The Just Man

Like any great city, London has its idiosyncrasies, and the Underground is symbolic of the hectic busyness of the British capital. Thousands upon thousands crammed into its tiny tubes around corners so tight as barely to keep the cars on the rails. This means the stations are often built on curves with precipitous chasms between the cars and the platform edge: “ Mind the Gap ” the disembodied voice booms at you. I remember it every year at this time, (and not just because I love trains): it’s an excellent message for Advent. For Advent reminds us that you and I live in a very particular ‘gap’ - namely, between the First Coming of Christ, and the Second. The gap is the age of the Church, where we recognize that Christ, yesterday and tomorrow, the Alpha and Omega has come, and will come again. Pope Benedict XVI frequently used the delightful Italian aphorism: già, ma non ancora in his preaching on Advent. A phrase that means ‘already, but not yet' in English. It's Advent in a nutshell. As the Pope reminded us: The ‘already’ of the Kingdom that is present in the person of Jesus is a gift offered to us, but it is also a responsibility: the responsibility of cooperating with the work of God, of bearing witness to his Kingdom in the world. And this is the ‘not yet’—the journey, the pilgrimage of the Church through history, until the full manifestation of the Kingdom. We live in this tension, as if the cinematic reel were stuck between the frames. We know that Christ has come, but he seems delayed in his return. This leaves us with a profound spiritual instability that comes in the form of two temptations: the first, to assume we know everything about the Word that God has spoken, and the second, to imagine that God still owes us a different Word, a fuller explanation than he has already given. The balm for both temptations is to accept Mystery - to accept the otherness of God, and to have peace in not knowing all the answers, and in so doing we realize the spiritual instability is deliberate on God's part. But let’s deal with those temptations to unrest one by one, starting with the second: You may remember the postwar academic dream of a ‘ Theory of Everything' - one final equation from which the code of the whole universe could be mathematically derived. The late Professor Stephen Hawking once believed we were on the cusp of finding it, and that to find it would be to “know the mind of God” - and surpass it. Hawking was wrong. And by the turn of the Millennium he had the humility to admit it. As a student I remember watching him going about the city of Cambridge in those very days. I often wondered whether he was disappointed that his great hope had been dashed. He gave no evidence of it. But you see, it's undeniably true that Science has had to give up this grandiose claim, because (in layman's terms) the physics of the very small (Quantum Mechanics) and the physics of the very big (General Relativity) turned out to be fundamentally incompatible. You can follow one, or the other, but if you try and marry them together - you get nonsense. As scientific journalist, John Horgan, concluded: The universe is deeper and stranger than our minds—made, as the mystics say, in via negativa—can fully grasp. I don’t think we have yet come to terms with the consequences of this. Many people put their Faith in the progress of Science - many good people, ordinary people. It was almost an assumption that Religion would necessarily have to cede the high ground of Truth to the triumph of human reason. Not for nothing it entered our everyday speech - think for example of the rather impolite phrase: " it's not rocket science " - as if rocket science were unquestionably the pinnacle of human endeavor. However, the more we searched the mathematics for a new Word, the stranger it became. Ultimately, the Universe will keep its secrets, even from the greatest of minds, even from AI. The self-confidence of the giants of physics of the late Twentieth Century has now all but evaporated - but when we turn back to Religion for answers, we encounter the first temptation I mentioned, the temptation that since we already know everything there is to know about God’s Word, Religion has nothing to say. Responding to this incredible Post-War scientific optimism, Christian denominations have long been playing catch-up. Rather than proposing the Gospel as something radically new in every generation, we have been tempted to downplay Christ’s counter-cultural demands, and make both Christian worship, and Christian theology, accessible, and comprehensible. And ‘nice.’ But whilst there is a lot that’s good about accessibility and understanding - there is a grave danger of destroying Mystery in the process. Institutionally the Church has not caught up with the reality that Science is no longer proposing a Theory of Everything. Granted there have been no white flags raised from the laboratories, but a distinct lack of confidence in academia is noteworthy. Without most of us noticing, Science is, perhaps, on the cusp of returning to Mystery. It's time for us to regain our self-confidence in an age desperately seeking answers. You see, Mystery is not deceit, nor is it fairy tale. It is Truth shrouded in Wonder. Whilst we can never fully know the mind of God, we can know that He loves us, because He spoke the Word to us - and there is no further Word coming: Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son. Heb 1:1-2 St. John Henry Newman is the prophet of Mystery. Having come to Faith in the crucible of Oxford, that great seat of reason, he recognized the inherent power that comes from believing in the name of the Son of God: “The most perfect Christian is he who has learned to live upon mysteries, to rejoice in mysteries, to look forward to mysteries.” So this is why we have Advent; with the Sanctuary stripped back, we carve out a space in our busy schedules to pause and reflect. To learn, and re-learn how to enter into Mystery. To put down the weapons of pride, and instead come to the manger-bed of Bethlehem, where the Lord who made the stars will soon lie gazing in wonder at them. Advent urges us not to fill that gap, but instead teaches us how to live in it. This gap is not a wound, nor a mistake, nor a void; it’s a pilgrimage into Truth.

You’ve heard about him. His strange, repellant beauty Almost naked, draped in animal skins A wild man with long, uncut hair and beard. His message is blunt and uncompromising. His words twist a sinew in your heart. A day’s journey from Jerusalem Into the wilderness, just to catch a glimpse of him. He sees you coming. His eyes flash: You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? John the Baptist is not nice. Neither is he comfortable. His words are not warm, and friendly. They are terrifying. But they are also compelling - why? Because they are true. His demeanor, his appearance are no mere life choices. You and I would perish in the desert, whereas he is sustained by locusts and bees; what would ravage or sting us, sustains him. His life has one purpose: to give knowledge of salvation - and that requires us to unpick all we ever thought we knew about God, Faith and the world. Why? Because John's message forces us to confront the deeper order God built into creation The world, you see was made for order. Out of chaos, God creates light, and from that light you and I, made in his image, are given the ability to see that the Universe has laws. They are, as Jeremiah says, written on the human heart. Knowledge of salvation is the perspective over history, seeing how God has been achieving his purpose over generations and generations. Time and again we fail to lift our eyes to the hills, and return to the same petty concerns and fleeting pleasures, and squandering the great inheritance of eternal life in God’s presence for ever. With infinite patience, God’s plan required calling a people out of the world to himself. To Israel, God gave the Law, written on tablets of stone. Now, you’ve heard of the idea of engineered obsolescence? Well, our tablets of science suffer from a deliberate choice to make them less and less good over time - they fail, so we have to buy new ones. The Law given to Israel has a similar component: it is impossible to achieve. This was the fundamental insight St. Paul had - as he explains in Romans 7 - the Law tells us what sin is, but does not give us the means to conquer it. “I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.” Rom 7:18 To put it another way, God gave the Law to Israel, not to create an exclusive relationship with a certain race of people, but for this people to be the means by which the universal offer of salvation would be made in Jesus Christ. The temptation Israel faced was to turn inward, to adopt an air of superiority, and to stop looking for the kind of Messiah God wanted. This is why John calls the Pharisees and Sadducees a brood of vipers. In no uncertain terms he is calling out their manipulation of God’s law, and their exclusion of others (the Gentiles) from God’s offer: Do not presume to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you, God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones. This is a key temptation of religion; that of presumption. John might equally well say to all of us: “Do not presume to say to yourselves, I was raised Catholic For I tell you, God can raise up Catholics from among the people you despise.” John’s message then is to encourage the fresh vision which comes from deep and honest introspection. Not to rest on our laurels - not to say: I’m a good person - the spiritual equivalent of ‘I’m alright, Jack.’ Instead, he proposes two words that are intrinsically linked: Repentance, and Fruit. Mere words are worthless - to say you acknowledge your sins is cheap, to say “Jesus is my Lord and Savior” just isn’t sufficient. The proof of repentance is in the fruit. Indeed, John lays down the gauntlet to the professionally religious: “Produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance.” John proposed a physical washing to his penitents as evidence of their change of heart. John’s Baptism was symbolic of that turnaround, but it was not a Sacrament. We know this, because later on, John’s followers would have to be baptized with Christ’s Baptism (cf. Acts 19.) John’s Baptism had no power to forgive sins, and did not produce this effect. This is why it’s not a scandal when Our Lord enters into the waters to be baptized by John. He has no need of repentance, but this symbol shows us two things: that He makes the waters holy by his presence, and that his Death (symbolized by going under the waters) is what truly reconciles us to God. You could even argue that John the Baptist is spectacularly misnamed - he should rather be called John the Confessor because the symbolism of his baptism (small B) of repentance is of a repeatable coming to terms with sin - a going out into the desert in order to be stripped of pride, and reconciled to God. The Sacrament of Baptism is once and for all; the Sacrament of Confession applies the power Christ gave to the Apostles to forgive sins to their successors, for all time, in a Sacrament of Repentance, of which John’s Baptism is the prefigurement. This is amazing! If you are not a regular penitent - you should be! If you really knew what was being offered in the box, I would never be permitted to sleep for the lines of people beating down my door. As Chrysostom notes: “The priests have received a power which God has given neither to angels nor to archangels… to pronounce absolution over sins committed after baptism.” Look in more detail. To go to Confession well, you must examine your conscience, and come up with an itinerary of acts and omissions in which you have failed to live up to your Baptismal calling. You must name those sins before someone who has power to remit them in Jesus’s name, and you must go on your way, back to society renewed by that encounter in the desert. The confessional, then, is the River Jordan for us. The water is still cold, the prophet may well even be hairy, but probably doesn’t eat bugs. But the mercy is ever new, and available in our church on Saturdays from 3-4 PM and every single weekday at 7:30 AM. If you’re not yet convinced by me, let Monsignor Ronald Knox put it to you even more vividly: “We were baptised with the Holy Ghost and with fire once, on the day of our baptism. Ever since, we have been going back again and again to the Jordan, to the wilderness, to the strange hairy man who tells us uncomfortable truths, because only there do we find the mercy that keeps the fire alive.”

Like any great city, London has its idiosyncrasies, and the Underground is symbolic of the hectic busyness of the British capital. Thousands upon thousands crammed into its tiny tubes around corners so tight as barely to keep the cars on the rails. This means the stations are often built on curves with precipitous chasms between the cars and the platform edge: “ Mind the Gap ” the disembodied voice booms at you. I remember it every year at this time, (and not just because I love trains): it’s an excellent message for Advent. For Advent reminds us that you and I live in a very particular ‘gap’ - namely, between the First Coming of Christ, and the Second. The gap is the age of the Church, where we recognize that Christ, yesterday and tomorrow, the Alpha and Omega has come, and will come again. Pope Benedict XVI frequently used the delightful Italian aphorism: già, ma non ancora in his preaching on Advent. A phrase that means ‘already, but not yet' in English. It's Advent in a nutshell. As the Pope reminded us: The ‘already’ of the Kingdom that is present in the person of Jesus is a gift offered to us, but it is also a responsibility: the responsibility of cooperating with the work of God, of bearing witness to his Kingdom in the world. And this is the ‘not yet’—the journey, the pilgrimage of the Church through history, until the full manifestation of the Kingdom. We live in this tension, as if the cinematic reel were stuck between the frames. We know that Christ has come, but he seems delayed in his return. This leaves us with a profound spiritual instability that comes in the form of two temptations: the first, to assume we know everything about the Word that God has spoken, and the second, to imagine that God still owes us a different Word, a fuller explanation than he has already given. The balm for both temptations is to accept Mystery - to accept the otherness of God, and to have peace in not knowing all the answers, and in so doing we realize the spiritual instability is deliberate on God's part. But let’s deal with those temptations to unrest one by one, starting with the second: You may remember the postwar academic dream of a ‘ Theory of Everything' - one final equation from which the code of the whole universe could be mathematically derived. The late Professor Stephen Hawking once believed we were on the cusp of finding it, and that to find it would be to “know the mind of God” - and surpass it. Hawking was wrong. And by the turn of the Millennium he had the humility to admit it. As a student I remember watching him going about the city of Cambridge in those very days. I often wondered whether he was disappointed that his great hope had been dashed. He gave no evidence of it. But you see, it's undeniably true that Science has had to give up this grandiose claim, because (in layman's terms) the physics of the very small (Quantum Mechanics) and the physics of the very big (General Relativity) turned out to be fundamentally incompatible. You can follow one, or the other, but if you try and marry them together - you get nonsense. As scientific journalist, John Horgan, concluded: The universe is deeper and stranger than our minds—made, as the mystics say, in via negativa—can fully grasp. I don’t think we have yet come to terms with the consequences of this. Many people put their Faith in the progress of Science - many good people, ordinary people. It was almost an assumption that Religion would necessarily have to cede the high ground of Truth to the triumph of human reason. Not for nothing it entered our everyday speech - think for example of the rather impolite phrase: " it's not rocket science " - as if rocket science were unquestionably the pinnacle of human endeavor. However, the more we searched the mathematics for a new Word, the stranger it became. Ultimately, the Universe will keep its secrets, even from the greatest of minds, even from AI. The self-confidence of the giants of physics of the late Twentieth Century has now all but evaporated - but when we turn back to Religion for answers, we encounter the first temptation I mentioned, the temptation that since we already know everything there is to know about God’s Word, Religion has nothing to say. Responding to this incredible Post-War scientific optimism, Christian denominations have long been playing catch-up. Rather than proposing the Gospel as something radically new in every generation, we have been tempted to downplay Christ’s counter-cultural demands, and make both Christian worship, and Christian theology, accessible, and comprehensible. And ‘nice.’ But whilst there is a lot that’s good about accessibility and understanding - there is a grave danger of destroying Mystery in the process. Institutionally the Church has not caught up with the reality that Science is no longer proposing a Theory of Everything. Granted there have been no white flags raised from the laboratories, but a distinct lack of confidence in academia is noteworthy. Without most of us noticing, Science is, perhaps, on the cusp of returning to Mystery. It's time for us to regain our self-confidence in an age desperately seeking answers. You see, Mystery is not deceit, nor is it fairy tale. It is Truth shrouded in Wonder. Whilst we can never fully know the mind of God, we can know that He loves us, because He spoke the Word to us - and there is no further Word coming: Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son. Heb 1:1-2 St. John Henry Newman is the prophet of Mystery. Having come to Faith in the crucible of Oxford, that great seat of reason, he recognized the inherent power that comes from believing in the name of the Son of God: “The most perfect Christian is he who has learned to live upon mysteries, to rejoice in mysteries, to look forward to mysteries.” So this is why we have Advent; with the Sanctuary stripped back, we carve out a space in our busy schedules to pause and reflect. To learn, and re-learn how to enter into Mystery. To put down the weapons of pride, and instead come to the manger-bed of Bethlehem, where the Lord who made the stars will soon lie gazing in wonder at them. Advent urges us not to fill that gap, but instead teaches us how to live in it. This gap is not a wound, nor a mistake, nor a void; it’s a pilgrimage into Truth.

When I was a boy, the tire manufacturer, Michelin used to publish little I-spy books that awarded points for spotting things. So today, I want to give you the Spotter’s Guide to Kings , since it’s the Feast of Christ the King. How do you know if you’re looking at a king? What is the feature that defines them? And even if we can recognize human kings, why do we need to say this of God? Why is it important that we acknowledge our Lord and Savior as a king? Isn’t it sufficient for him to be God? Why do we need to add something else? Well, let’s go to the source. Our Lord was asked this question directly by Pontius Pilate, and he answered it: "My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.” Then Pilate said to him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. John 18:33-37 Kingship is central to the charge against Jesus. The title over the Cross explained to everyone who witnessed it the reason why he hung there, in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin: יֵשׁוּעַ הַנּוֹצְרִי מֶלֶךְ הַיְּהוּדִים Yeshua haNotzri Melech haYehudim . Jesus the Nazarene; King of the Jews. So, if the Lord, the Anointed One, does not respond to Pilate, oh no, I’m not a king, I like republics - we need to know why. And particularly in this week, where we come together to celebrate Thanksgiving, that great feast of American identity, it is good to remember that while earthly republics can readily be considered the best form of government yet devised, Heaven itself is an absolute monarchy, and our destiny is to be happy subjects of the King of kings. Having lived in the United States for nearly a decade, I have noticed that to call someone a king is to throw around quite a heated word. It is politically charged, and I need not dwell too long on that. But it is worth pausing to reflect on the irony, as Christians that whenever we disapprove of the exercise of authority over us, rather than use the word despot, or tyrant, we choose the word: king. As Catholics, we need to rehabilitate this word if we are to embrace the idea of Christ as King. By no means in using it are we suggesting that our Lord claiming kingship is license to be in someway despotic or tyrannical. But if we don’t do the intellectual heavy lifting of discerning the positive aspects of kingship, then this feast day becomes, at best, a pageant. We would call Christ a king in a superficial way, and most importantly in a way that does not demand our obedience: It must not become a ‘Disney’ feast (if you will pardon the image) for a claim we don’t take seriously. Here’s where I can help. I am the subject His Majesty King Charles III. I am not a citizen of any country at all. As such, perhaps, I have an advantage on this feast day. The idea of kingship, for me, is a lived experience, and thus accepting Christ as King helps me to understand how I relate to my own monarch. His Majesty’s kingship is temporal, and delegated from God. Christ’s kingship is eternal, and proper to himself. A very astute American priest I know once preached a sermon to my seminary, the Venerable English College, on this very feast. He pointed out how we were probably unaware of how much kingship invades our everyday life as British subjects. He noted the monarch’s silhouette on the postage stamps, the currency, and the Royal Crest on everything from passports to police stations to military, and even (by way of the Royal Appointment system) on condiments and other treats. He’s right! And we Brits don’t often notice it, because it is so familiar. But one thing my priest friend did not observe was that he was talking to seminarians of a college established 500 years previously as a direct response to the interference of a despotic and tyrannical king against the liberties of Christ’s Holy Church. I am talking of course of King Henry VIII, of unhappy memory. But whilst said students are no longer treated as traitors by the Crown, and indeed have the Royal Crest of his descendants on their passports, they also have in our possession the collarbones, vertebrae, and ribs of 44 priests who were prepared to defy the earthly reign of this wicked man and his bloodthirsty daughter, in favor of the heavenly reign of Christ the King. To be a Catholic cost them their lives, but won them a much more valuable crown: namely, that of martyrdom. A crown so-called not in imitation of a hereditary ruler, but because it binds the wearer the the diadem of thorns worn by the one who wears it by right. Believe me, it truly brings it home to possess the relics of young men who wondered the same same hallways and staircases as you, and whose signatures are inscribed on the first page of a noble Red Book that also contains your own. As a British subject, and a Catholic, our relationship with the Crown is more nuanced, let’s say. So what of our Spotter’s Guide to Kings ? Well here’s the first clue: 1. Kings do not need your permission to have authority over you. “The king has his crown from God, not from the people; therefore he is answerable to God alone for the use of it.” So said the cardinal martyr, St. John Fisher of the king who was to sever head from neck. The nature of kingship derives from their authority, which is not bestowed by the consent of anyone. This means, in humans terms, kings can be good, or bad, depending on whether they take seriously the fact that they will answer to God for their deeds. For his part, God is holy, and therefore whilst he doesn’t need your consent, he will never exercise this authority in any other way than for your good. 2. Kings have authority over everyone in their realm To be a true king, this authority bears no exceptions. The same is true of God. God is not God because you or I approve of him. He is God whether we approve or not, and we are in his realm whether we like it or not. The distinction with his kingship is his realm has no bounds - we call him the King of the Universe, over everything visible and invisible. As we see from the Scriptures, even the demons are his subjects – unwilling subjects, to be sure, but subjects all the same. 3. Kings are born, not elected. The Lord says: “ for this purpose I was born ” and we can see that kingship is bestowed by hereditary principle. This is perhaps where the idea diverges from what we think is right. But the reason our gut feeling resists the hereditary principle is because of our experience of bad kings - an experience that is part of our American DNA. The Lord cannot be a bad king, and the hereditary principle is appropriate for him because, unlike a human monarch, there is unity between the one who bestows the crown, and the one upon whom the crown is bestowed: “ I and the Father are one ” says the Lord. 4. Kings are identifiable by their attributes Kings have regalia - which are physical items that signify their royal status: a crown, because they are anointed; orb and scepter because they have power; and purple robes, because they are treated with dignity. Our Lord’s crown is made of thorns, his orb is the world, and his scepter a reed. The purple robe is colored with his blood, poured out not in a display of military might, but of saving service. 5. Kings are given obeisance Courtiers, even today, will often speak of ‘The Presence’ - being in the King’s presence means we behave differently. The Presence is acknowledged by the bending of a knee, or at very least the bow of a head. If we do this of human monarchs, how much more should we bend the knee before the true presence of the King of kings? You come into his court every time you enter this building, which is the Tabernacle of His Presence. So if a courtier in London bows low before an earthly king who will die one day, what is the only fitting posture for us before the undying King who truly dwells among us? So there you have it: your very own Spotter’s Guide to Kings . Next time you see a crown of thorns, a reed, a purple cloak stained red, or even a Host, raised in silence, above an altar - tick the box. You’ve spotted Him. Now get on your knees.

I myself shall give you wisdom in speaking It will lead to your giving testimony These are two sayings of Jesus recorded in the Gospel this week that I want you to take to heart. Today the Lord levels with us about how fragile our apparent security is. Not a stone upon another stone will be left - and more, wars and insurrections, earthquakes, plagues, famines and signs in the sky. It all sounds very disturbing. At these kinds of moments, I remember my mother who once sent me Rudyard Kipling’s poem, If, when I was panicking about my law exams. It begins If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you… Kipling’s correspondent is encouraged to keep plotting a steady course through the turbulence of life - not to be distracted, and not to lose hope. It’s a very similar message to the Lord’s teachings about the end times. At no point does the Lord offer false hope - he does not claim those who have Faith will be immune from the effects of chaos, and he is very clear that the whole created world will come to an end one day - and you and I will see it. That’s what believing in the resurrection of the dead implies. Last week our friend Elon Musk went on the record with his (sincere) opinion that one day AI will be in charge - and we will not - so we had better make sure it is friendly. A recurring theme in our times is the question of how to manage the rise of AI, and whether it does indeed represent an existential threat. I suspect this is the first of many sermons where I will begin to explore the theme of AI - and how we might respond to it as Catholics. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I do have a decent grounding in the Scriptures, the Fathers, and Catholic anthropology and, because I’m ordained, I have supernatural help to proclaim the Gospel to you. I’m not called to preach to anyone else - St. Paul’s Parish is it for me. So, just as I learn and reflect on AI, I can share that with you through my preaching, which is rooted in prayer for you. So allow me to begin with three basic propositions: (1.) God has said all he needs to say in order for us to work out how to deal with AI. It may be that we need to look again at the Scriptures and Tradition and apply God’s Word to new situations - but it’s all there. There’s no gap - we have everything we need to know. (2.) God foresaw the rise of AI, and permits it. It is something that he is allowing us to experience, and challenging us to deal with well. (3.) God has given us his active presence in our midst in order to interpret his Revelation correctly, and to apply that obediently to the phenomena of the world: that is the promise of the sending of the Holy Spirit, who offers no new revelation, but leads us into all truth by continually revealing the Word to us. Let’s turn to AI itself, and define what we mean by it. Intriguingly, in preparing this sermon, I asked Grok to define AI - and its answer wasn’t good - it was too conversational - but that reveals something fascinating. AI is the amalgam of all accessible human reasoning, converted into the noughts and ones of digital code, presented to us in an interactive way. In other words, AI offers no new revelation, but instead, leads us into what we presume to be truth by continually revealing words to us. I deliberately paraphrased my definition of how the Holy Spirit works in humanity. But I myself shall give you wisdom the Lord says today. And here we might identify two provisional conclusions: first of all, all knowledge has its ultimate source in God, who promises to share with us his wisdom; and secondly what AI is becoming is like a reflection, or an imitation of the wisdom of God. That shouldn’t surprise or shock you - you and I are made in the image of God, and being creative is part of our nature. Over the centuries we have put that image to good use in developing technologies to help us thrive. Every generation has had some new advance or another - and AI is simply the latest step. But just as the wisdom of God is God’s creation, so too AI is our creation - and since we ourselves are created, AI has a further dependence upon God for its very existence. The distinction we need to be aware of is that God can only be good - and the wisdom of God, his prized creation, in which he delights, is never going to be evil. We, on the other hand, have great capacity for evil, so anything we create will suffer from our own inherent defect - original sin - and thus can be used for good, or for evil intent. But let’s be even more specific - evil does not really exist in itself - it is the absence of good, or the misdirection of good - so we can see how the wisdom of God, who is perfect, and adjudicates perfectly between competing goods, will always lead to positive ends, whereas the wisdom of Man is equivocal, because we can make mistakes. The inherent danger of AI, then, is not intrinsic to the technology, but rather intrinsic to ourselves. If AI can distill all useful human knowledge to perform analyses at lightning speed that no one individual could ever do, what we have created is a kind of hive mind, and surpassed our individual capacities with something more akin to the way angels think - that is, from universals to particulars, rather than from particulars to universals. How impressive - but let’s not be too impressed. It will lead to your giving testimony. The role of the Church in navigating the dawn of AI will be to remind human beings that life as we know it requires the dynamic interaction of the material and the spiritual. You are I are made in God’s image - no semiconductor ever will - and whilst we can program the interface to behave in a conversational way, we must not be deceived. AI will analyse faster and more deeply than you and I ever can. But we can already see the risk of anthropomorphic creep - when you interact with Grok, or ChatGPT it says it is ‘thinking’ as it looks over the noughts and ones. It is not thinking. It cannot think. Neither can it dream, or wonder. AI computes, it doesn't contemplate. When we consider ourselves, God’s handiwork, we recognize that part of our identity has nothing to do with the efficient or effective. You and I appreciate the fragrance of a flower, not because we are going to pollinate it, but because it’s wonderful in itself. We need a planet with all of these sensory experiences to be truly content. AI does not need beauty - chips and semiconductors are not designed for awe, but for industry. But we must learn how to give testimony in the face of this rapid rise. If you haven’t learnt your Catechism well - go to class! Learn more! Be an advocate for your Faith, don’t just be a passive spectator. Be an ambassador in the public sphere - remind your friends, colleagues, neighbors that humans need community, and most importantly, they need worship. On that final point, I’d like to take a prophetic stance. AI, in streamlining economic processes, gives us the opportunity to refocus human life on what is most important - only you can give worship to God. The Liturgy can never, ever be replaced by AI - and whether you fully recognize it yet, or not, you are made for the Liturgy above everything else in your life, because in the Liturgy we interact directly with God himself, who is the source of all wisdom, creator of all things visible, and invisible. All glory and praise to Him!

Have you ever seen the 1996 Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame? I suspect moms and dads have. It’s based on a novel by Victor Hugo about a poor unfortunate bellringer who spends all his time in the great cathedral, so much so he makes friends with the bells, the statues and even the gargoyles. In the film version, with creative license, the gargoyles even speak - but the idea is that Quasimodo (named after the liturgical Introit of Low Sunday) has such an affinity with the building that it spoke to him; it has personality. It communicates. This idea resonates with me personally - I spent my earliest years darting in and around one of the great cathedrals of England. A building begun in the Twelfth century, still standing sentinel more than 800 years later. I remember swinging down the spiral staircases using the rope, exploring the vast forest of the high roof with its massive oak beams, playing chase around the flying buttresses, and even noticing how cool the stones felt on a hot summer’s day. The cathedral spoke to me, it has personality. It communicates. I would not be a priest today if that building didn’t speak. I would never even have become a Catholic. But in language that uses not one single word, the building told me of the most precious thing in my life: the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It is not simply a convenient gathering hall, but instead, it unfolds the mystery of the Eucharist, layer upon layer, until you reach the High Altar beneath the vast East window. Entering the building is to begin a pilgrimage, where the final destination lies beyond this life, into eternity. This building was (and is) so significant to the life of the diocese that it has its own feast day - the Feast of Dedication - in the case of Exeter Cathedral, it is November 21st, but our own cathedral in Bridgeport also has a Feast of Dedication - December 2nd, and today, we celebrate the Feast of Dedication of a cathedral thousands of miles away in Rome - the Archbasilica of the Holy Savior and Saints John the Baptist and Evangelist in the Lateran. The pope’s own cathedral church. “ But buildings aren’t important, Father, it’s the people who are important…haven’t you read Vatican II? ” In the gradual of the Liturgy of Dedication, Locus iste , a text memorably set to music by Anton Bruckner, there is an extraordinary phrase. It describes the holy place as inaestimabile sacramentum. The words are close enough to English to know immediately what they mean: a priceless sacrament. It is true that Lumen gentium of Vatican II emphasizes, using Biblical themes, the idea of the people of God being God’s Temple, built of living stones; that the Church is more than just buildings, but is the living network of communion between souls. Absolutely! But remember this emphasis rests on an assumption - an assumption that Catholics would always build beautiful churches. When Lumen gentium was written, the Church needed to hear the emphasis on the people of God, a reminder that we are indeed the Body of Christ - because, perhaps, this was lost in the sumptuary of the gilded baroque. But we must always remember the most important Catholic word, ever: AND. We are living stones and we have beautiful buildings - the reason being humans need more than just words about God, we need transcendent experiences of God, in our time and space, to fully appreciate how much he loves us. In this way, buildings themselves are priceless sacraments. They look like one thing - but they in fact quite another. It may look like a pretty structure, but what it is in fact, is what Jacob realized in his dream: “ none other than the house of God and the gate of heaven .” You will recall in his dream he saw a ladder connecting heaven and earth, with angels ascending and descending. Not just a building, but a sacrament - what it is on the outside is nothing compared to the inner reality. Vatican II refocused the Church building on its most important feature. I wonder if you can identify what that is. It is, of course, the Altar, the place where the Sacrifice of Calvary is made present in our midst, where heaven and earth are joined. The first rung of Jacob’s Ladder, no less. Right here in front of you. That’s the reason I refuse to allow the Altar to be hidden by anything - flowers, decorations - anything. It must always be the clearing in the woods, because it is the launchpad to Eternity. But the church building is also a priceless sacrament in another way. When Moses discovered the burning bush in the desert, God commanded him to take off his shoes because it was hallowed ground. We Christians used to do that (some still do) when we entered any church building - it’s important to adjust our behavior when we enter a church, otherwise by treating it like any other space, we chase away the quiet voice of the Spirit who wishes to speak to us in our hearts. But in the burning bush, God revealed something to Moses that is easier to understand in Hebrew than in English. In revealing his name to Moses, I am what am, God did more than give Moses a moniker, a label - he communicated to Moses that he wanted to be discovered. I am what am also means I am found where I am found. The Name of the Lord is more than an existential reality - more than the Greek idea of essence ‘to be’ but is relational - God is a God who desires to be found, and will be found in a place of his choosing, not ours. In Zip code 06831, two thirds of which is our Parish, there are three places where God desires to be found, because there are three Altars - St. Paul’s, St. Timothy’s Chapel, and Sacred Heart Convent. Here is the most important, because here is the Parish Church, the focus for all the souls in our territory. This unusual building is the burning bush of West Greenwich, always alight but never consumed. It is holy ground, and a physical reminder to all passers-by — whether they enter or not - that God can be found, and more importantly, desires to be found.

Last week, I invited you to embrace the Fall - to lean in to the demand God makes for us to let go the last vestiges of pride, leaf by leaf. This week we have the answer to the question: why? For this week we celebrate the Feasts of Eternity - All Saints, and All Souls. The Church spreads her table and shows us the possibility of life without fear, pain, sorrow, or regret. Will you choose it? Let me begin with a provocative challenge. Imagine on your way home today, time freezes and an angel of God appears to you. The angel has come with a message and an invitation. God is giving you the opportunity to go straight to heaven - right away! No goodbyes, no farewells. It’s a one-time offer, and you have seconds to decide. What would you choose? So the Christian answer should be a no-brainer. You choose heaven - right there and then. But did any of you hesitate a moment? You see, for most of us, one area our spiritual life is lacking is that we don’t really want heaven enough. We actually want our life here on earth, perhaps with a few adjustments: winning the lottery, being free from sickness and pain, our family and friends to be happy. The list could go on… If this is true of you - and it is certainly true of me, much of the time - then the diagnosis is: lack of desire. We want heaven in a theoretical way - and not in an urgent way. We need to find a way to make that desire more urgent. One common characteristic of all the saints is an overriding desire for heaven - that is, for a state of permanent union with God. In the Letter to the Philippians St. Paul says: For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. Phil 1:21-23 It’s easy to be distracted by this life. If an angel of the Lord appeared to my own father and made the same invitation I just gave you, I hope that blessed spirit would not remind dad that there’s no sea in heaven, because he loves his boat so much. In almost every age prior to ours, the appeal of heaven was obvious. If you lived before the invention of antibiotics, then death and disease was always present in the midst of life. There was no way to avoid the conclusion that suffering was part and parcel. Progress (and healthcare) have masked these realities for us so much that the practice of religion has been reduced to an elective hobby - ‘go to Church if that’s your thing, but it’s not my thing’ - and people of genuine good will really do fall for Satan’s lie that there’s nothing more than this life, so you might as well be comfortable. How he laughs at how readily we give away our inheritance as the children of God in exchange for gimcrack and trinkets! But scratch the surface, and there’s a fug, an ennui, with all this life has to offer if you don’t have Faith, and perhaps my task as preacher is to paint a more vivid picture of heaven than the pastel colors of your early childhood. We don’t sit on clouds strumming harps all day (not least because there are no days, nor nights - indeed, there’s no time, at all.) How do you know since you’ve never been there? I hear you ask. Well, we can say much more about heaven than you might think, and we have two sources for our knowledge: (1.) our reason - God endows us with the ability to think abstractly, and correctly, (2.) what God says and does - what we could not otherwise know, God has revealed to us by his words, and actions. These two sources work together - the Bible is not a prospectus - it’s not trying to sell you something, but information is there, and can be pieced together to gain more knowledge, and more insight. That’s basically what Theology is! I had a list of 18 fun facts about heaven, but that would surely test your patience, so here are just a few: Your will (what you desire) is perfectly aligned with God’s will. There’s not a cigarette paper between you: what you want, God wants, and what God wants, you want. Your body is perfectly led by your spirit. This means the only limitation on what you can do is your imagination. If there were an ocean in heaven (sorry again, dad) you could leap across it at will if you so desire. You can walk through walls. We know this because of our limited experience of a resurrected human body when Our Lord appeared to his disciples after his Passion. You can eat (there’s a banquet) but you don’t need to, and you won’t get fat. The necessity of eating is to preserve our bodies in time, which would otherwise wither and die. Your vision (and other senses) will work in reverse. Here on earth, we see things, and from those things we get ideas. In heaven, we start with the ideas - more precisely, we start with the direct experience of God as he is, then move through ideas, and only then to material things. Your bodily eyes will never see the Father, or the Holy Spirit, or the Angels. Your vision of them will be in your mind’s eye. Your bodily eyes will, however, gaze upon Jesus, because he took upon himself our human nature in addition to his divine nature, and will never give it up. You are always at Mass and you’re singing (I hope you don’t want to revisit the answer to my opening question now…) But it’s perfect, and it’s all you want. Your body is designed to give God worship, and the experience of Jesus in heaven is as the Lamb of God, standing as if slain. Everyone is the same age - or rather, no age at all. Age is a consequence of time, so, for example, somebody who dies very young is not confined to eternity as an infant. They are themselves, perfected, and identifiable. There’s quite a lot of detail, isn’t there? So what about the other states? purgatory and hell. Yes, we still believe in both. Well here’s my most controversial conclusion: all three states of life in eternity are expressions of the love and mercy of God . It couldn’t be any other way. God is not all-loving to some, but not others. It is not God who changes in relation to us, but we who change in relation to him. And he loves us so much as to respect our choices, even to the end. Have you ever been to a party in the wrong dress code? It’s very embarrassing. You just can’t be yourself. You don’t fit in. You’d rather go back and change, and come in properly attired. I think that’s the closest analogy to purgatory I can give you - it’s a place you choose, recognizing with full, perfect knowledge, who God is, and how far short I fall from the mark. God, in his love and mercy, permits a temporary separation from him, whereby I can get changed, and be ready to enter the communion of Saints. Hell is an extension of this perfect self-knowledge. It is the saddest and loneliest state. It’s where you realize you don’t fit in, and you gave up every possible offer of clothing, and God, who still loves you even if you don’t love him, permits you to be apart from him, forever. God does not choose for anyone to go there. We Catholics do not believe in ‘double predestination’ (the Calvinist belief that God pre-elects those who go to heaven or hell) we believe in single predestination, which is that God has knowledge of our free choices, even before we make them. There is one price God is prepared to pay for the possibility of us sharing his life of blessedness for ever: the price that some of us would choose to reject that possibility for ever. We do not (and cannot) know how many. But we do know it cannot logically be any other way - creation without hell is creation without freedom, and therefore without love. But since love is real, and our freedom is real, God gives us the greatest invitation imaginable - invitation to choose him, for ever. Say yes!

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.

Do you think he will find faith on the earth? The end of today’s Gospel passage seems rather abrupt. Indeed, there’s a debate as to whether it forms part of the Parable itself, or whether it’s part of the surrounding narrative. I’m inclined to the latter, but the Parable about justice is, of course, related to the virtue of Faith. Justice may be delayed in this life - we experience this all the time - but God will see to it that all the loose ends are tied up at the end of the age - no-one (no-one) will ‘get away with it’ - what is hidden will be proclaimed from the rooftops. All of our secret sins will come to light - no-one will be able to conceal the Truth from the gaze of Christ. This Parable makes that abundantly clear, but the comment on Faith is intriguing. The point is, essentially, while God may permit Justice being delayed, he will not tolerate Faith being delayed. The Act of Faith is for now - right now - even before God’s Justice covers the earth. The rhetorical question is thus a challenge to us. When the Son of Man comes, at the end of time, he will be looking for something - he will be looking for your Faith. This means that there is a measure by which you and I will be measured - Faith is not simply a woolly esoteric aspiration, it has content - and propositions - that can, and must, be taken to heart, because the Lord will come looking for your Faith. Will he find it? He asks through the ages. I mentioned a few weeks back that Faith is a word with two distinct, but related, meanings. I preached about the virtues, and noted the Faith is one of the theological virtues - a supernatural gift that forms a habit in us of belief both in God, and in what God has revealed to us. But there’s another meaning - Faith not only describes the virtue of belief, but also the content of such belief. In other words, “Faith” can also be a shorthand for all the Truth propositions that God has communicated to us. The two meanings are, of course, related. The one who is endowed with the virtue of Faith believes in what he knows. This stands to reason - you cannot believe someone, or something, unknown to you. Therefore, when the Lord says: ‘will he find faith on the earth’ we need not be in any doubt about how we demonstrate to him that we have it when he asks us. We know, because he told us, it is insufficient simply to recognize him as Lord. Does he not say: “not all who say to me, ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the kingdom of heaven.” Similarly, it is insufficient to do good deeds in his name. Does he not say: “did we not prophesy in your name, cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name. And I will declare to them: ‘I never knew you…’ Before this leaves you despondent, it’s a relatively simple fix - and you all have the distinct benefit of Baptismal grace, which will make the Act of Faith easy for you. If you want to know what it sounds like, I have two examples for you. The first may surprise you, because he’s not a Catholic. I’m sure many of you have seen the TV ads with Franklin Graham inviting you to pray. I’m always happy to see them - because even though we certainly would disagree theologically, Mr. Graham always makes an Act of Faith whenever he begins to speak - and he makes it clearly, and simply. That’s the learning point for us. If you cannot make a clear, and simple Act of Faith, then how can you say you are a person of Faith? If you cannot state the guiding principles of your life in an unambiguous way, then how can you say you really live by them? Rather than putting our money where our mouth is, an Act of Faith is putting our mouth where our heart is. The second example of this clear and simple communication of the Faith is our last pope but two - Benedict XVI. He has been described as the best professor pope the Church has had in centuries - a pity the classroom was empty. Benedict had one extraordinary ability - to proclaim the complexities of the Faith in a simple, and straightforward way. It’s actually quite hard to do. Sometimes I look at Benedict’s sermons and think to myself - ‘that’s beautiful, let me try writing a thesis on goodness like that…’ I start writing - and what comes out is a bowl of spaghetti thinking! At these moments I think of Psalm 131: Lord, I am not high-minded; * I have no proud looks. I do not exercise myself in great matters * which are too high for me. But I refrain my soul, and keep it low, like as a child that is weaned from his mother: * yea, my soul is even as a weaned child. We’re about to make a different kind of Act of Faith together. It’s called the Nicene Creed, and we recite it publicly every Sunday. Its content is perfect - and, yes, infallible. Every thing in it is true, and nothing contained within it can be set aside, if I am to call myself a Christian. If I don’t believe it, I can be sure that I don’t have the Faith. This content of revealed Truth is truly a treasure box - full of beautiful, and life-giving teaching. It has been honed through the centuries by clever men and women who have reflected on God’s Word and distilled with ever greater precision doctrinal propositions about God. That’s all well and good, but once we know the Faith, we also need to be able to proclaim the Faith. This requires engagement with the world. This, then, is perhaps the most important teaching of Vatican II - that the Church must discern a way to proclaim the Faith in every generation - the methodology may change, but the content stays the same. To be able to pass on the Faith, you need to know the Faith. In Law the maxim is Nemo dat quod non habet - no-one gives what he does not have. So let today be the day you take an Act of Faith to heart, so that you will have a response to the Lord, when he asks you for it. For ask it - he will: O my God, I firmly believe that you are one God in three divine Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I believe that your divine Son became man and died for our sins and that he will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe these and all the truths which the Holy Catholic Church teaches because you have revealed them who are eternal truth and wisdom, who can neither deceive nor be deceived. In this faith I intend to live and die. Amen.