Faith on Earth?

Driving around the back lanes is a delight this time of year on a sunny day. The dappled light filters through leaves ablaze in fiery hues, even when the fall foliage isn’t quite as spectacular as it is some years. It’s a vision that attracts us—only the truly oblivious could fail to be delighted. But we perceive a change, and our delight is twinged with anxiety. It is hard-wired within us. I mean that literally. Have you ever noticed there’s a distinct earthy odor after it rains? It’s kind of pleasing, and it even has a name—it’s called petrichor, and humans in fact have better acumen for petrichor than sharks do for blood. You see, we are meant to observe the changes of the seasons with high specificity. As C.S. Lewis knew, this seasonal ache is more than whimsy—it’s God’s whisper of a farther country, where leaves fall no more, but the trees are always green and laden with fruit. He recalled this insight when reading the children’s author, Beatrix Potter’s exquisite story, Squirrel Nutkin: “ one autumn, when the nuts were ripe and the hazel leaves golden ” it begins. This innocent tale pierced Lewis’s heart, awakening in him " a certain quality of sensation, or quality of awareness, ” perhaps a longing for the eternal amid the sylvan glade. Our anxiety at this time of year stems from the fact that when we see the leaves turn, and smell the earthy notes from the ground after rain, we know we need to prepare for winter. The frost is coming, and food will be scarce. We need shelter, and warmth, to make it through the shortening days. We could rely on our intellect, to store up food and fuel, but we also need luck. Such is biological life—and while we check the weather, put on extra layers, and stock up with provisions on a daily basis—it’s easy to neglect the spirit at these times. To forget that preserving the body at all costs is not the meaning of life, after all. But while the Cosmos is giving us signs that we need to slow down, and be prepared, our sophisticated modern society has decided the opposite is, in fact, in order. I don’t know about you, but my diary has exploded in recent weeks—between now and Thanksgiving, it’s an endless procession of meetings, dinners, and galas. All the rest of Creation has taken the hint: the animals are busy preparing for the winter. The roses are putting on their rather feeble last blooms, and the leaves are shedding from the trees. But mankind? Oh no. We’re better than all that. If there was ever evidence for the expulsion from the Garden of Eden, it is this! Lewis warns: “ We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us ” We mistake our frantic calendars for freedom, without realizing we exchanged leisure for toil when our first parents chose to exalt ourselves over God. There are two further conclusions we can draw from the changing of the seasons that are helpful for the spiritual life: first, that the same God who encourages the fresh green growth of Spring now commands the trees to loose their grip, become translucent, and fail; and secondly, that in losing that vigor, light is able to penetrate to the roots. Have you ever noticed that it is easier to see further, and more clearly, in the woods in winter? The undulations of the landscape are obscured by the flush of greenery, but they are now revealed. We can see the contours—the crags, the ravines—which otherwise lie in wait under a carpet of briars. God permits the vigor of youth, but demands the fall as well. We should not refuse it, or protest. If our understanding of success is only a tree in full leaf, full of sap, and green, then we haven’t yet grasped the way God seeks to save us. He asks us to humble ourselves, to be receptive to grace, and open to the change in us that can only happen when we put our pride in check. It’s particularly satisfying to note that our word, humble comes from the same root as soil, or earth. To have humility is to be full of humus—of the soil of repentance. In the Gospel today, we see this dichotomy very clearly. Both the Pharisee and the Publican know that God is who He says He is. He is Almighty, and eternal. They both desire a relationship with Him, but the Pharisee has concluded that if he does all the outward things the law requires, then God will thank him. As St. John Henry Newman observes in his sermon on this very parable, the Pharisee "looked upon himself with great complacency, for the very reason that the standard was so low, and the range so narrow, which he assigned to his duties towards God and man... He thanked God he was a Pharisee, and not a penitent." The Publican, meanwhile, recognizes that in all his efforts he falls short, and simply begs God for mercy, without seeking to justify himself: "O God, be merciful to me, a sinner." In truth, in God’s sight, no man living is justified—justification is the consequence of accepting the need for grace—that I cannot be saved by going through the motions. Like the trees that accept being denuded by the wind, we too must allow our pride to be stripped away, revealing the skeletal form of the trunk with all its knots, gnarls, false starts, and crossing branches. Newman captures this poverty of spirit that opens us to joy: " That poverty is a state of utter need and dependence on God. It is the poverty of the publican who begs God for mercy, as opposed to the plenty of the Pharisee whose prayer is a celebration of himself ." Such self-emptying, Newman insists, " is the very badge and token of the servant of Christ. ” Not for nothing, Adam and Eve used leaves to clothe their nakedness - but in so doing, set up a barrier for grace. God requires us to be reclothed, and for grace to hit the soil again. However, before we chastise ourselves too much, our transcendence of the changing seasons also has a positive side. It means that we know the soul is unmoved by the winter wind. We already live half in time, half in eternity, and we should not fear whatever assails the body, only what kills the soul. In Eden we were led by the spirit. In disobedience to God, we exchanged that for being led by the body. We toil for our food, and go hungry, just like the beasts, whereas God did not design it this way. We were meant to have all we wanted for no labor whatsoever. Instead, we chose the long way back to God, but out of the dust and clay, God pursues us in Christ. All was not lost, because one woman said yes to a new Creation, of which we see only the first rays of dawn. For when we fall and turn to dust, then we can rise again. The light that hits the ground when our pride falls like the leaf litter enables a Savior to rise up from within our midst, a Savior who is Christ, and Lord.

I want you to concentrate on three aspects of this Gospel: (1.) the cry of the lepers: “Have pity on us,” (2.) the command of Jesus to them: “Go!” and (3.) the fact that one returns to “give thanks.” Keep these in mind as we unpack the teaching. Have you ever been in a dangerous situation with a group of people? Perhaps a bumpy flight, or a frightening storm. What do you hear them cry out? For many, it’s the only time they ever pray: “My God!” At a moment of crisis, there are very few atheists. But should God answer them? He’d be perfectly within his rights to decline their petitions - surely they cannot expect to ignore him their whole lives, transgressing his law, casting his Name to the wind, only for him to swoop in with a favor when they most need his help? The Miracle of the Ten Lepers is not just a feel-good story - how nice Jesus is, nor is it merely a call to gratitude when we receive God’s blessings. Jesus did many nice things, and healed many people during his ministry on Earth, but not all are recorded. There’s something more about this one - as well as an account of Christ’s goodness it is more importantly a liturgical catechesis. It shows how Christs heals us through the Sacraments, just as he healed the lepers of their physical ailments. It teaches us how we should respond with worship, just as the Samaritan returned and fell at his feet. But to see this depth, we must start where the story ends – with the one who turned back. The Ten Lepers heard Christ’s healing command, but one, realizing his condition had been cured, stopped in his tracks, returns to find Jesus, and glorifies God with a loud voice falling at his feet. Note that he apparently fails to complete the mission: Jesus told all of them to go, and show themselves to the priests. This one, however, has realized something. He has experienced an Epiphany, and thus returns to give thanks to the one he recognizes as both priest and God. The Lord, for his part, accepts this worship. He does not say (as the angels do, or St. Peter did in other places) ‘get up, I’m just a man’ - no - he doubles down “None was found to give glory to God except this foreigner.” His worship was well placed - the Samaritan realizes who Jesus is, and thus receives from him even more. The other nine will get sick again, with something or other - but this one hears the words: “Your Faith has saved you” - in Christ he receives not just healing, but salvation, as well. Ten of them recognized something in Jesus. The number of them is not coincidental - ten is a full number, and God uses it to express universality - e.g. the Ten Commandments, or completeness - e.g. the Ten Talents. They cry out to him from far away: Jesu! Master! Have pity on us! Whilst hearers of this Gospel would recognize leprosy as a terrible affliction that demanded separation, Christ invites us to recognize ourselves in the community of lepers: Jew and Gentile alike. The common condition is being apart from God, infected by sin, and contagious. We cannot approach God, we can only call out to him. How does this relate to the Liturgy? Well, we cry out to God in our leprous condition: “have pity on us!” every single day: what is translated in this Gospel as: “have pity” is also: “have mercy” - “eleison” the Lepers cry “eleison hymas” - the same Kyrie Eleison we cry out at every celebration of Mass: their cry has become the universal plea of wounded humanity, woven into our Sacred Liturgy. God’s response to this petition may then seem astonishing: go! It seems to be a simple verb, but in fact, it’s a euphemism - it means go away, go on a journey, depart - even, die! Can you see now how the story recounts a different narrative? It’s not really about leprosy. Obedience to Christ’s command is a sacramental journey that begins in Baptism, in which those infected with the contagion of sin (as the Liturgy describes it) are called to die and be reborn. The Samaritan Leper recognizes in this departing he has been healed - in his dying, he has been renewed. Believers might ask themselves - how do we access this cleansing rebirth? Now that Christ no longer walks the Earth, how can we be healed like he was healed? The answer is: the Sacraments, given to the Church by the Lord to continue his work until he comes again. But there’s a third layer, if you will, and that layer is uncovered by the apparently simple term ‘to give thanks’ - the Gospel recounts how the Samaritan falls on his face at Jesus’s feet giving thanks to him: “euchariston auto” - he, literally, eucharists him. Be in no doubt, it is Christ’s own words that such eucharisting is giving glory to God - and for the first hearers of this Gospel the penny would drop immediately. What we do at Mass, when we give glory to God, is to eucharist him, too - and thus this story is also a Theophany: Jesus is shown to be God and Savior because the Samaritan has Faith. Israel meanwhile seeks God’s favors but misses his divinity. It is the foreigner who sees - and the foreigner who has Faith. Let us heed the warning of this Miracle - 10 out of 10 receive God’s healing if they ask for it, but only 1 in 10 receives his salvation, because only 1 in 10 has Faith. The call to action is to be Tenth Leper - do we recognize our spiritual leprosy, or merely chase favors from God? Once we are healed, do we turn to him, or do we continue on our way without giving thanks?

 ' If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead .’ In Tolkien’s cosmology, elves and men are made of the same stuff of the earth, but elves are stronger in spirit, and their bodies are less fragile. But men have a Gift that their eleven cousins do not share, namely, death. Why would men see their mortality as a gift? In the Lord of the Rings trilogy, we see this divergence in action when Arwen is given a vision of the price of her immortality - being alone in the world after her husband, King Aragorn has died. It is a gift from God because immortality, in Tolkien’s understanding, binds the spirit to this world - and as the years pass, the woes of the world lay heavy upon the spirit, and it yearns for release. For elves, and wizards, such a release can only come if they choose to cross the Sea to Valinor, the Undying Lands, which is not heaven, because God does not dwell there, but is a place without torment. Death, for men, remains a mystery in Tolkien’s world. Even the elves do not really know what happens to men when they die, but evidence for it being a gift is of course given by the example of the Dead of Dunharrow, whose punishment for oathbreaking is that their souls are not released from Middle-earth at their death. Over time, because of the darkening of the world by evil, men come to see death not as gift, but as something to be feared - indeed to be feared more than anything else. Storytelling is often the best way to convey complex information, because the images remain long after the words have fallen to the ground. It’s why Our Lord teaches in parables, and creates vivid pictures for us to contemplate for years to come. Such is the parable of Dives and Lazarus, our Gospel today, and it is parables like these that provided J. R. R. Tolkien with the springboard to create his own way to explain the big questions. Dives and Lazarus are not in Hell, at least not in the sense of the place of damnation. They are in an in-between state, because Jesus has not yet risen from the dead, and claimed the souls of the just for himself. But they are in a place where there is no error or injustice. The rich man knows that his situation, uncomfortable though it is, is not unfair - and reaches out to Lazarus - nameless in life - to ease the weight of his conscience. But the point of the parable is to elicit the act of Faith. Dives protests that if someone would only go from the realm of the dead to warn the living of their fate if they live lives of debauchery, but Abraham responds sagely - God has spoken in the Law and the Prophets, and they do not listen to him. Such people are hard of heart, and they will not even accept the evidence of resurrection. This is, of course, a prophecy - curiously enough, Dives’ logic is actually God’s logic, because this is the divine plan, that One should rise from the dead, and Abraham will “ rejoice to see [his] day .” This week we celebrated the feast of the twin surgeons SS. Cosmas and Damian, and on that day I reminded the daily Massgoers that hospitals, and indeed institutional medicine as we know it, is the invention of the Catholic Church. But many put more trust in doctors and science than they do in God - even though there are numerous examples of where medicine fails, and people do not have a successful outcome. We believe, all the same. How curious this is! But at the heart of our blind Faith in medical science is the fear of death - seen by us not as a gift from God, but as a night terror. Let me be blunt - death is not to be feared, and dying is not the worst thing that happens to a human being: losing God’s friendship is the worst thing that happens to a human being. Our medical intervention should not have the aim of preserving life at any cost, but instead, of restoring us to health, so that we might get on with the job of working out our salvation in fear and trembling. From a Christian point of view, this is why we intervene medically - because you have a job to do - beyond your daily life with its chores and responsibilities, your chief role is to worship God, and you cannot do that with a broken limb, or a whooping cough. We cannot cheat death, it will come for all of us, one day. But we should believe - because One did indeed rise from the dead. A few weeks back two world leaders were caught boasting about how, very soon, they would be able to avoid physical death and live forever by means of constant organ transplants. There are also titans of the technological industries who dream of downloading their consciousness so they escape the limitations of a physical body once and for all. If this kind of fantasy were to become a reality, we know what the Church's response would be - she would oppose it, because to deny the human person the release of death would, in fact, be inhumane. To be trapped in a server somewhere, forever (or at least until the next power cut) would be a state not dissimilar to the Dead of Dunharrow - no longer alive, but rather ghosts seeking to avoid God at all costs. What a pitiable state. Because the One Man rose from the dead, we no longer need fear death - in a way, Tolkien is correct, it is a form of gift, because it is the final answer to suffering and injustice - they do not endure forever, but God's Word does endure, and his promises are everlasting.

I met some of the richest women in Fairfield County last week; 8 of them, in fact. They live in a mid-century modern dwelling, which, I’ll be honest could do with some work, but some people like that vibe. Strange thing is, they only wear undyed woollen clothing, and they don’t wear shoes. Ever. They also beg for food - and if no-one gives them food, they go hungry. That’s right - they are cloistered nuns, and they just moved to Danbury, CT. But don’t you dare pity them - they are truly wealthy in what matters to God, and they run a kind of celestial money laundering scheme. Don’t worry, this is legit - it’s actually God’s idea. He says: “ Make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings .” We’re in the middle of the Lord’s teaching on wealth at the moment, and it can make us squirm. All of us - even us clergy, who don’t take vows of poverty. The parables and statements in Luke 15 and 16 are given in response to encounters with the Pharisees, who were at the same time interested in, but also skeptical of, the enigmatic rabbi from Galilee. They want to find a way to reject his ideas, but they can’t deny the crowds like what he has to say; whereas Jesus, for his part, wishes to challenge their immense pride. We know this because of the commentary the Gospel writer gives immediately after this parable and before the next one: “ The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all these things, and they ridiculed him. And he said to them, “You are those who justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts. For what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God. ” These lines are a footnote which explains the context of Christ’s message. Remember that the Pharisees are not some kind of pantomime villain that we should cry ‘boo’ whenever we hear them mentioned. Jesus himself is more aligned with the Pharisaical tradition than any other sect in the 1st Century - he is more a reformer from within, than an enemy from without - which explains why he was called ‘rabbi’ and invited into the homes of leading Pharisees. In the Parable, the unjust steward knows he’s about to be fired, and acts quickly to make his future secure. He writes off his master’s debtors’ debts. It’s a dishonest thing to do, fraudulent even, but in an unexpected twist his shrewdness is actually commended by the master. What do we make of this? Is Jesus commending his dishonesty? By no means. But he is commending his shrewdness. The starting point to remember is that, in the teachings of Jesus, material wealth is not a sign of God’s favor. It is neither morally good, nor morally wicked. Instead it represents potential - we can make things happen by using resources wisely, or we can hoard them and simply please ourselves and our friends, but the source of wealth remains the same: it all comes from God and ultimately belongs to God, because he is the Creator of all that is. We are stewards of his gifts - and whilst he may endow some of us with the intellect to make good deals, and accumulate even more - that intellect is also God’s gift, and also belongs to God, because you belong to God, too. The point of the parable is - whilst the unjust steward realizes he can deploy someone else’s wealth to make friends and gain access to earthly dwellings, by contrast a upright steward ought to realize he can deploy ‘unrighteous wealth’ to make friends and gain access to eternal dwellings. You just need to work out who these friends are. There are two ways to identify them: (1.) they’re not interested in the specification of your car, and (2.) they won’t invite you back. But there’s more to the parable than stopping at the point we conclude the unjust steward is merely a baddie. First, he is shrewd at a personal cost to himself - St. Ambrose points out that his pay is on the basis of commission, so if he reduces the debt owed to his master, he gets paid less. He is thus investing in an unspecified future benefit, rather than his immediate salary. Secondly, rather than get mad, the master is impressed with his deviousness. St. Bede thinks the master represents God, but with all due respect to the venerable Doctor, I’m not so sure. There is ‘honor amongst thieves’ after all, and unjust stewards are typically employed by unscrupulous masters - so in reducing the debt owed to the master, the steward may, in fact, be redressing an injustice, rather than causing a new one. The Lord is teaching us to keep our eyes fixed on heaven, where there are indeed mansions, and a Paradise beyond our every imagining. Nothing on this earth compare with the blessedness of sharing God’s own life. In order to do that, we must learn to prioritize the things that God prioritizes - and everything else will then be given to us as well. All of us are tempted by wealth - actually, rich and poor alike - but that temptation springs from a lack of Faith in eternal life, and eternal consequences for our actions. This world, this life, is not all there is - and we all will have to render an account of our stewardship. My advice to you then is to consider surplus wealth like a hot potato - if it stays in your hands it will burn you - get rid of it! Pass it on! Do good! Be extravagant! And make friends for yourselves with those who can never repay - those who waste their lives prioritizing the Kingdom of God - because they are the friends who will advocate for you before the throne of grace, and welcome you into the celestial dwellings.

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 .