, I am actually more lonely than ever before.

So I did want to write to you and point out that while my life might appear glamorous and festive, deep down there is an emptiness and ache. The best word I can come up with is that my life is ‘hollow’. I have 5 fridges and 2 freezers full of wonderful sweetmeats and beasts. I have a cellar that is burgeoning with fine show wine. I have all the casual company a grown man could want and yet … and yet…

My physician is very grumpy with me and whenever he makes a house call (at an exorbitant cost I might add) he gives me the same lecture about cholesterol, heart, attack, stroke, girth, and death.

You, on the other hand, always seem so perilously lean and this is probably because I have never actually seen you eat. Although I thought I did see you try to wrestle a turkey drumstick out of Buddy’s mouth once. That incident aside, I have never seen you eat and yet you live just down the end of my lovely gravel driveway.

Sadly the purpose of my letter was not just to introduce myself but also to ask you to remove the shabby little tent which is tucked away under the gorse bush that you sleep under sometimes when it is hailing. It cannot provide much shelter and warmth so I wonder what the point of it is?

I have made enquiries with some of my learned legal colleagues and they assure me that I am quite within my rights to ask you to remove it under Cana Council regulation item 54, paragraph 6.1 which explicitly states that

‘No dwelling of any substance or design may be erected on someone else’s property without the owner of the property’s explicit written permission in triplicate. Copies must be given to the owner and lodged with the House Department of the shire no later than 3:45 pm on a Friday afternoon.

I appreciate that you must have a very good reason for this ill-conceived dwelling, but it does have a detrimental effect on the value of my real estate.

I do not want to pursue this matter through the usual legal channels as I am sure you do not have the resources to fund such an unnecessary courtroom fiasco. I am hoping the matter might be satisfactorily resolved by you removing the shade cloth, finding alternative lodgings and a written apology would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

Please do not be offended by this letter. I am sure that even though I have never actually met you, you are a thoroughly fine fellow and do not mean any harm by your naive choice to live where you do.

I expect that your habitation will be gone together with any evidence of your existence, by the end of next week.

All correspondence should be directed to my legal team Pharisee, Lawyer and co.

I remain yours

Diver Dan Esquire.
Bachelor of tax evasion
Master of property management
Wholesaler of gourmet produce.
Liquor merchant and importer of quality wines.

Orson the deviant

This gospel reading has always made me grumpy. I could never understand how Jesus could praise someone who was dishonest, and shrewd.  Today’s gospel tells us the story of “The Dishonest Steward.” Here’s how it goes. A steward I’ll call him Orson. Orson was fired because he had squandered his boss’s property. Nothing new there. Lawyer and Lawyer and co have clients like this all the time. Orson was left without a job and it looked like he would join the queue at Centrelink. He doesn’t want to fix the roads or be a tradie. Nor does he want to beg, but does he need a way to put lasagne and garlic bread on the table? Preferably with a little mouthwash to help it down. Finally, he decided to go to each of his master’s debtors, fess up and forgive a portion of their debt. And you would have thought how deceitful, what a trickster and a cad. Boy, Jesus is really going to throw the book at Orson. But not so. The master commended Orson for acting prudently. And that’s the bit I have never figured out.

Why is he being praised for being dishonest? It might help if we remember that at this time in history, agents acted on behalf of their master. The steward was praised because he collected the full amount of the debt owed to his master. The debt that was reduced or eliminated was actually Orson’s commission. So even though Orson was guilty of squandering his boss's property, he was honest in collecting the full amount that was owed to his boss.

He was also praised for being prudent. By eliminating his commission, Orson charged the debtors less and made friends with them. So they became obligated to him and became best buddies. Instead of being a victim of circumstance, he turns a bad situation around to benefit himself by making friends with the debtors. The parable does not praise dishonesty, rather it praises the ability to use our material resources wisely in a time of crisis. The steward knew he needed friends more than he needed the commission money.

This same parable also mentions two kinds of wealth—there is dishonest wealth and there is true wealth. “If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth?”

Money, worldly riches, or wealth are not bad in and of themselves. These things are simply tools for us to use in our secular society in order to buy things we need (and maybe some items we want.) What becomes bad is when money becomes the driving force in our lives. When it rules us rather than we use it cash takes on a level of importance it does not deserve. Money can be used to build churches and hospitals or to care for the poor and needy. It can also be used for illicit purposes which destroy people’s lives.

The true riches in this gospel passage have nothing to do with money and everything to do with spiritual blessings, such as love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and most importantly a relationship with God. These true riches cannot be bought with any amount of money, no matter how wealthy you are.

The other bit that begins to make sense of it all is this. “You cannot serve both God and mammon.”

If we are worshiping the almighty dollar, and money is the primary focus of our lives, then there is no room for God.

There is nothing wrong with making money or being wealthy, as long as it is a result of being a faithful steward. Using money to serve God and help others indicates you love God and you are serving him with the material blessings he entrusted to you.

It is not about the amount of money we have. It is about how faithful we are with what we have been given.

Jesus calls us to have complete dependence on the Father, not on our own economic security. All the money and possessions we have here on earth ultimately belong to God and are to be used for his purposes.

This world is temporary, yet millions of people live their lives as if this world is all there will ever be. They devote their entire lives to getting ahead in this world and accumulating all the “stuff” that seems so important, but which is, in reality, useless.

If the reason you are living is to make money for the sake of the things money can buy, then money becomes your god, and you cannot serve the living and true God.

Everything we have can be used as either a material idol to worship or a tool to spread God’s Kingdom here on earth.

Ironically the only riches we take from this world are those we have given away. Love, faithfulness and joy.

It was going to be a great lunch. I knew this to be a fact because after we were seated, a tonsured gentleman swiftly appeared with a basket over one arm and a pair of tongs.

The contents of the basket were covered in a white piece of linen which he deftly flicked open to reveal some freshly baked bread rolls. The aroma was intoxicating. He served us with a debonair attitude that was courteous without being standoffish.

The roll had obviously been freshly baked. Crunchy on the outside, almost tender on the inside. It was delectable and we already felt as though we were home and sated.

I remembered this experience the other day and asked myself …what is it about the magic of bread? It’s been around for thousands of years in many guises and has stood the test of time. judging by the variety that is on offer to the consumer, it is more popular now than it has ever been.

What is it about this simple delicacy that has seen it become part of our everyday staple diet?

Part of the answer is that it is the fabric of our community. I reckon if you were to check the larder/fridge of the homes around you there would be some kind of bread in nearly all of the homes.

There is something earthy about it. It has a quality that sustains, nourishes and nurtures us.

And here’s something else about bread. It must be sliced or broken in some way before it can be shared and consumed. Even the bread roll we received with such aplomb had to be broken open in order to be eaten and enjoyed.

Perhaps this is what the Master meant when he said “Give us this day…”

Some of you will be familiar with C.S. Lewis’ lamplights. How in the land of Narnia, where all is frigid and freezing, these lamps point the way to the next exciting adventure.

The curious thing about them is that they don’t actually say anything out loud or move about. They just simply stand there, give off a lot of light and point the way forward.

I am thrilled to be able to say that I know some people like that. They come in a variety of ages with a vast array of ideas, feelings and backgrounds. But the one thing they all have in common is that they are a light for me and frequently point the way in what often seems to be an unfriendly and frosty world.

If I have regrets it is that I don’t tell them often enough how valuable they are in my own little adventures and how I would be so very lost and ‘cold’ without them. I also wouldn’t be making the same progress that I am today.

The Master once said. “I am the light of the world” and here we are all these years later. He still is. A bright light, sometimes a bit hidden, but warming and alluring on a planet that does not seem to have learnt that coolness of heart just makes everyone chilly and freezes other people out.

The good news is that we can claim His phrase for ourselves. What would happen, dear reader, if you looked in the mirror, paused, breathed, and said with all sincerity of heart? “I am the light of the world?” That would have to change your day, your friends, and your community. Mmmm “I am the light of the world”. Now to believe it… now to live it.

9/11 and all that

I’m writing this well before we leave for New York, but I can tell you that one of the things I would like to see is the September 11 memorial. Not the museum… that would be far too confronting, but I do want to go and pay my respects and offer my shaky prayers at the place where it all happened. I think I owe my brothers and sisters that much.

I’m told that the memorial has been sensitively created and well thought out. That it is beautifully and respectfully maintained and that on the birthday of each of the deceased, a single white rose is put beside their name.

I am also very much aware that I am a guest there and I will be treading on (gently I hope ) someone else's sacred space.

It also poses the question; What do we, as Church, say in the face of such an atrocity? How do we respond, and how should we respond, as respond we must. Not to say anything would be a failure of duty to proclaim the gospel. It would be very disrespectful to the departed and those who continue to be in anguish more than 20 years later.

What I offer here is not a conclusive, eloquently argued, wrapped up in a nice white ribbon, with meticulous footnotes, piece of work.

Instead, it is a rambling concoction of a few ideas that have come to mind. The rest is up to you to wrestle with and ultimately for God to tidy away.

It all began at Christmass. We learnt that God immersed himself and became inseparable from our humanity. The guy that walked the dusty streets of Palestine all those years ago was fully one of us and fully God. Yes, I can’t get my head around it either. But what we learnt from the child that rolled in Our Lady’s womb was that human life is sacred. It’s holy, it's the very stuff of God and to snuff it out is sin. It's what the commandment ‘Thou shall do no murder is all about.'

Extremism and fundamentalism have no place in our religious life nor in our community. To believe that you are so right and everyone else is so wrong and therefore must go, has resulted in all sorts of hurt and bloodshed over the years and sadly some corners of Christianity have been sucked into this very dark place. Every time we single out a particular race or group and tarnish all of them as being somehow less than ourselves, we stand on the slippery precipice of sin.

By far the most eloquent and helpful response I have found is from another world leader and I offer her words because they are the sort I hope I might write one day.

Notice a few things though.

She never talks about the perpetrators. Instead, the focus is always on those left behind.

She too ‘had no words.' That awful quandary of ‘what on earth do I say?’ is universal. It’s not just a Fr. David incompetency thing and I find that deeply reassuring.

In that lovely paradox of ministry, she finds that those who are visited give her the words she could not find herself.

Finally and perhaps not surprisingly it is the words of the Risen Christ on that first, sublime and mysterious Easter morn that resonates most potently and it is that greeting of ‘Peace be with you.’ that I hope I will remember to mumble in New York.

“What words adequately express the pain and suffering of men, women and children lost, and so many injured? What words capture the anguish of our community becoming the target of hatred and violence? What words express the grief of a city that has already known so much pain?

I thought there were none. And then I came here and was met with this simple greeting. As-salaam Alaikum. Peace be upon you.

They were simple words, repeated by community leaders who witnessed the loss of their friends and loved ones. Simple words, whispered by the injured from their hospital beds. Simple words, spoken by the bereaved and everyone I met who has been affected by this attack.

As-salaam Alaikum. Peace be upon you.

They were words spoken by a community who, in the face of hate and violence, had every right to express anger but instead opened their doors for all of us to grieve with them. And so we say to those who have lost the most, we may not have always had the words.

We may have left flowers, performed the haka, sung songs or simply embraced. But even when we had no words, we still heard yours, and they have left us humbled and they have left us united”.

Or as St. John put it…

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Seeing others  - seeing ourselves.

The story of St. Christopher

Today’s homily begins in Townsville. Jeanine and I went along to the local aeroplane/war museum. It was an interesting little show and we were greeted warmly and shown around.

There was however a rather curious exchange when our guide said something like.

‘It was a near run thing you know. Our lads conquered the enemy and that’s why we, Thank goodness, all speak the Queen’s English instead of some other language.’ That’s Fr. David understating it a bit and being very polite. Our guide was a little more forthright and not quite as guarded with his words.

And I wanted so much to say…

Well, you’ll have to wait till the end of the homily to find out what I wanted to say.

I’m aware of a number of folk in this parish who travel during the winter months and I am also aware that a number of people know of St. Christopher who is the Patron saint of all travellers. So I thought it might be worth just digging into his life and having a look at him.

Christopher actually began his life as Reprobus. This name means outcast and there is a sense in which he was very much an outcast. He was a big muscly guy built like an outside brick building. Solid as. Imagine the sergeant at arms for a Motorcycle club. You didn’t mess with Reprobus. He was also a thief and a robber and he wanted to align himself with the most powerful and influential person. At first, he believed this was the devil—but he eventually came to believe that Christ was the greatest of all princes. After being instructed in the Christian Faith by a hermit, he was baptized and given the name Christophorus which means Christ-bearer.

The hermit who had instructed Christopher gave him the task of carrying travellers across a local river—a job easily done because of his great size and strength. One day, he began to help a child to cross the river, carrying the boy on his shoulders, when he began to feel a weight so great that he was bowed down by it. Once they reached the other side, the child said to Christopher: “Don’t be surprised, Christopher! You were not only carrying the whole world, you had him who created the world upon your shoulders! I am Christ your King, to whom you render service by doing the work you do here.”

Christopher bore Christ in four ways, namely, on his shoulders when he carried him across the river, in his body by mortification, in his mind by devotion, and in his mouth by confessing Christ and preaching him.”

According to the legend, Christopher went on to bring many to Christ. He was eventually martyred during the reign of Emperor Decius, sometime between 249 and 251.

Although the details of his life are pretty sketchy we actually know all that we need to. He carried Christ into the world. And, in this sense, every Christian is a “Christopher” who carries Christ in their hearts, making him present through our acts of kindness and love. The presence of Christ within us is the great gift of the Sacrament of Baptism and it is nurtured through the gift of the Eucharist.

So while we don’t actually know a lot about St. Christopher then, does that matter… really?

And here I return to that little conversation in Townsville.

What I wanted to say to my friend was this.

“Would I be any less of a person if I happened to speak another language? Would I somehow be inferior, or damaged or wicked?”

Surely when we reflect on St. Christopher’s life it was not about how he was built, or the language he spoke, or the culture he grew up in. It is not about whether St. Christopher is remembered for 200 years and whether Fr. David is remembered for 60 years. It was not about how St. Christopher started his life but how he completed it. It is and was how he served others. It was and is very much about how God sees him. And that is the real sticking point. It is not about how we see others, or how we see ourselves, it is about how God sees the person in front of us and it is very much about how God sees us.

The legend of St. Christopher not knowing who he was truly carrying says it all. We carry and serve the living Christ in every encounter, every conversation and every action, even in the little children and least likely.

A prayer for St. Christopher to finish.

O Glorious St. Christopher you have inherited a beautiful name, Christ-bearer,
as a result of the wonderful legend that while carrying people across a raging stream
you also carried the Child Jesus. Teach us to be true Christ-bearers to everyone.
Protect all of us that travel both near and far and ask the Lord Jesus to be with us always.
Amen

The privilege of praying with a person

I have been very fortunate in this parish because from time to time people have popped in and joined me in the saying morning and evening prayer. It’s about a 15-minute service with prayers, readings, the Lord’s Prayer and some canticles. Harmless, but potent stuff. The overall effect is not appreciated until much later and the pattern has been going on for some time. Like a single stitch in a beautiful quilt. It doesn’t seem like much at the time, but each tiny stitch is vital to the overall work. And to miss a day, or if you like, miss a stitch, does not seem all that appalling, but in fact, it leaves just slightly diminished. We are less than we ought to be.

Just lately something quite lovely has happened. I now have a very regular person who joins me for morning and evening prayer. It’s refreshing to have a different voice from my old drone. Instead of just quietly reading the bible to myself the words are spoken out loud and I hear them as if for the first time. It’s quite a different and liberating experience.

It’s delicious to be able to ask. “Am I the only one that doesn’t understand how come Solomon had seven hundred wives, princesses, and three hundred concubines?” and “What did God think about this profligacy?”

There are days when prayer just seems like hard work and days when it just seems to be part of the natural ebb and flow of us. The psalms may be tossing us about like boats bobbing on the water.

So thrill seekers, should you wish to partake of this discipline, get in touch with your nearest parish priest or get a little cluster together. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Homily for 28/8/22

Some of you may remember the film from 1967. It had a great cast of famous actors. Sidney Poitier, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn to name but a few.

The plot went like this.

Joanna Drayton, a 23-year-old white woman, returns from her Hawaiian vacation to her parent's home with Dr John Prentice, a 37-year-old black widower. The couple became engaged after a 10-day whirlwind romance. Joanna's parents are Matt Drayton, a successful newspaper editor, and his wife, Christina, who owns an art gallery. Though both of the Draytons are liberal-minded, they are initially shocked their daughter is engaged to a man of a different race. Christina gradually accepts the situation, but Matt objects because of the likely unhappiness and seemingly insurmountable problems the couple will face in American culture.

This film has a very flimsy connection to the parable that Jesus tells his guests.

Jesus had probably been the guest preacher at the local parish Synagogue on the Sabbath.  Now he’s invited to lunch with the Parish Councillors. One scurrilous scholar crudely suggested that maybe the parish was vacant and the nominators are there. This theory has no foundation or evidence to support it but …

Over lunch, the nominators are carefully watching Jesus. What they don’t realise is that the Master is also watching them. He carefully notices the bigotry with which they choose the places of honour at the table.

The two stories ‘Guess who’s coming to dinner?’ and Jesus’ parable, match beautifully because like the Draytons and like the Pharisees, we are not always comfortable with those who turn up at the Lord’s table with us. They do things slightly differently and make us squirm. Like the Draytons, we could say that it’s only because we love them and are worried about them and for them. Matt Drayton is concerned about how the young couple will cope with racism in the future. This is of course racism dressed up in a different coat. The liberating news for Matt is… it’s not his problem. If we search our hearts at the deepest level we should be brave enough to confess that there is something else going on here.

If we truly loved them we would accept them, learn from them, enjoy them and offer them the very best of everything. From the silverware to the places of honour at the table. They are who they are, and we are called to rejoice in them even when and especially when, it irks us.

The Master places his parable within the context of a wedding banquet which he frequently does to describe the party in the next life.

It’s a good image for all sorts of reasons but I make the point that when we are invited to a wedding banquet it's not us who chooses the guest list. All we have to do is make sure that we are on it. So in other words we don’t get to choose who comes through the door and sit in our spot and we certainly don’t choose who it is that makes it into THE Wedding feast that never ends.

For example, the child in Ukraine who happens to be born into a different faith and culture and dies without ever having said any Christian prayers, or read a bible or received communion.

Do we really believe that they are condemned to the fiery pit of hell for all eternity?

Jesus’ parable is also about the gift of hospitality and WHY  we offer hospitality to others.

We don’t offer hospitality with the hope that we will get a return invitation for some yummy food.

We do offer hospitality because it is the right thing to do. And you do the right thing because it is the right thing. The Master wants us to give ourselves to others without any strings or expectations.

That is why, when we give a banquet, we invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.

The way that we treat those who are less fortunate is one of the few criteria for getting our glossy invitation to the wedding reception. (See the story of the sheep and the goats)

The reason The Master says invite people who cannot repay you is for it removes any possibility that you are offering a roast lamb and a bottle of red for a self-serving interest and you know that they are truly grateful.

There’s only really one meal that matters. And that is the one at the end of time.

Guess who’s coming to dinner? Well, I reckon Mother Mary will be there, St. Mark, St Peter and all the angels will be there. Yep, you probably count on the big-ticket people like St. Theresa, St. Jude, St. Christopher.

Here at this altar, at this supper, we slip briefly through the veil and go to dinner with these people. At the end of time, we will be surprised at who is sitting at the same table with us.

Mmmm …Guess who’s coming to dinner? You and I.

Of Aromatherapy

I never actually thought that I would be writing about aromatherapy. From this old codger's perception it's a relatively new age thing, but the idea that aromas, good or bad, has been around for years For example, the smell of a hospital ward with its hand cleaners and antiseptic is very potent. You know exactly where you are and what sort of work goes on here. My rush to get from Parkrun to the shower has nothing to do with any time restraints; It's got a lot to do with some personal odours. The smell of freshly baked bread is a delicious fragrance and you can probably recall some of your favourite meals just by remembering the smell of the meal when it came to your table at your favourite dining establishment. These fragrances can bring back memories, both sad and glad. They can also invite anticipation for something that is about to happen. The smell of incense from outside the church just as the service is about the start. The wine in the ‘nose of the wine’ as it swirls in the glass and the aroma of that special curry as you sit down at the table. Indeed there is a whole cosmetic/bubble bath/cologne market built on the premise that we have a sense of smell. This business flourishes because it knows that we want to mask some of our disappointing odours and hope to attract others if we wear the right aftershave or perfume. We have a God-given sense of smell for a good reason. We are to relish it and revel in it and delight in it. We are a sensuous and sensual people and aromatherapy is right to remind us of this exciting fact.

There’s a fair amount of shame slushing about in the synagogue story today.

There is the shame of Jesus' opponents

“When Jesus calls out his opponents they were put to shame;”

There is the shame of the woman who is stooped over. It cannot have been easy for her, what with the gawping of the people in the synagogue., to say nothing of the spiritual inhibition.

All this shame is heightened by the attitude of the leader of the synagogue. This guy really needs a bit more experience under the tutelage of a very wise and senior priest together with a goodly amount of selected informative reading. The gospel does not paint him a very good light.

But shame is not the only issue congealing in the synagogue on that warm summer sabbath. There is also the question of authority.

Who is in Charge?

Is it The leader of the synagogue?

Is it Jesus?

Or maybe, and this might sound a little odd, maybe there is a sense in which it is the woman herself who is in charge. Just by showing up and being there. Surely that is a visible sign of courage, resilience and faith. That is a sign of her authority. No wonder she is open to the possibility of healing and is ready for her life to be turned around.

The leader of the synagogue challenges Jesus' authority because his own authority is threatened.  And his authority is rightly threatened, for he has missed the main thing. It’s not about Him, the leading parish rabbi, it’s not about the rules for healing on the Sabbath.

The really important people in this sorry little story are the woman and Jesus.

Jesus knows this and calls the woman to him. That is why Jesus' authority trumps the rabbi’s misguided sense of self-importance.

So what does all this have to do with us in the year of Our Lord 2022? There has always been opposition to God’s kingdom. This opposition comes in a myriad of ways and forms. Sometimes it’s obvious and blatant and sometimes its subtle and imperceptible.

It's why we must always be alert to this opposition and we must always be alert to the signs of God’s kingdom coming among us. We must seek to bring God's kingdom into the world. When we pray ‘your kingdom come’ it means that we have an obligation to try and make it happen in our community, our parish, our life and the lives of others.

And we must always pray that his kingdom come, even when and especially when it doesn’t feel like it when we can’t see it and there seems to be harsh opposition to God's kingdom.

Please note Jesus has a lovely and refreshing disregard for the rules. He heals and challenges and delivers when and where he wills. And it often seems that it is the least likely people that he calls to himself. Those stooped over by prejudice or misunderstanding. It is the vulnerable and the unnoticed that he touches, releases and heals. It is the impossible cases, the hopeless and the hapless. The woman in today's gospels had this affliction for no less than 18 years. Even the smartest specialist, the most persistent and diligent doctor would have pretty much given up on this case and there is a nasty little bit of us that might well have also given up and been dismissive.

And what is more insidious and dangerous is that sometimes we can write ourselves off as a hopeless cases. That there is nothing I can do about this itchy little habit that I have been trying to give up and it inhibits and stunts me and I’ve had it for years. It is to people like this, people like you and me that Jesus calls to himself and in the face of denial and resignation heals and liberates. It is terrifyingly easy to trot out our mantra of “oh well that’s just the way I am … or ..oh well that's just good ol so and so and they have always been that way.

Jesus calls the woman to himself.

“When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, ‘Woman, you are set free from your ailment”.

The Master sees us as we are; sometimes we are bent over with our shame which inhibits and stunts our potential and our growth. Sometimes we are just bent over with weariness.

We are not as we should be. We are not the people we are called to be and we need to be very careful not to add to people's shame (clergy especially), but rather wherever and whenever, at every single possibility we ought to be vigilant and actively seek out opportunities to release and heal and liberate all manner of people. Then at our synagogue and in our world, we may move from shame to rejoicing. Then God's kingdom will come and the opposition of fundamentalism and rigorous authoritarianism will be vanquished. Then we can all stand up straight confident in God's love and proclaim his healing power to the world. We will in fact have gone from shame to rejoicing.

The funeral of Fr. Graham

It was the funeral of a priestly colleague who died from death at his own hands. The homily was particularly outstanding, in fact it was so good, that I wanted to offer it as it is the best I can do for you. Most of us have been confronted by a death like this.

The preacher began by telling it as it was and pointing out the blitheringly obvious. There are two normal, healthy, understandable questions that we ask about suicide.

Why?

and

What else could I have done?

These are good questions to ask and there might be something wrong if we didn’t ask them.

He then went on

We gather …

To pray for Fr. Graham
To shake our fist at him
To tell him that we love him.

The preacher also used a sublime poem written by Fr. John Henry Newman, pointing out that it applies not just to Fr. Graham but also for us as we trudge on, wrestling with what has happened.

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on.
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
the distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that
Thou shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead Thou me on.
I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,
pride ruled my will; remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blessed me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone;
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile