A Barnraising Tale

The Bible is stranger than you think. Phrases like “there’s nothing new under the sun,” or, “the writing is on the wall,” or, “by the skin of your teeth” are so common, many do not even realize they are quoting Scripture. But there is a risk with such familiarity we assume we know what they mean, missing their profound and shocking depth. Take the image of the Cross, for example: a symbol we rightly cherish [as an aside - I hope all of you have a Cross hanging somewhere in your home (ideally, even more than one…] It gives us hope, and models for us the power Christ has over the things that we fear the most: suffering, and death. But our familiarity has almost anaesthetized us to its infinite cost - and the paradox in finding comfort through the invitation to sacrifice. Have you ever considered for a moment how odd it is, that we should find hope and healing in an image of a man, slowly asphyxiating, in terrible agony? Whilst it should never be frightening to us, the image of the Cross is certainly challenging - and when we gaze upon it, we shouldn’t let that strangeness pass us by. It is a sign of hope, for sure, but also an invitation. This is the way that we too must pass, if we are to have eternal life: " the Son of man must be lifted up " - and when he is lifted up from the earth, he " will draw all people " to himself. Five times in the Scriptures Jesus commands his followers: “ take up your Cross .” This, too, is an extraordinary thing to say. We often interpret this kind of cross as the little burdens and trials we endure in life - the things that grind, or annoy us. That’s not wrong, but it’s not sufficient. We don’t often think of embracing the ultimate sacrifice in defense of Truth. Perhaps we should? But there’s actually a little more nuance to the invitation: ‘take up your Cross.’ The Greek word for ‘Cross,’ σταυρός, (pronounced ‘stafros’) almost universally means the cross of crucifixion nowadays. But it didn’t originally. In human terms, the word is quite a primitive one: it describes the kind of sharpened pole that humans have been fashioning for thousands of years; to create structures, such as fences; or weapons, such as spears. You can see the evidence of this in the English words, ‘staff,’ or ‘stave,’ which come from the same Indo-European root as σταυρός. So when Jesus says, ‘take up your Cross’ there is a deliberate ambiguity in his meaning. Yes, it certainly can mean ‘be prepared to suffer death,’ but the invitation was made before the events of the Crucifixion took place. No-one (except Jesus) knew how the story would end. Equally well, ‘take up your Cross’ could mean take up your staff, an allusion to Exodus 12 and the instruction to the Israelites to eat the Passover meal with loins girt and staff in hand - but it can also, equally well, mean take up your spear - as in, a weapon - and be ready for battle. Of course Christ means all three, at the same time, but the original hearers would no doubt have selected which meaning suited them best. Only after Calvary would the primary meaning become a definitive call - and the other possible meanings make sense by reference to the first: the Cross is the direction of travel for all Christians - and in so doing, we enter into the true Passover, crossing the Red Sea from death to life, staff in hand, and also fight valiantly against evil with the only defensive weapon possible: the life-giving Cross of Christ. It urges us to live courageously, aligning our lives with Christ’s radical demands, not to soften it, or neatly package it up so it fits into a space we’re comfortable with. The centrality of the Cross is emblematic of Christian initiation - we are baptized, and anointed in the shape of the Cross. From that moment onwards, we trace that Sign over our bodies with water to remind us of our acceptance of Christ’s call. It’s no wonder, then, that the Cross forms the centerpiece of the great Christological paean found in Philippians 2:6-11. You may be very familiar with it - but again, it is stranger than it first seems. Scholars have long tarried over these words, because they don’t quite seem to fit into the structure or vocabulary of Paul’s letters. We know Philippians was written by Paul from prison, probably in Rome, and if so, between AD 60 and 62. But these lines have a distinctive meter and alliteration, which suggests they were designed to be learnt by heart and recited by a group. They are, if you like, a form of Creed, and written to be sung. It seems very likely that Paul didn’t write them. He is quoting a text that already existed - and that makes it very old, indeed - some of the oldest words of the New Testament, possibly emanating from the original Jerusalem Church, far older than the Gospels, and vying only with snippets in Paul’s other letters for the title of the oldest surviving Christian text. The text has a mirror-image structure, that forms one half of the letter X, or chi in Greek - for this reason we say it has chiastic form - it paints a landscape, in words, of descent and ascent, where the lowest point is death on a Cross, whence God raises Christ up, and exalts him, commanding us to revere his name for all eternity. It would be the perfect chant to sing during Baptism, where the text (and music) descends into death and rises to new life - and indeed, that is probably what we are looking at - whoever knew there would be archaeology, hiding in plain sight, in the middle of Paul’s letters? In this hymn, we can see what was important to the very first Christians - the ones who were alive, and witnessed, the events we commemorate every time we celebrate Mass - and what was of central importance to them was binding themselves to the image of the Cross, imprinting it on their lives - and if it was so important to them that this text survives intact to be proclaimed 2000 years later in Greenwich, CT, then it is still important to us now.

Let me ask you a personal question: do you hate your mom and dad? I hate mine. What about your siblings? Yes, them too. Hate them. Let’s get closer to the bone: do you hate your wife? What about your children? Have I gone too far? I even hate my life! " Taklit senah senetim " to quote Psalm 139:22: " I hate them with perfect hatred. " But before you think I’ve gone mad, let’s hear the words of Jesus again more attentively: " If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple." Lk 14:26 What on earth can he mean? I wonder when was the first time your child, or grandchild turned around and dropped the three word grenade in your face: ‘ I hate you! ’ How did it feel? A punch in the guts, I’m sure. Kids know this is, perhaps, the most powerful verbal weapon in their arsenal. ‘ They didn’t mean it… ’ your kindly spouse probably consoled you: ‘ they were just frustrated and unable to express their feelings. ’ But Jesus did mean it. 100%. When we encounter difficult lines in the Bible like this we have three options: (1.) ignore it, (2.) reject it, or (3.) dive into it, to understand more deeply what it means. Options (1.) and (2.) both undermine Faith - rejecting the teaching is obvious, but glossing over it is also a subtle rejection, because it undermines the credibility of the teller. If you can ignore what Jesus says here, what about in other places you find hard? If he’s talking nonsense here, then you can become the judge as to whether what he says in another place is the ‘real Jesus’ or not. See here one of the grave dangers of taking the Bible, in translation, and silently assuming you know fully well what it means. You will not find a priest more enthusiastic about Bible Study than me, and I encourage all of you to become as biblically literate as possible. But I must warn you of the dangers of private interpretation - there are tricky corners in the Scriptures. Some things can be taken literally: e.g. this is my body…this is my blood - but why must we take that literally, but not I am the vine, or when he describes himself as a mother hen? We don’t have a Liturgy where we claim to be grapes, or chicks, but we do have one where we claim to feast on the Body and Blood of Christ. To make sense of some of the more difficult passages you have to understand both the original language (or languages,) and also the context of what was said. Here we have a perfect example of what we call an ‘Aramaism.’ This passage is recorded speech of Jesus, faithfully noting down in the Greek language what was (almost) inevitably not delivered in Greek, but in Aramaic. An Aramaism happens when we see a phrase, a construction, or a linguistic device in Greek that really only makes sense in Aramaic. Those of you who speak more than one language do this all the time - sometimes you express a concept using the idiom of one language when you’re actually speaking another - and people can easily get confused. It’s true that Semitic languages often deploy hyperbole as a device - making an exaggerated or provocative statement in order to make a captivating point. A rhetorical device. Sometimes this passage is dismissed as hyperbole, but the problem with that is Greek uses hyperbole too - the very word is Greek, after all. This is not hyperbole, and it’s not emotional. The Lord is not being provocative here, he’s actually being very measured. The key is the differences between three verbs: ‘hate’ in English, ‘miséo’ in Greek, and ‘sane’ in Aramaic (and Hebrew.) The verb sane is much broader than the English and Greek versions. It can mean the kind of rage and fury that comes with animosity, but it can also mean a cold, rational detachment, or uncoupling, from someone, or something, that is preferred less than another. It does not necessarily mean ‘dislike’ or connote any kind of negativity, but rather a choice or selection for someone, or something, else. You can see this in other Old Testament contexts, for example God says in the prophecy of Malachi, quoted by St Paul in Romans: “ I have loved Jacob, but Esau I have hated .” Which reminds us of the story of Jacob, Leah, and Rachel: “ When the Lord saw that Leah was hated, he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren. ” We can see here that the semitic concept of ‘hate’ is not always angry, or full of rage. God is not mad at Esau, he simply prefers Jacob; Jacob for his part doesn’t despise Leah, he merely prefers Rachel. If we read back into these passages referring to hatred our own emotional baggage, then we risk misunderstanding the Word of God completely, and possibly misapplying attributes to God that are simply not there. This is simply a matter of understanding the way Semitic languages work. However, when it comes to translating, we have to take a further step. The Greek verb, miséo does not have these nuances, however, the Gospel writer is concerned to record Jesus’s sayings accurately. It is accurate, but it does not convey the meaning very well. The Lord has used a device in the Aramaic language which doesn’t translate very well, even into the original Greek of the New Testament. How important it is then for us to recognize we need not only the text, but also the testimony of those who heard the Lord speak - they knew what he meant - and that knowledge has been passed down in the Church. Things get even more challenging when we consider the English language. Again, ‘hate’ is an excellent translation of ‘miséo’ - there’s really no other choice. But ‘hate’ in English is an exceptionally emotive word. I deliberately took advantage of that with my opening dialogue - as soon as I said, ‘I hate mine’ about my parents, you took note - because it’s an extremely strong thing to say. Provocative, even. For the record (and they will read this) I love my parents, and my siblings very much indeed. But I prefer God, even to them, and in this sense - and this sense alone, I can say biblically I ‘hate’ them. The teaching here helps us to understand there is a hierarchy, even in the commandments of God. You see, if the Lord was truly teaching us to despise our parents, he would be contradicting himself, because as we know the Fourth Commandment is ‘Honor your father and you mother…’ but as we also know, the first three commandments are concerned with the honor and worship due to God, and God alone. The order is important - the love of God comes before everything else. God has revealed to us the structure of ordered love: God first, family second. Can you now see that the Lord saying ‘hate your father and mother’ in the context of discipleship is perfectly in line with the Fourth Commandment? Indeed, within the structure of the Ten Commandments, because love of God has first place, the honor to father and mother could even be described as ‘hating’ them! It sounds peculiar to our ears, doesn’t it? But that’s how languages work - and it’s why translation is fraught with danger! As soon as our emotional response is triggered, by the erroneous idea the Lord is teaching us to hate our families, the danger is we no longer listen to the point of the statement - it’s about discipleship - but that’s lost in the maelstrom of confusion. To be a disciple of Christ means He has first place even over our father, mother, wife, or children, even over our own life. There are two consequences of this teaching: If your father, mother, wife, or children prevent you from loving God, or worshiping God, you can, in good conscience, override their objections and still fulfill the Ten Commandments. I will let you in on a secret - my parents did not really want me to go to seminary. They were not Catholic (at the time) and I knew they did not approve. I went anyway - and in so doing, I did not break the Fourth Commandment, because love of God comes first. This point is easy enough to understand… The Lord lists father, mother, wife and children, and life itself - in that order. It’s a deliberate choice. All those are good things! In our discipleship, Satan does not tempt most of us to rob a bank - you and I are not really inclined to that kind of obvious evil - but for most people, growth in holiness is prevented not because they follow evil, but because they misprioritize good. They put family, or career, or material comfort, or health, in first place, and God in second place - and, as we have learnt from today’s language class - if we put God in second place - you guessed it, we hate him. So, now you know you’re just like me. You hate your father, mother, wife, children and your own life, too. Good! I’m happy for you. So next time your child screams ‘ I hate you! ’ - your answer should be ‘ well done, darling! I didn’t know you spoke Aramaic! ’

“ You have come to Mount Zion, and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering. ” Heb 12:22 This quotation from the Letter to the Hebrews was read every week in my home parish at Benediction on Sunday evenings. I loved that service, it was so calm - after the busyness of the morning, the church retained a thick stillness - the incense sometimes hung in a fog like a layer cake over the Sanctuary. It was holy. But what struck me then, and strikes me now, is how the Bible was able to describe with pinpoint accuracy something that was unfolding liturgically. It was, if you like, the perfect commentary to the action of the priest, and what it meant to be in the presence of the Most Blessed Sacrament. When the Letter to the Hebrews was written, its human author would have had no conception of exposing the Blessed Sacrament for worship - that’s not a disadvantage: the author knew the Incarnate Lord. However, this passage describes perfectly what happens when we are at Mass, and by extension, what happens when the world shudders to a stop whenever the Church exposes the Blessed Sacrament for public Adoration. It’s this activity, we call Exposition and Benediction I want to talk to you about today. Many times it’s confused with the term, ‘Adoration’ - here’s the difference: you can adore the Lord whether the Blessed Sacrament is exposed, or reposed in the Taberacle - in other words, Adoration is possible 24-7, but Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament is a formal ritual, governed by Church law. We already have Exposition here at St. Paul’s once a month, on First Fridays, but it’s only for a brief moment whilst devotions are recited. I would like to begin Exposition every week, for a particular purpose, that I’d like to share with you, and invite your help in making a reality. I would like to expose the Blessed Sacrament for public worship every Wednesday afternoon, for the intention of our young people in Faith Formation, between 4 PM, and 6:30 PM, and to do that I will need your help: it cannot be done unless we have volunteers to guard the Eucharist - at least three at any one time. So first, I will explain what it is, and secondly, why it is so beneficial to your spiritual life. It’s important I don’t assume everyone already knows what Exposition is. It’s quite possible to go to church every Sunday, and never really encounter it. In the 1960s, the Church went through a time when Exposition was phased out, it was seen as outdated, and insufficiently participatory. This was a mistake - the difference is the mode of participation. Exposition takes one key moment of the Mass - the moment when the Host, or Chalice, are elevated and shown to the people, and kind of elongates it - expands it, or, if you like, freeze-frames it. The Latin verb to show is monstro - from which we derive the word, ‘monstrance’ for the piece of equipment into which we place the Eucharist, but the connection between the Mass and Exposition is essential. Even amongst pious people, this connection is not always well understood. When I said you see the Elevation in freeze-frame, remember that every Host you look at in a monstrance is on its way somewhere. It is not some kind of meta-relic that we stash away in the back, to bring out on special occasions. It is food - the Bread of Life, and every Host consecrated is consecrated for someone - it has a destination - to be united with the body of a Christian believer, known to God from all eternity, in order to nourish them, soul and body, to bring them forgiveness of sins, and healing in spirit, and to claim them for Christ, over and again. Perhaps you might pray for the person who will, one day, consume each and every Host you adore - it may well be one of you! I’m a priest, and I must have consecrated thousands of Hosts. Sometimes I might know for whom they are consecrated, but most of the time, I don’t - but God does. The Host you consume at Mass today was made from the flour of wheat grown from a seed in field. God knew the destination of that seed before it was ever sown - that it had the blessing of being transformed into the substance of the Body and Blood of the Son. It’s quite remarkable, when you think beyond the topical. Beyond what you’re familiar with. Beyond what you think you know. That’s where Exposition comes in. During Exposition, nothing much happens, you look at the Host, the candles look pretty, the incense is impressive, and the singing is otherworldly (hopefully in a good way…) but when you look at the Host, you are looking at Jesus. And Jesus is looking at you. That’s right - since the Host is what Christ is, and is where Christ is, a chance to place yourself before the Lord of All Things, is a moment to see, and be seen. Yes, God is everywhere - but He calls you to himself - he wants to be intimate with you, not just in theory, but in practice. He wants you to present your body a holy, living sacrifice. He wants to know you, and for you to be known. At Mass, with all its distractions, and movements, sometimes the contemplative mode of participation is challenged. Exposition is a way to regain that contemplative mode, which is in fact superior to any form of activity, because contemplation is the highest form of prayer that exists. At the end of Exposition comes Benediction, a word that simply means ‘blessing.’ It it special, because the blessing comes from Christ personally - not from the priest acting with Christ’s authority. To be blessed with the Host is to be touched by Christ himself, without any mediation of the priest. For this reason, Benediction has certain rules, and certain vestments. There must be a set number of candles burning, incense must be used, the Collect must be sung, and the priest must put on the humeral veil - a decorated vestment hangs over his shoulders, symbolically separating himself as a person from the blessing that is given with the Eucharist itself. When Exposition comes at the end of Mass, there should be a seamless transition from one liturgy to to other - a segue, for all you professional musicians - and the blessing usually given at the conclusion of Mass is substituted for the Benediction of Christ with the Monstrance. All these things the Apostles would probably never have imagined the night before his Passion when Christ instituted the Lord's Supper. But they are the organic outgrowth of what He did that night - He handed himself over to unholy hands - indeed, you could argue the first to ‘expose’ Christ was Pontius Pilate - and made Himself vulnerable to us, in order to save us. It’s that saving gift we participate in at Mass, and it’s the saving Person we adore in Exposition. As we deepen our respect and reverence for the Eucharist, let us never forget who it is that comes to us in the form of Bread and Wine. Blessèd and praised be Jesus Christ In the most holy Sacrament Hosanna; Hosanna, Hosanna in excelsis.

“ And behold, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last. ” Luke 13:30 This saying of Jesus has often puzzled me. It makes me think: ‘wait, no - how is that fair?’ and then I remember the golden rule of Biblical interpretation: if your interpretation makes the Lord look like he’s unfair, unjust, or indeed any other negative characteristic: your interpretation is wrong. The Lord’s sayings are often enigmatic - not just does he teach in parables he speaks parabolically - that is to say, when dealing with Scripture you have to sit, and listen…and wait. The answer sometimes takes a lifetime. Too hasty a conclusion, or too literal a conclusion, often puts you in a pickle. One such pickle I have observed recently is premillennial dispensationalism. On no! Another -ism! Actually this one is not one of ours - this is an Evangelical belief that God’s action in human history can be divided into ages, or ‘dispensations’ - each with their own covenant, that eternally endures. Among the many consequences of this theory is one really rather curious desire: to see the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem rebuilt, and the sacrifices within it resumed. You heard that right. There are groups of Christians who spend much energy (and millions of dollars) into projects that would facilitate the resumption of Temple worship by Jewish priests, including practical plans to breed red heifers in Texas suitable for ritual slaughter. Let me be plain: God does not want the physical Temple in Jerusalem rebuilt - how can I be so sure? Because to do so directly contradicts the Lord’s own words: “ Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up…but he was speaking about the temple of his body. ” John 2:19,21 “ Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem will you worship the Father. ” John 4: 21 Furthermore, since the new Temple in the Kingdom is Christ’s own body, which is in heaven, we recognize that the promises of the Covenant with Moses are fulfilled in Christ, who offers the possibility of right worship for a new Israel constituted of those who believe in him. This means the Church is that new Israel of God - and only in Christ can worshipers offer sacrifice acceptable to the Father in Spirit and in Truth. The old Temple has been destroyed: its sacrifices are not acceptable to God, and cannot save. This idea is the whole background to today’s Gospel. The Lord is asked a question about how many people will be saved, and he tells us three very important things: The door is narrow : i.e. salvation is not easy, but instead is a process that happens when we cooperate with grace, and grow in holiness of life. The house will be barred to some : it is not sufficient simply to profess Faith in Christ and thus be saved - the Lord is clear: “ We ate and drank in your presence, and you taught in our streets.’ But he will say, ‘I tell you, I do not know where you come from. Depart from me, all you workers of evil!’ ” The kingdom includes both Jews and Gentiles : this is what it means when he says people from the four points of the compass will “recline at table” in the kingdom. The objection to these teachings seems to come from a Jewish perspective - this should not surprise us - the idea that the Kingdom would be open to Gentiles as well as Jews is perhaps the most controversial aspect of Christ’s soteriology. The Lord describes those excluded from the house weeping and wailing when they observe Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and the prophets eating at table with those from North, South, East and West - i.e. you, and me. The Kingdom of God is not based on race, but on Faith; there is no privilege given to anyone on the basis of physical or historical characteristics - so, contrary to ‘Simpsonian’ eschatology, there are no Irish, Italian or Mexican neighborhoods in heaven - the only measure is holiness, in which the Blessed Virgin has the highest honor. So what about the last being first? I don’t know about you, but I learn a lot about myself in airports - specifically that I am not very patient. Take airport barriers - you know, the stanchion-and-tape contraptions that are designed to manage queues: nothing raises my ire more than when security officials open up a new line for those behind me in the queue by a simple switch of the tape - in they all go - filing past in an express lane to the front of the line. The red mist rises! But this is not what the Lord means here. First of all there’s no queuing for the Kingdom of God - salvation is offered to all in the blood of the Lamb: the only question is - do you remain in his love? Secondly, this phrase is the context of the Lord’s sadness at his non-acceptance by many in Israel, especially the religious hierarchy. Indeed, the following few verses are a specific lament over Jerusalem, which have been extracted from the Lectionary sequence for use in Lent. Here they are: " O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! Behold, your house is forsaken. And I tell you, you will not see me until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’ ” Luke 13:34-35 God desires for all to be saved, and for all to enter the Kingdom - but obstinacy on the basis of self-righteousness is, perhaps, the hardest form of opposition to God’s will - when you truly believe you’re doing what God wants. Sometimes it can feel like the Old Testament is someone else’s history - someone else’s story, but it’s not. God called the Hebrew people to himself “to be a light to enlighten the Gentiles, and the glory of his people Israel” - a truth we recall every single day in the Divine Office. The first called are not the last in dignity, but, just perhaps, the long plan of salvation will see all peoples reconciled in the Kingdom when He makes a new heaven, and a new earth on his timescale, not ours.

“Aslan is a lion- the Lion, the great Lion." "Ooh" said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion"..."Safe?" said Mr Beaver ..."Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.” C. S. Lewis The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe The Pevensie children have discovered the wardrobe in the Professor’s attic that leads to another world - a world in which a deep spell by an evil usurper has meant it is always winter, never Christmas. Aslan, in Lewis’s story, is the Redeemer of Narnia - in giving up his life, he exercises the deep magic, which releases the world from the witch’s curse. Since Aslan is a type of Christ, this quotation exemplifies Lewis’s own understanding of the person of Jesus - not safe, but good. Today’s Gospel, with its startling prophecies is sometimes hard to reconcile with the idea of ‘gentle Jesus, meek and mild.’ Where has he gone? Isn’t he supposed to be the Prince of Peace? Well, let’s start with God’s idea of peace - compared with our more prosaic, everyday notion. For God, peace is clearly not the absence of conflict. The Lord is quite clear that his message is challenging. Coming close to Christ puts us under pressure - and many find that pressure too demanding, and walk away. Instead, God’s peace is about reconciliation. If we are at one with the Father, have restored our friendship by means of Christ’s sonship, then we experience the peace the world cannot give , that surpasses all understanding . But that does not mean we can take it easy. God’s peace, because it derives from Truth, causes division from anything that is false - anything that is inferior, or inadequate. The peace the world offers is focused on comfort - but we are not here for comfort, as Pope Benedict XVI once memorably stated. Even more than that, the world in fact offers a false peace - divisions are not reconciled, they are simply ignored, or papered over. The comfortable peace is no peace at all, it is a conditional cessation of hostilities, for a while, - a truce, in other words. So what of the fire Christ promises? In everyday life you will no doubt have heard that cringeworthy phrase “ feel the burn .” I’m told it relates to the euphoria athletes feel when the lactic acid builds up so much in their muscles their bodies feel like they are burning up. Apparently this is a good thing - but I wouldn’t know, I have not ‘felt the burn’ much recently, perhaps I should take it up? But I wonder if said athletes would be as excited to feel the burn that Christ proposes today? You see the Word we hear today is the same Word that appeared to Moses in the Burning Bush: Same Lord; same fire. We note, of course, that the Bush burns, but is not consumed. And there’s the key. The fire Christ wishes to cast on the earth is a cleansing fire, a purifying fire. There are numerous biblical references to the People of God being cleansed as by fire - and they build upon man’s own experience of the phenomenon. We are primordially afraid of fire - rightly so, it is unpredictable, and endangers our lives - but we also like to manipulate it. Capturing fire - perhaps from lightning strikes - was one of man’s first achievements. No wonder so much mythology centers around the idea of stealing fire from the gods. But we need no Prometheus. God, in fact, wishes to give this fire to us. God’s fire only destroys that which is sinful in us. That which is good is honed, made purer, and stronger. So we see that in this celestial equation, nature+grace=sanctity. Fire, then, is what happens to us spiritually when we say yes to grace. Don’t fear the fire; feel the burn .

“ To live is to change; to be perfect is to have changed often. ” Newman’s provocative insight reveals that if we don’t change, we’re not living. A fish that stops swimming is in fact going backwards - but we don’t just want to live, we should want to become saints. But there’s an inbuilt opposition to that growth. You see, man cannot achieve his ultimate goal using his own reason, or under his own power. It’s like the deliberate imperfections of aerodynamics; the instability that permits a plane to fly. This frustration is what makes us fundamentally religious: we seek answers to big questions outside of ourselves, rather than within. But you see openness to growth is what the virtue of Faith looks like in a concrete way. Why? Because the virtues are the way we chart the operation of God’s grace in our lives. It’s how we measure whether we’re maturing spiritually or not. Faith is, as the Letter to the Hebrews defines it: “ The assurance of things hoped for; the conviction of things unseen. ” Heb 11:1 The problem with this is we use the word, ‘Faith,’ to describe different things. Here, the Bible is talking specifically about the theological virtue of Faith, which is infused by grace. But all that goes way over our heads if we can’t define what a virtue is, nor what grace is. Let’s start with the virtues. What we call a virtue is a character or quality that disposes a person to morally good acts. We work out what they are by examining our behavior, and the behavior of others, synthesizing the principles for good living, and putting a label on it. According to Catholic thought, building upon the foundations of Aristotle, we can distill four ‘cardinal’ virtues, that can be known by reason, and on top of these we have three ‘theological’ virtues that God has revealed to us in the Scriptures. The cardinal virtues are prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, and each of these represents a ‘golden mean’ on a sliding scale between two other characteristics: one of which is an excess, the other a deficiency; and both of which are vices. The golden mean does not necessarily sit in the center between the two - it can be skewed more one way, or another. So: Prudence sits between Cunning, and Recklessness Justice sits between Rigidity, and Laxity Fortitude sits between Foolhardiness, and Cowardice Temperance sits between Austerity, and Licentiousness These natural virtues can be discerned by thinking logically and carefully, and they apply to all men, for all time. But they are very, very hard to achieve, and there is a gap at the end of the day. If you practice these virtues, you may be good, but you won’t be perfect. Indeed, you cannot be perfect. To be perfect, requires God’s intervention - and we call that grace. Here’s where the three theological virtues come in. They are: Faith Hope Love You already know where these come from. I suspect the majority of you who are married will have heard the verse at your weddings: “ So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. ” 1 Cor 13:13 The theological virtues don’t operate like the natural virtues. They don’t sit on a sliding scale, because each of them is given as a gift from God. They do, however, interact with the natural virtues. In fact, in individual circumstances they alter the golden mean, moving the needle in one direction, or another. It is the operation of the theological virtues that changes us from being good to being perfect, or, to think of it another way, by grace we can be made saints. The Letter to the Hebrews gives eleven examples of men and women through salvation history that did something different because of the virtue of Faith. God’s action in their lives shifted the needle and they made choices they otherwise would not have made, because they recognized, by Faith, who it was that was doing the asking. What is true of Faith, is also true of the other two theological virtues, so let’s see how they interact with the natural virtues. Let’s take Fortitude, the mean between Cowardice and Foolhardiness. Faith moves the needle in the direction of Foolhardiness - it makes us do things against the odds, or against the evidence, because we believe God and trust His commands. An excellent example is Peter’s encounter with the Lord walking on the waters: Peter’s Faith overrides his caution, and since it is the Lord who bids him come, he comes - until of course his Faith fails, and he sinks into the waves. So let’s take another example of Temperance, the mean between Austerity and Licentiousness. The theological virtue of Love may move the needle in the direction of Austerity in specific cases. Think, for example, of the commitment of Carthusians, or Trappists, or hermits, they eschew not just luxury, but even basic human goods. They would not be exercizing the natural virtue of Temperance, except that Love, for Christ, and the salvation of souls, requests it of them - and if it is done out of Love (and not for other motives) the virtue is perfected by being changed . We have not mentioned Hope yet, which is the confidence that what God promises will in fact be fulfilled. Taking the natural virtue of Justice, we might observe that Hope asks us to move in favor of Laxity - taking a longer view, and showing mercy, rather than requiring a strict application of law in the here and now. How often do parents exercise this quality! A brilliant example is Our Lady at Cana when she says “do whatever he tells you” to the servants. Her Hope modifies what Justice requires, which would be the honest admission that the wine has run out. So at the heart of the virtuous life is openness to grace. It challenges our nature, and expands our horizon from the topical to the eternal. With the intellect and will that we have by nature, it is possible to be good, but for most of us the report card is mixed. By grace, it becomes possible for us to be perfect - and that works by showing us a deeper logic - the logic best expressed by Christ’s self-sacrificial love on the Cross. This is my body given up for you. Just like the other examples, Christ’s gift of himself on Calvary moves the needle of virtue. Don’t settle for being good enough - be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

“Father, I pray all the time and God doesn’t answer me.” I want to say something this week about prayer - and in particular what we can expect of God if we pray. The Gospel message looks superficially simple: ask, seek, knock - and a promise that everyone will be satisfied if they do so. Have we been set up for disappointment? Does God only do this for certain people? Is it a promise without conditions? Well, the Lord answers that question: If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him? The simple answer is that God, who is supremely good, will not give bad gifts to us, his children, so there is a condition to the triple injunction: ask, seek, knock. The condition is connected to God’s goodness. Imagine if it were another way. Imagine God simply did our bidding, like a genie in a lamp, granting whatever wish we ask for - what would ensue would be chaotic - no-one would have any stability upon which to base future decisions: or, in other words, we would no longer be free to act, and morality would be emptied of all its content. You could be walking over the Brooklyn Bridge, and, surprise, it disappears and you fall into the East River, just because someone else prayed that God would remove it. “But I would only ask for good things” - the boast is poor. If that were so, you would become the first benevolent dictator the world has ever seen. To have every wish granted just for the asking would give us limitless power. J. R. R. Tolkein illustrates this beautifully in his famous trilogy when the Elven Queen of Lothlorien, Galadriel, is offered the one ring: ‘You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,’ said Frodo. ‘I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me.’ Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. ‘Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,’ she said, ‘yet here she has met her match in courtesy. […] And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!’ Galadriel contemplates the possibility of limitless power - and recognizes it for what it is - a test. Having passed the test, she must depart. In a nutshell, that’s the story of Redemption. You see, remaining holy if one were omnipotent is only possible for God, not for man. Our motives are mixed because our perspective is limited. Not only can we not pray as we ought, we cannot see what good we need, either. So why doesn’t Jesus say: ask for good things, seek for good things, knock on good doors? Well, he does, actually. The disciples clearly catch him praying when they beg him to teach them how to pray like John taught his disciples. He teaches them the perfect prayer: the Lord’s Prayer. You will notice the text is slightly reduced from Matthew’s version which we learn in the cradle. It is distilled to the bare essentials - and the first petition is hallowed be your name. We say this line so frequently - and by selecting the antiquarian verb, hallow, which in every other context has been entirely replaced by its synonym, sanctify - the meaning often escapes us. It is really rather odd. Its passive construction tells us that we are not the ones doing the hallowing - God is the one who hallows himself, and we merely recognize it. When we pray, we recognize that God isn’t a genie in a lamp, but instead has a plan for our salvation, the includes working through sufferings. God does not promise that we will never suffer, and whilst suffering is not his direct will, he does permit it to happen, in order to safeguard our freedom. That is to say, suffering exists because people can choose to be good, or evil, and our actions have real consequences. Prayer then is a name given to a process, or as I like to say, a family of human behaviors, in which the individual will is set aside in favor of discovering what God’s will is - and aligning myself with that will, I have peace the world cannot give. Therefore, in my petitions, in my thanksgivings, in my worship, I set my heart on discovering what is fully good, true, and beautiful. It’s as simple, and yet as complicated, as that. If I desire to align myself with God’s will, the change I’m asking, seeking or knocking for in prayer is more in me than in the world. We get it wrong when we conclude prayer is going in one direction, from me to God, when in fact it’s much more the other way around. Prayer is opening myself up for God to illuminate my will, to discern what is truly good for me, and for the world. But if God changes me, because I submit to him, then the world changes also, because I become different. But there is one privilege I will share with you. God’s will is not monolithic - there are infinite possibilities, and multiple ways of reaching the same destination. It’s as if God is constantly rewriting the script, observing the free choices moral agents make, and governing the conditions that permit us to see him for who he is. If our heart is aligned with God’s, then we can pray that his will be done in a certain way. If I am good, and my desire is holy, then God may hear my petition, and the good I ask, seek or knock for, might come about in this way, so it is worth asking. But if it does not, that does not mean my prayer has not been answered - it often means we simply don’t like the answer.

“No-one would remember the Good Samaritan if he’d only had good intentions - he had money as well.” Jesus uses parables to explain deep truths - things that we need to mull over for a long time; things we need to keep coming back to. The word means to throw alongside - it’s the same root as the ‘parabolic’ in a parabolic curve - the kind you don’t want to see in your 401k. You could think of it as a boomerang - instead of giving a direct answer that you might forget, the Lord paints a vivid picture with a memorable story, so you can keep returning to the ideas again, and again. It’s the perfect strategy. But there’s a risk. Parables, you see, have multiple layers. There’s a superficial reading, perhaps one or two slightly deeper readings, and then there’s the core teaching, which makes all the little details in the story sparkle like diamonds. Only then can you say you have received what the Lord wished to convey. So let me disavow you of the superficial interpretation: the moral of the story is not simply: “be kind to people in need” - that is the most basic teaching, and does not need a parable to convince you of its suitability. Indeed, the Lord teaches this directly on multiple occasions: e.g. “love one another, as I have loved you.” It’s not about being kind. So what is it about? Well, to understand a parable, you need to pick it apart, and see the details. There are many, but let us concentrate on a handful: The traveler’s direction: from Jerusalem to Jericho The traveler is described as “a certain man” - anthropós tís The Samaritan is wealthy and generous He uses oil and wine to minister to him He takes him to an Inn He gives two denarii. He will return The traveler’s direction is important. Although a journey of merely 18 miles, it involves a descent of 3439 feet to the lowest city on Earth. Jericho is 864 feet below sea level, whereas Jerusalem is on a high mountain. Jericho, in this sense, represents hell - the bowels of the Earth. Man has turned his back on Jerusalem, where the presence of God tabernacles among men, and instead is journeying into the pit. He’s going the wrong way - and thus the victim is not entirely innocent. He is in a bad place because of his previous bad choices. The Greek word for man here is very broad. Almost every interpretation of this parable assumes that the man going to Jericho is a Jew - and therefore the parable is all about Jews receiving mercy from their despised enemies, the Samaritans. That is there by implication - remember there are multiple layers of meaning - but to conclude this about the parable you have subconsciously imported a detail which is not explicitly there. The parable takes on a very different vibe if the robber’s victim was also a Samaritan, doesn’t it? Who’s to say he isn’t? The Lord just tells us it was a certain man - an everyman. The robber’s victim is you - and me. The Samaritan represents someone who is entirely different from us - he is not our friend. He is a foreigner in this land - and he is extraordinarily generous and wealthy. The quotation I began with is from the late Margaret Thatcher, quondam Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. She was manipulating the parable to make a different point - that wealth generation enables us to be charitable. She’s not entirely wrong there, but she misses the point. We don’t actually know why the Samaritan is wealthy - we’re not told he is hard working - it’s just supremely obvious he is able to flash the cash however he chooses. Note carefully the mention of tending the victim’s wounds with oil and wine. What does that remind you of? Who else do you know of that uses oil, and wine, to heal people’s wounds? Maybe the picture is becoming clearer…but let’s move on. Next, the Samaritan uses his beast (redolent of the Sacrifice of Isaac on Mount Moriah) to take the victim to an Inn. This is not an irrelevant detail. I have told you before whenever you come across a ‘hapax legomenon’ - a word that is only used once in the Bible - it should scream out at you. Here is such a feature - the word, pandokíon is only found here in Luke’s Gospel. It is a construction from the word pas, meaning ‘all,’ and dechomi, which is the verb to receive. The Samaritan, having tended to the victim’s wounds with oil and wine, takes him personally to a place that receives all. What kind of a place might that be? The Samaritan, we are told, cannot stay with the victim. He must go away, but he tells the innkeeper he will return, and gives him two denarii to cover expenses. Again, the two denarii are important. A denarius was a single Roman coin. It represents a day’s wages, and thus symbolically, a day. The Samaritan is the one who makes arrangements for two days only. He must return on the third day. I hope by now the details are coming together to give an accurate picture of who the Samaritan is. It is, of course, Christ himself, and the parable is all about man’s need to receiving the healing that only he can provide and only he can pay for. As St. Teresa of Calcutta once said to a wealthy donor: God has lots of money. But the Samaritan has a place to take us - an Inn, which receives all, and is staffed by people he entrusts to look after us until he returns. This Inn is, of course, the Church. Only here can the oil and wine of Christ’s Sacraments be administered with his authority to raise us up when we find ourselves half-dead on the road to hell. Margaret Thatcher was right that the Samaritan had both good intentions, and resources, but she failed to spot the sting in the tail. The Lord says at the end: ‘go, and do likewise.’ This is impossible. No-one has the purity of intention or abundance of resources to do what the Samaritan does. Oh no. Instead, ‘go, and do likewise’ is an invitation to assist him in doing it. Only he will not pass by on the other side; only he will move towards the victim who got himself into a mess by turning away from God; only he has the oil and wine; only he will return on the third day. But there’s a final question. When the Samaritan goes away for three days, where is he going? Well, since man had set out on the road to hell, someone had to complete the journey. The Samaritan is the only one who could go to hell…and back.