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

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's because my eyes have grown dim and my perception has been dulled over the years, but I fail to see and be inspired by great and illustrious leaders.

Maybe I am expecting just a little too much, or maybe they don’t get the attention they deserve and so I miss being uplifted by what they have to say.

It’s easier to look back in time and see awesome people and read their words. But I wonder what future generations will say of us. Who will they look back to for wisdom and perception? Whose words will they read and pass on to others?

The trick is, I suspect, that the heroes of yesterday would not have thought of themselves as anything special. They were just everyday common people, getting on with their daily life and going about their humdrum business.

So what if… we are the heroes of 2022? What if the words you write and the phrases you speak will in time be gazed upon with wonder and awe? Is it not possible that folk will look back at us in 30 or 50 or 100 years and say such things like….

“Wow, look at the terrible times they lived in. Look at how ghastly it all was and look at how they just got up each morning and carried on and got with it. Look at the random acts of kindness and the way people really did want to stay in touch. Check out the inventive fun things they did to distract themselves from the morbid climate of the pandemic.

What strength of character. What resilience, what stamina!

What if we are in the midst of this because Himself knew that we are the heroes we have been waiting for? --

14/8/22 homily

In praise of the God who never sleeps.

Time is a wibbly wobbly old thing. I’m actually typing this week's reflection before Jeanine and I go on our adventure but it will magically and mysteriously pop up while we are in New York. At least that is the plan and that is what the computer confidently says it will do for me.

Before they left in 2020, Jacky and David kindly organised a thing called a Google nest. If you ask it nicely it can play your favourite song, set the alarm and tell you a joke.

But the most important thing it does is allow us to have a video/sound/screen conversation with our New York family. It’s been an odd experience. It’s like Jacky & David are kind of there, but not there. It’s been a slippery old time because while it is our Thursday morning it is their Wednesday night. So while Jeanine and I are in our morning glad rags having just finished breakfast with the sun coming up, Jacky and David are winding down at the end of a long hard day, sipping wine and getting ready for dinner

As the months have flicked away daylight, savings at both ends have played their tricks and the seasons have also warped our minds. So while it has been blitheringly hot here in the summer they have shown us the torrential and relentless snow outside. Minus something or other is the order of their day. Then of course when it is dark and frigid in Hamilton, as it has been, big blue skies and humid on the streets of Manhattan. It’s all a bit peculiar and very wibbly wobbly. I’ve never actually managed to get my head around it. Instead, I’ve just accepted whatever the climate happens to be, when it happens to be.

This brings us to this space of 5 weeks when you and I are in different time zones. I can’t be with you at the altar and over the cuppa and in your homes etc. While this will be a good thing in the long run, in the short term it is a wrench. It would be grand if I could just duck back home to Hamilton for the weekends.

A thought came to me in the middle of the night (Eastern Standard time) which helped, and my thought was this. That while it is night time and I am snoring under the air conditioner in New York you will be gathered around the altar in daylight trying to stay warm. Being the prayerful pilgrim people I have come to know, I will rest securely knowing that your support continues. And vice versa. When you are safely tucked up in your bed and I am at an altar somewhere in New York I will certainly be thinking of you and praying for you.

As that splendid hymn put it:

As o’er each continent and island
The dawn leads on another day,
The voice of prayer is never silent,
Nor dies the strain of praise away.

The sun that bids us rest is waking
Our brethren ’neath the western sky,
And hour by hour fresh lips are making
Thy wondrous doings heard on high

So our loving God is everywhere including Manhattan, Hamilton and every place in between. But He is also the God of all time and in all time and there is no time zone and no moment where He is absent. There is no millisecond where God is not present and active and loving.

God does not suffer from jet lag, or knock-off for 10 minutes at 10:30 am each morning for a smoko. Nor does he take annual leave, Long service leave, personal leave, parental leave, sick leave, compassionate leave, maternity leave, or family leave; even though with His heavy workload he would be more than entitled to do so.

Nor does God have 40 winks, a snooze, a siesta or a cat nap. We worship, love and give thanks that our God is the one who never sleeps. When you’re God you don’t need to sleep.

So even though you and I are on other sides of this very precious little planet we are always one in God. We are still united in a way that is both incomprehensible, mysterious and lovely.

And no matter which time zone we are in, or what we are up to, or whether we are awake or asleep, God is inseparable from us both and always watching over us.

The Psalmist put it for far more eloquently than I and their words conclude this homily for you today… or… whatever day it is… was… will be.

Psalm 121

1  I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?

2  My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3  He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;

4  indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

5  The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;

6  the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

7  The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;

8  the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore

The idea for this reflection came from someone much wiser, astute and perceptive.

They pointed out that life is a bit like a bowl of ice cream. Chocolate with chocolate chips would be my preference.

With a bowl of ice cream, you have two choices.

First, you can just look at it and let it dissolve into a slithery, gooey mess. And sadly there are those who consciously or subconsciously make this choice. Their reason might be that it all just ends anyway. We’re only here for a little while, the ice cream only lasts a while, so we might as well just let it melt away; or as one clever person said ‘Lie down, pull the blankets over our head and wait for the inevitable end.’

Now it is indisputable that it all does end. Nothing except heaven is forever, but the other thing you can do with a bowl of ice cream is ravish it. You pick out a spoon from the cutlery draw, maybe pour a special liquid over the top of the ice cream and begin. Try to savour it bit by bit. Make the experience pleasurable and long-lasting.

I can arrive at no other conclusion than this is what we are supposed to do with ice cream and this is most certainly what we are supposed to do with our lives.

That we do have a finite period of time but that should also be the imperative for making the most of our life here on earth.

While he was accused of being a glutton, a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners, The Master clearly danced and laughed and made sure that every last bit of life’s ice cream was relished. And if it’s good enough for Him …

3 cheers for Fr. Scott, Fr. Robert and you.

Over the next 5 weeks, Jeanine and I will be going on quite an adventure. We will go to places we have never been to before and in fact, if we are brutally honest, never quite actually planned to go to in the first place.

And I imagine that will be exhilarating, tiring, surprising and a whole bunch of other words that I don’t know right now because the adventure actually hasn’t begun so how could I describe it?

But… what about you? Well, you too are in for a special adventure. During these next 5 weeks, you will be competently and wonderfully cared for in ways that have not begun yet.

Fr. Robert is a gregarious, easy-going, affable kind of guy. Retired… well sort of, as he doesn’t have a parish to call his own. But he is probably just as busy now as he has ever been. Certainly, the distances are longer for him as he travels the length and breadth of the diocese filling in for recalcitrant clergy who skive off on holidays and for those parishes that sadly don’t have a priest at the moment.

It's a vital ministry and he accomplishes it with flair and good humour.

It’s not an easy gig. He knows a precious few of your names. And you might think that every parish is identical and you just slot straight in. If only it were that easy. Every parish has its own quirky ways and its own peculiarities. It's fun bits and its tricky bits. It’s the job of Fr. Robert to fit right in and simply get on with it.

You have already had some experience with him and I know that you will grow to enjoy him more and more over the next little while.

Your job is simply to love him to bits. To enjoy him and support him and laugh with him and answer the 689 questions that will make his life easier and which in turn will make your life happier.

This next little while is a golden opportunity for you. A rare chance to minister to the priest. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. At the end of 5 weeks, you can say to him ‘Thank you it’s been wonderful. Thank you for what you have done for Jeanine and Fr. David and most especially Thank you for what you have done for us.’

And even if he has made the odd understandable blunder you can still wave him goodbye with a smile knowing that the regular lunatic is on a plane on his way back to you and it will be a few months at least before you have to see Fr. Robert again.

But what I suspect will happen is that you will grow to love him more than you do today, simply because Fr. Robert is that sort of priest and gentleman.

And if he wants to begin his homilies by doing a little liturgical dance (I’d really like to see that) then you should encourage him and maybe give him a few pointers about his choreography and forward on a little film clip to Australia’s got talent for their serious consideration.

So all you have to do is just love him to bits.

And of Fr. Scott. Fr. Scott is available in case of emergency and if the worst happens you should never hesitate to get in touch at your earliest convenience. He will make sure that you are well looked after in your darkest hour. In fact this is one of Fr. Scotts greatest gifts. He competently and pastorally looks after one of the largest and most demanding parishes in the diocese and it is nothing for him to have 3 funerals a week, every week. Layered on top of that he is also the Archdeacon and Vicar General.

So most of his ministry is quite rightly hidden from us and the sensitivities and intricacies we will never know about. Nor should we.

Fr. Scott will make sure that you are cared for gently and tenderly as a Father loves his children. As The Father loves you.

Jeanine and I leave knowing that you will be richly blessed by these two fine priests. But we also know that you will keep the day-to-day machinery of the parish ticking over smoothly and effectively. You are very good at this and I probably don’t tell you as often as I should. Your outstanding ministry is some of the finest I have had the privilege to encounter and enjoy.

I am delighted that not only will Jeanine and I have an incredible time, but I am also very pleased that you also will have a marvellous adventure with Fr. Scott, Fr. Robert and perhaps most of all, amongst yourselves.

We are looking forward not only to going but also to coming back to you again. And while we might be 16,905 km away (yes I really did look it up on the computer thingy) there in that other dimension we will be as close as we are now and will be in the future. Three cheers for Fr. Scott, for Fr. Robert but most especially for you.

The parable of the pots of jam

One of the very good things about holidays is that you see things with fresh eyes when you get back. This happened to me recently and what I saw upon my return was many pots of jam.

I was surprised at how many levels I operate on and all within the space of a few days. It would be easy to assume that I am now referring to the different centres in our parish. But it's not just that. It goes quite a bit deeper.

In the space of any given day, I can be an administrator, dishwasher, speaker, carer, priest, husband, father, listener, vacuum wielder and friend. The conversations are very bendy. Sometimes I know not where things have come from and where they are going. Was I really this busy before I left? And was it always this complex and whizzy? Well yes, but the cathartic therapy of the holiday had massaged this out of my memory.

So the parable of Pots of jam I found to be a helpful image. Each pot is different and unique. Each pot is constantly changing ever so slightly. Each pot is absolutely unique and priceless. Each pot is to be relished and enjoyed.

The trick I suspect is to be totally caught up in the ‘jar’ that you are enjoying and not thinking about the next jar that you know you will have to be sampling within the hour. This isn’t easy, but I will be the best jam sampler and digester if I treat each jar with the dignity and respect it demands. So breathe deeply Fr. David, open the jar, put a sensible-sized sample on your spoon and let the flavours play over your palette. Nothing less is needed. Nothing less will do.

Homily for 31st July

It had been a most un-pretty day. A priestly colleague had died in tragic circumstances and so come the time when I sat down to pray about it all at evening prayer,  I was completely gazumped. And then I remembered this prayer.

Come Holy Spirit kindle in our hearts the fire of your love.
Grant for our hallowing, thoughts that pass into words,
words that pass into deeds, deeds that pass into love and
love that passes into life everlasting you our God forever and ever
Amen.

This prayer speaks of the transformation and flow of life from thoughts to words, to deeds to love, and then ultimately onto heaven. We are forever transforming our thoughts into words, our words into deeds. Our deeds are supposed to transform us and others into love and therefore ultimately into the new life of heaven.

But on this most un-pretty day, I knew that my words were shot to pieces. There were no words. Sure, I knew how the process was supposed to go. I’ve been living it a lovely long time now, but on this un-pretty day when there was just me and Him at the end of the day, I was stuck firmly at square 1. With my rambly mostly bumpy thoughts. Yep, that’s as far as I could get. There was a lot to think about and process. Family, medical people, a bishop, and the countless lives this priest touched and healed, embraced and loved. It was like chucking a filthy great rock into a small pool of water. The water erupted and the ripples and consequences spread out exponentially so that nothing and no one remained placid and undisturbed. All were ruffled and disquieted and those closest to the epicentre of this death can never be quite the same again.

Offering the broken hearts of these people was hard work and I am not confident I did it effectively or properly. There was bound to be someone that I overlooked and forgot, but ultimately God never forgets and sees all and knows all.

I then read the office, the psalms, the readings, the Lord’s prayer, the canticles, you know how it goes. As I closed the last book and put it aside it did not feel like the Holy Spirit had kindled anything much. My thoughts were still very random and helter-skelter; an incoherent and disorderly pile of dusty rubble. I was not up to the bit about thoughts becoming words and it is only through the compiling of this little homily that I was able to get to that point some days later.

At the time I was just up to the ‘thoughts’ bit. Not the words.

Was I a failure? Was my prayer only a C minus or 68 per cent? You always get a pass with prayer just for trying.

I think not and crave your patience as I reflect a little more. I reason thus.

Is not the struggle of a maelstrom of chaotic thoughts a valid form of prayer in and of itself? What if the Holy Spirit had come and kindled these thoughts, the fact that my incoherent babbling was offered, was that not an authentic and legitimate offering of prayer?

My thoughts had turned into words and my words would transform, maybe not straight away, maybe not in a cool, clinical, logical well thought form, beautifully structured with footnotes and illustrated with colour pictures and clever rhyming couplets.

My words would turn into deeds but it just may take a bit of time to know what the appropriate deeds might be so that they may be tinged and imbued with the Master’s love.

Love would be found in God’s way, in God’s actions, in God’s time. He’s the Saviour of the Universe.

Heaven would come to meet us, to meet my Colleague and perhaps my meandering mind. The grappling and the tangling is how the whole process scrunches along. This is what made the cogs turn and clunk. Perhaps on that first evening prayer when once again it was just me and Him, I was in fact surrounded by angels and archangels and we had already gone straight from thoughts to life everlasting without really knowing it. Perhaps it was a very pretty day after all and I could not see it at the time.

Now I offer you this little reflection because I know you to be enjoyable human beings and that means that you too will find yourself having an un-pretty day from time to time. Something in this interminable homily might be of some use but know above all that you are never alone in your un-pretty day. Know that the mere offering of helter-skelter thoughts and especially the traditional Fr. David shaking of the fist, is one of the finest forms of prayer and love that was somehow tragically overlooked and not inserted into our prayer book.

Perhaps also the prayer I started with might be helpful for you one day. There is no copyright and it would be a good way to wrap up this homily.

Come Holy Spirit kindle in our hearts the fire of your love,
Grant for our hallowing thoughts that pass into words,
words that pass into deeds, deeds that pass into love and
love that passes into life everlasting you our God.
Amen.