2nd Sunday of Lent - Year B

Genesis 22:1-2.9-13.15-18; Romans 8:31-34; Mark 9:2-10

Imagine you have just built a church, an immense, wonderful building. It is all finished and has never been used. All the furnishings are in place, the pews, the confessionals, the baptismal font, the altar, the pulpit, tabernacle, the priest’s chair, the paschal candle. All is ready for the first Mass.

You stand at the main door and look down the carpeted aisle between the pews and survey the architectural splendour of this new building and marvel at the beauty of the sanctuary and its decorations, each one more striking than the other. And then you ask yourself: What is the most important item in this building? What is the most sacred? What is the most essential?

The answer is, of course, the altar. Indeed, one might say that a church building is to all intents and purposes not much more than a house for the altar – and, of course, for the people.

Altars are as old as humanity; they seem to have been around from the beginning. When Cain and Abel made their offerings to God it is probable they placed it on an altar. We are not told this explicitly but we can suppose they did; probably a rock or a heap of rammed earth.

Noah, too, built an altar for God and offered burnt offerings there.

Sometimes I take the primary children of the parish school for a tour through the church and if they ask me I tell them: An altar is a place where we put things we want to give to God. And that’s not a bad working definition of at least one of the functions of an altar – a place on which we sacrifice to God.

When God appeared to Abram at Shechem Abram built an altar there ‘for God who had appeared to him (Gn 12:7)’. This is slightly different from using an altar for sacrifice.

Abram built an altar to mark the spot where God had revealed himself. I can easily picture him doing this. It is like lovers carving a heart in the tree under which they had that picnic at which he asked her to marry him.

Abram moves on from Shechem. We are told (Gn 12:8): From there, he moved on to the mountainous district east of Bethel, where he pitched his tent, with Bethel to the west and Ai to the east. There he built an altar to God and invoked the name of God.

Now I find that rather interesting! First God speaks to Abram who builds an altar to mark the spot and then, at another time and in another place, Abram builds an altar because he wants to speak to God.

Perhaps a second definition is presenting itself: An altar is a point of communication between God and man. This seems to be confirmed by what happens later (Gn 13:3-4): By stages he (Abram) went from the Negeb to Bethel, where he had first pitched his tent, between Bethel and Al, at the place where he had formerly erected the altar. Here Abram invoked the name of Yahweh.

The altar which holds our attention today is the one Abraham built on the mountain of Moriah. On this altar he was going to place something he wanted to give, or more precisely, something he had been commanded to give to God, namely, his only son Isaac.

But it was not only his son that he placed on that altar. He placed there also his humble recognition of God’s sovereignty; his obedient worship, not to mention his own broken heart.

Perhaps definition number three now proposes itself: An altar is a place on which we place our love for God and on which God places his love for us.

The altar in our cathedral church is a beautiful one. At every Mass we set there bread and wine; our offerings. The little white disks of bread lie on a golden dish and the wine is poured into a golden chalice. Still they remain pretty ordinary as offerings. Indeed, humanly speaking, the gold might be even more attractive than the bread and wine.

But the very poverty of these offerings underscores the fact that, when all is said and done, we have nothing worthy of God. We certainly cannot give him something he hasn't got; something he needs. Nevertheless, we bring what he has asked us to bring and we humbly place it on the altar - and God makes a switch - like he did to Abraham, replacing his offering with one of his own.

Through the words of the priest the gifts are transformed - transubstantiated, actually; they become the Body and Blood of Jesus, the only begotten Son of God. Our difficulty recognising him is the same one those who met the Lord 2000 years ago had: ‘Can this man really be God?’ Today we say, ‘Can this bread really be God?’

Yes, it is. We believe that at the moment of consecration the gifts of bread and wine become Christ himself. If you don’t believe this you are not a Catholic.

And these gifts have now become worthy of God who cannot refuse, cannot resist the gift of his own Son. As the Father welcomes his Son he welcomes also those who offer him.

That’s what we are here to do, so let’s get busy.

1st Sunday of Lent - Year B

Genesis 9:8-15; 1Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:12-15

The first command of Jesus’ public ministry is not forgive, serve, or even love - it is: Repent.

Of all the words he could have chosen it was this word, this challenge, this command which he spoke – Repent! Without preamble it refers us to the reality of sin and our need to deal with it decisively in our lives.

This call is addressed to every human being in the world, even those not yet born, and so it is a universal call, predicated on the solid understanding that everyone is a sinner needing redemption.

What’s more, it is a timeless call; it will never be changed. It is not a suggestion or a negotiable ‘ambit claim’. ‘Okay, so you find repenting a bit difficult, let’s try making it pray or, preach the gospel, or join a service club and do good work in the community.’

No, it is, and always will be – Repent, turn away from sin!

It is a universal call but also deeply personal – addressed in the first place to me – and only then to others. It comes from the lips of the Master who stands before me, hands on my shoulders, gazing into my eyes saying – John, the time has come, the kingdom is close at hand, repent!

The second command is: Believe the Good News. The second makes the first desirable, necessary and possible. It calls for us to move from darkness to light, from slavery to freedom, from death to life.

Repent and believe the Good News! It is a call from God to enter into communion with him, into the everlasting joy and peace of communion with the blessed Trinity itself.

To speak the words of repentance is easy enough; even to confess to a priest is not terribly difficult. It is the believing which, surprisingly, is the harder part. Jesus himself called believing ‘work’. When the people asked him: What must we do if we are to do the works that God wants? Jesus answered: This is working for God: you must believe in the one he has sent.

Believing is hard work because it inescapably includes works, the works of faith. As St James tells us (2:17.26): Faith is like that: if good works do not go with it, it is quite dead; and again: A body dies when it is separated from the spirit, and in the same way faith is dead if it is separated from good deeds.

So when Jesus says we must believe he also means we must do the ‘works’ of believing. To put it into colloquial language: Walk the walk if you want to talk the talk! Live what you believe! Or yet again: Faith becomes real only when it is act-ualised!

Let me ask you – Is there some other way of getting from Melbourne to Darwin than by travelling? Can we believe ourselves there? No, of course not. The pilgrimage of faith is exactly like that – step by step, Mass by Mass, Confession by Confession, prayer by prayer, loving deed by loving deed.

God told Abram (Ex 12:1-2): Leave your country, your family and your father's house, for the land I will show you. I will make you a great nation. Abraham believed totally, but he still had to set out on the journey of belief; he still had to cover the distance; he still had to perform the ‘works’ which made his faith real. Abram put his faith in Yahweh, who counted this as making him justified (2:6).

Last Wednesday our Christian journey brought us once again to the edge of the desert, the wilderness. We have to cross it; we have no choice; the Spirit himself requires it of us as he required it of Jesus whom he ‘drove .. out into the wilderness’.

The journey will take forty days (not including Sundays). To make this journey we must pray, fast, and give alms – and again, we have to do this in a way that is real.

These three spiritual ‘exercises’ have the goal of setting us free from attachment to sin, fulfilling the first of Jesus commands: Repent! They also have the effect, if done seriously, of strengthening our belief in God and in the Good News – Jesus’ second command.

We take pleasure in many things in our lives – coffee, sweets, TV watching, music, talking. These are legitimate pleasures. And it’s a funny thing how depriving ourselves of legitimate pleasures like these can impact on our attempts to be free from our illegitimate ones. We might call it a kind of earth-based Purgatory which we voluntarily enter; a time of ‘purging’ ourselves in order to accept a new freedom to love God and neighbour.

Jesus made his journey courageously, perseveringly, lovingly. Let us pray in our Mass today that we will be graced by God to do the same.

Ash Wednesday - Year B

Joel 2:12-18; 2Corinthians 5:20-6:2; Matthew 6:1-6.16-18

Lent is a time of prayer, fasting and abstinence.

What is fasting? It can mean many things but traditional Christian fasting is a day or more on bread and water. Of course, diabetics, the sick, the elderly and people on a special diet should not fast. But for the fit and healthy fasting means bread and water.

More people than you realise have already been making a habit of doing this. It’s hard but not too hard; some days it’s harder than others.

What happens when you fast?

You go without - you get annoyed - you are being purified in soul.

• At breakfast you feel pious and holy.
• At lunchtime you say, ‘This is not so difficult!’ but you quietly wonder if the bread would be nicer toasted, or maybe wholegrain would be better?
• At tea time you are amazed at how unsatisfying bread and water can be and you think of margarine or peanut butter or cheese.
• At bedtime you wonder if it’s worth reading till midnight just so you can have a cup of coffee and a chocolate.

So what I’m saying is that fasting on bread and water is a fairly difficult but manageable penance. And it’s a funny thing – those tasty bits of food you think about on a fast day – they somehow don’t seem all that good the next, when you can have them.

Fasting is a penance and prayer which gets you deep down.

By the way, if you haven’t fasted before and you are a coffee or tea drinker – drink a cold glass of coffee in the morning and before you go to bed – to prevent a headache.

Why should we fast during Lent? [Some people fast every Friday of the year.]

Jesus says in the Gospel: The time will come … then they will fast.

Given the world situation is seems pretty clear; it is time to fast.

How can fasting help?

• It is a powerful prayer – pleasing to God. By fasting we give glory to God as we make a prayer with our mouth and our body.
• We do battle with evil habits. Fasting is invasive of our comfort zone, our routines. By depriving ourselves we open ourselves to God’s grace. We cannot change ourselves but God’s grace can change anything and everything.
• We bless our community by joining with others. We grow in awareness of others, especially those who have less.
• We begin to love ourselves more. Fasting brings joy to our hearts and makes it easier to forgive ourselves for the sins that are ours and to forgive others for the hurts they cause us.
• We experience ourselves more deeply and grow in self knowledge. We come to see just how attached we are to our comforts, to pampering ourselves. We experience our neediness, our weakness, our selfishness, our impatience. We come to see how afraid we are to step outside our normal way of life to do something a little more difficult for God.
• Through fasting we begin to create within and around ourselves an atmosphere, a climate of peace.

7th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Isaiah 43:18-19.21-22.24-25; 2 Corinthians 1:18-22; Mark 2:1-12

It is greatly troubling to a wife when her husband won’t acknowledge his illness. ‘Go to the doctor, please go to the doctor’ she begs; or, ‘I’ve made an appointment with the doctor for Tuesday, please keep it. He wants to see you.’

It is greatly troubling for a father when a son will not acknowledge he is doing something wrong, something that will lead to unhappiness for him, something which may lead to tragedy.

It is greatly troubling for a child when a parent’s behaviour, perhaps drinking, gambling, violence, or just plain absence is causing ever deeper anxiety and insecurity in the family.

And it is greatly troubling to God when his People’s hearts grow cold; when they begin to see his presence in their lives as a burden – and to shake it off, like the unwanted advances of a stranger, to go their own way – the wrong way.

How humiliating for God this must be, to have his love rejected by his own creatures; the work of his own hands! The prophet Micah allows us to imagine a kind of helpless bewilderment in God’s grief: My people, what have I done to you, how have I been a burden to you? Answer me (6:3).

The word ‘god’ has its roots in the ancient Indo-European word ghuto - meaning: that which is invoked or called upon.

It is the delight of the lover to be called upon by the beloved. Indeed, it is the essence of love to be always waiting upon the beloved: ‘I am here for you, always, day and night, always.’

But Israel no longer turns to her God. It seems that this presence of the One who has led them out from their slavery in Egypt into the freedom of the Promised Land, and who now longs for their love and their trust and their obedience, is just too much for them, and they turn away: Jacob, you have not invoked me, you have not troubled yourself, Israel, on my behalf.

To fail to invoke the Creator who exists to be invoked is a crime indeed – a crime of unimaginable proportions – a crime which denies God in the cruellest possible way. No wonder the Church declares it a mortal sin to deliberately fail in our obligation to attend Sunday Mass.

Moreover, those who imagine that they can turn from God to some other good are dreadfully mistaken. When we turn from God we turn from the light. When we turn from the light we embrace the darkness, and in the darkness there is no salvation.

An empty seat in the church belongs to someone; someone who has not ‘troubled’ himself. If an empty seat is an offence to God, a rebuke to God, a humiliation for God, what must we say about an empty church? And what must we say about an entire nation which has thrown off the burden of belief?

God himself is the victim of our selfish obtuseness, and yet he comes to our rescue. He knows there is no other help for us in heaven, on earth, or under the earth than himself.

I it is, I it is, who must blot out everything and not remember your sins.

When we find ourselves saying ‘Why am I the one who always has to bite his tongue, to give way, to be understanding, to smile?’ let us be grateful; we are being given a privileged opportunity to identify with the very heart of God’s mercy, whose name is Jesus.

It is at those moments we can invoke the one who waits to be invoked; acknowledging his incomprehensible goodness, and unlocking our lives to his lordship over us. In this way we gradually become what we believe. In this way Jesus is gradually formed in us and our discipleship becomes real.

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Leviticus 13:1-2. 44-46; 1 Corinthians 10:31 – 11:1; Mark 1:40-45

Where did the leprosy go? We are told in today’s gospel that ‘the leprosy left him at once’ and he was cured. So what happened to it? Where did it go? And since leprosy in the Scriptures is supposed to be an image of sin we might well ask the much more important question, ‘Where does sin go? When Jesus forgives sin what happens to it – does it just evaporate?’

Leprosy does to an individual physically what mortal sin does spiritually. It makes him unclean, it makes him ugly, it cuts him off from the community and, finally, it kills him. Likewise, mortal sin makes the sinner unclean, ugly, cut off from the community and spiritually dead.

The Book of Leviticus (13:38-39) has this to say: A man infected with leprosy must wear his clothing torn and his hair disordered; he must shield his upper lip and cry, “Unclean, unclean”. As long as the disease lasts he must be unclean; and therefore he must live apart: he must live outside the camp.

The only way a leper could remain alive was to beg people to throw him money or leave him food. If anyone was silly enough to touch a leper they would contaminate themselves and would themselves be excluded from the community for a certain number of days, after which the priest would examine him and, hopefully, declare him to be clean.

So the leper in the gospel was way out of line in approaching Jesus; he should not have come anywhere near him because he was, in fact, ‘excommunicated’. That he dared to come within arm’s reach was the height of impertinence.

If you want to … you can cure me.

The leper had come to Jesus and fallen to his knees. Now he was pleading for a cure. His words are subtly ambivalent, almost suggestive of a challenge to the compassion of Jesus, but confident of his power.

Neither disease nor sin is part of God’s plan and Jesus immediately felt sorry for him. He had come to restore, to heal, to make whole and without hesitation he does the unthinkable; he: stretched out his hand and touched him.

Of course I want to ! … Be cured! And the leprosy left him at once and he was cured.

Perhaps we can see in this incident a kind of reverse of the miracle of next week’s gospel about the paralytic (Mk 2) who was let down through a hole in the roof. To the paralytic Jesus said: My child, your sins are forgiven; and then, when the scribes were scandalised he said: I order you: get up, pick up your stretcher, and go off home.

And we might well ask the question Jesus asked the scribes: Which of these is easier: to say to the paralytic, "Your sins are forgiven" or to say, "Get up, pick up your stretcher and walk?"

The physical points to the spiritual just as the spiritual points to the physical and we may well ask whether the leper’s sins were not forgiven, just as his body was made whole.

Jesus sternly orders the man not to speak of Jesus’ part in this healing but to go and show himself to the priests who would examine him and declare him clean. (Is this not what a priest does in the sacrament of reconciliation?)

Instead the man speaks of his healing freely and spreads the story everywhere. We might well wonder if the poor man shared Jeremiah’s (20:9) experience of: a fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones. The effort to restrain it wearied me, I could not bear it. Perhaps if he had remained silent in obedience to the Lord’s words: the stones would have cried out (cf. Lk 19:40).

At any rate, the consequences for Jesus are serious; he is now known to be ritually unclean because he had touched the leper and he: could no longer go openly into any town, but had to stay outside in places where nobody lived.

So who’s the leper now? It is Jesus who bears the punishment of this disease. He becomes a leper without leprosy – as he became a sinner without sin – so that we might live.

Ours were the sufferings he bore, ours the sorrows he carried.

On him lies a punishment that brings us peace, and through his wounds we are healed (Is 53:4-5).

5th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Job 7:1-4.6-7; 1Corinthians 9:16-19.22-23; Mark 1:29-39

Jesus’ life was saturated with hard work. Indeed, his first recorded words, spoken to his anxious parents, set the tone for his entire life: Did you not know that I must be busy with my Father's affairs? (Lk 2:49)

During the years of his hidden life Jesus worked as a carpenter: This is the carpenter, surely, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joset and Jude and Simon (Mk 6:3). These years of manual labour were no less the ‘business’ of his Father than his public ministry. If it can be said that he sanctified the waters of Baptism by submerging himself in the Jordan at the hands of the Baptist, it can most certainly be said that he sanctified daily toil by his ‘full immersion’ in the carpenter’s workshop at the hands of Joseph, his father.

And Jesus drew to himself men and women who were likewise accustomed to hard work. When he called Simon and Andrew they were ‘casting a net in the lake’ (Mk 1:16) and James and John were in the boat ‘mending their nets’ (Mk 1:19).

Luke’s account of their call is even more emphatic: 'Master,' Simon replied 'we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.'(Lk 5:5)

In a world choking on ‘labour-saving’ devices we do well to keep in mind the beauty, value and holiness of work. The work of our sanctification is, in great part, accomplished through, and in, the day by day employment which circumstance has placed before us. So we should not make artificial and false distinctions between our spiritual life and our regular work.

Jesus reversed the image of the very authentic relationship of work to sanctification by associating sanctification with work. He conceived of his own sanctifying mission as the work of a shepherd or of a sower of seed, and even called his heavenly Father a vine-dresser (Jn 15:1). He often referred to his miracles and teachings as ‘works’: so Jesus said to them, 'I have done many good works for you to see, works from my Father; for which of these are you stoning me?' (Jn 10:32)

Naturally enough, those who followed in the footsteps of the Lord as disciples would find themselves spoken of, even by Jesus himself, as ‘labourers’: The harvest is rich but the labourers are few, so ask the Lord of the harvest to send labourers to his harvest (Mt 9:37). Or again (Mt 20:1): Now the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner going out at daybreak to hire workers for his vineyard.

Jesus had taught his followers that as the Father loved him, so he had loved us, and so we must love one another. In this way we would give glory to the Father.

The dynamic is true also in another sense. As the work of the Father became the work of Jesus for us, so it must become our work for others, and equally for the glory of the Father.

Speaking to his Father Jesus says: I have glorified you on earth and finished the work that you gave me to do (Jn 17:4). And speaking to us Jesus says: In the same way your light must shine in the sight of men, so that, seeing your good works, they may give the praise to your Father in heaven (Mt 5:16).

We are privileged to participate in the mission of Jesus. As the Father sent him so he sends us, and with the promise: I tell you most solemnly, whoever believes in me will perform the same works as I do myself, he will perform even greater works, because I am going to the Father (Jn 14:12).

St Paul in today’s second reading confides to us: (1 Cor 9:17) If I had chosen this work myself, I might have been paid for it but as I have not, it is a responsibility which has been put into my hands.

Truly, St Paul laboured like the Master himself. Through all sorts of trials he battled courageously for the gospel and finally gave his life. It was as though he had taken to heart the words of the Lord from John 9:4: As long as the day lasts I must carry out the work of the one who sent me; the night will soon be here when no one can work.

Paradoxically, the daily work we do, when offered to the Lord, when done for him, even strenuous daily, grinding toil, can itself become the happiness we seek, so that we can say with Jesus: My food is to do the will of the one who sent me, and to complete his work (Jn 4:34). Whether it is spending time in prayer, attending Mass, watering the garden or looking after the grandchildren, it can all bring the kingdom closer when done in his name.

Let us do everything for him. Everything. Let us bring all our labour to him and we will be at peace. This is the true meaning of his words: Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest (Mt 11:29).

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Deuteronomy 18:15-20; 1Corinthians 7:32-35; Mark 1:21-28

…he went to the synagogue and began to teach.
…his teaching made a deep impression on them…
…he taught them with authority.
…a teaching that is new…
…with authority behind it…

It must have been wonderful to see Jesus heal the sick. It must have been astonishing to see him cast out devils. It must have been awesome to see him raise Lazarus from the dead. Nevertheless, if I had a choice, I would like to have been able to see and hear Jesus teaching.

In Mel Gibson’s movie, The Passion of the Christ, it was that short snippet of Jesus at table with his disciples at the Last Supper, just before his passion, which moved me most. To be honest, it gave me goose bumps. The apostles were seated round him, listening, eyes glued to him. His voice was gentle, confident and clear. He was teaching them.

There are two kinds of teachers: those who teach facts and those who teach truth. A mathematics teacher or a chemistry teacher might be said to teach facts, while Jesus, and his Church, her bishops and priests, teach truth. The Bible, now that we are on the subject, contains many facts, however, its overriding interest is in teaching truth.

A good teacher of the facts knows how to place the seed of knowledge into the minds of his students; a good teacher of the truth knows how to place the seed of truth not only into the minds but also into the hearts of his pupils.

But there is a complication. A good teacher is nothing before those who have closed their minds and hearts to him. Even the Lord was powerless before the stubborn refusal of the Pharisees to open themselves to his teaching. How often have I not experienced this in my own life. I recall vividly the absolute disbelief I felt when a parent approached me after school one afternoon (a Catholic secondary school) accusing me of teaching her children that abortion was a good and acceptable means of birth control. I couldn't believe it! Was I that bad a teacher? Fortunately I discovered afterwards that the reason was nothing to do with the quality of my teaching.

Jesus experienced this I’m-not-going-to-listen-to-a-word-you-say phenomenon long before I did, and it cut him to the heart.

A good teacher, apart from the quality of all that goes to make up a good teaching style, like clarity of voice and presentation, understanding of the ability level of his students, and so on, must believe in what he is teaching. He must be one with what he is teaching.

Parents cannot teach their children that honesty, discipline, forgiveness, or Sunday Mass is important if their own lives witness to the contrary. Children are very quick to spot a phoney and will most often judge the truth they are being taught by the integrity of the one who is teaching them.

Precisely here do we come to the astonishment good people felt before the teaching of Jesus: his teaching made a deep impression on them because, unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority; and it was an authority he drew from both his humanity and his divinity.

We humans are a unity of various elements including the intellectual, emotional, spiritual, physical, psychological. But in none of us are these elements perfectly integrated. Therefore we find intellectual giants who are emotionally crippled, or psychologically damaged individuals who are heroic saints.

This lack of integration or congruence was not the case with Jesus. His human integrity was flawless. Of Jesus we could say that he was truly whole, one with himself, seamlessly fused into human perfection.

What’s more, Jesus’ moral life was perfectly one with his teaching. Jesus believed the truth he taught; Jesus lived the truth he taught; Jesus was the truth he taught. No wonder the poor demons could not resist his word – the word of God spoken by a perfect man – hypostatically united to the perfection of God.

Hebrews 4:12 fittingly describes the teaching of Jesus as the word of God which: is something alive and active: it cuts like any double-edged sword but more finely: it can slip through the place where the soul is divided from the spirit, or joints from the marrow; it can judge the secret emotions and thoughts.

And so it did. The Pharisees rebelled at the truth and sought to destroy him; while the tax collectors and prostitutes welcomed him and were saved.

And what about you? Do you welcome the truth?

3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Jonah 3:1-5.10; 1Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20

The simple, clear, decisive message of all three readings today is that there is little time left for conversion; little time before we die and find ourselves standing before the judgment seat of the Lord.

Jonah preaches: Only forty days more …

St Paul writes: …our time is growing short.

Jesus proclaims: The time has come…

The true object of this critical shortage of time is conversion; your conversion, my conversion. Indeed, when we say ‘time for conversion’ we often overlook the ambiguity. Time and conversion go together; time is precisely for conversion – a gift from God which affords us an opportunity for conversion.

But how are we to understand the idea of conversion? What is it, really? Many think it simply means stop being bad and start being good. This answer has undoubted merit but it seems to me there is a more complete way of understanding conversion, and that is to see it as entering into a personal relationship with Jesus.

Simon and Andrew, James and John are pictured in the gospel with charming, and yet powerful, simplicity. They are fishermen. Simon and Andrew were casting a net in the lake; James and John were in their boats mending their nets.

And what was Jesus doing? He was just walking along.

Actually it’s quite a strong picture of daily life by the Sea of Galilee, and, despite the interval of 2000 years, a rather easy scene to equate with our own working lives. We all know what it is to be busy with our work, regardless of what that work may be.

Simon and Andrew are out in the boat casting their net in the sea to catch fish. The net and the boat are their ‘tools of trade’. They are concentrating, focussed, absorbed – they are ‘making a living’. James and John are sitting in their own boat which is pulled up on the shore. They are with their father; mending their nets. As they work they chat.

Boats and nets are such useful things to possess. They enable Simon and Andrew to go out onto the water to catch fish and bring them safely to shore. Inside the boat they can work in relative comfort and some degree of security.

However, if the two would-be apostles own the boat we might also say that the boat ‘owns’ them. Fishermen are tied to their boats and, we could almost say, ‘caught’ in their own net. They cannot do without either.

And it’s true of our own lives too. A truck driver may own a huge, beautiful Kenworth, but there is a sense in which we can say that it in turn owns him. Though the firm offers us a living we are all ‘property of the firm’.

So now along comes Jesus. He has already begun to proclaim the Good News from God: The time has come and the Kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the Good News. In other words, he has already given the first half of the answer to the question ‘What is conversion?’ – in other words, turn away from sin and believe in the gospel. Now he completes the answer by saying: Follow me.

God does not just command us to ‘be good’. This would be a cruel command because he knows, and we know, all too well that we just can’t be good; we lack the power. We don’t have what it takes. Sure, we can from time to time ‘do’ a good thing, but to ‘be’ good, to become good, is beyond our reach.

That is why Jesus spoke those words to Simon and Andrew: Follow me and I will make you into fishers of men.

I will make you …

In discipleship is given the power for conversion, for transformation.

Simon and Andrew at once left their nets. They are now free; free to follow. Likewise James and John who left their father in the boat with the men he employed, and went after him.

The gospel today is in a way the Gospel for Dummies. Mark dramatises the call of Jesus, the leaving, and the following which are essential elements of conversion.

And so we find ourselves back at my preferred definition of conversion which is: to enter into a relationship with Jesus. This is the challenge to which we are called to respond today. We cannot make substitutions. Jesus didn’t say to the four future apostles ‘Be good’; he said ‘Follow me’.

2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

1Samuel 3:3-10.19; 1Corinthians 6:13-15.17-20; John 1:35-42

Life is full of arrivals and departures. No sooner do we reach our end than we’re summoned to set out anew, perpetual travellers, seeking the promised land of this or that friendship, the ideal job, a longed for promotion, the perfect spouse, a house of our own, the first child or, even, retirement. And, of course, there are those among us whose ‘home’ button on their spiritual GPS is firmly set to heaven.

To find one’s vocation in life is no small ‘arrival’. How many young men and women out there are wondering, sometimes with a nagging anxiety, whether they will ever find their purpose in life? Youth can be a very trying time.

To experience a particular call from God, a vocation, is to experience one of God’s greatest blessings. A religious vocation is primarily a call to adventure, and the image of journeying to the promised land is not altogether inappropriate.

I used to wonder a great deal about the infinitely patient and subtle way God has of calling some individuals to such a life, but with a listening, humble ear the message usually finds its target.

In my own case I used to ask God, as I struggled with the ‘call’ I imagined came from him, why he didn’t just come out and ask. Why not just somehow make the call once and for all, clear as a bell?

Strangely I found the Lord’s words in Exodus 23:30 very helpful. God was giving instructions and promises with respect to how the Israelites were to enter the Promised Land. At one point, referring to the warlike occupants of the land he tells the people: I shall not drive them out before you in a single year, or the land would become a desert where, to your cost, the wild beasts would multiply. Little by little I will drive them out before you until your numbers grow and you come into possession of the land.

Yes, of course, little by little, one yes followed by another yes, until knowledge and strength and confidence and faith and trust in the Lord grow to a point where we can have the courage to accept that we are being called and then, what we are being called to.

Naturally enough, in every vocational call God always ‘arrives’ first. Young Samuel, in the first reading, is lying down in the sanctuary of the Lord. Jesus, in the gospel, is very conveniently passing by the place where John and the disciples are standing. God always makes the first move. The next is ours; we must say Yes! Jesus waits for our response before he makes the next move, just as the Israelites had to capture the each town, before they could move on to the next.

Samuel answers the voice which calls him. He not only says: Here I am; but he gets up and runs to Eli. No wonder he deserves a second and then a third summons from the Lord. Eli eventually understands what is going on and points the way forward for Samuel.

John the Baptist too, points out the Lord for his disciples: Look, there is the lamb of God.

Hearing this, the two disciples followed Jesus; and because they responded the Lord was able to make the next move:

What do you want?

Rabbi, … where do you live?

Come and see.

So they went and saw .. and stayed with him the rest of that day.

Invitation – response – new invitation – new response, and so on, and so on … ‘til the promised land is reached.

Note also how the Lord uses others in helping both Samuel and the two future apostles on their journey. It’s a lesson for us too. We should not be slow to accept the advice of discerning and proven spiritual guides if it promises to lead us to the Lord. That is why we read the sacred Scriptures in all our sacramental celebrations.

Just listen, for example, to the wise and holy advice of St Paul in the second reading: Keep away from sex outside marriage…you should use your body for the glory of God. St Paul is speaking God’s words; words which seek our response. Perhaps for those whom the Lord is calling to a vocation as priest or religious – the adventure begins here.

The Epiphany of the Lord - Year B

Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:2-3.5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

In the Church we speak of the ‘ministry of presence’, and rightly so. The presence of a convent of holy religious, for example, just by virtue of their presence in a parish can make an enormous difference. It is as though they mysteriously change the atmosphere, the air quality of the place. And it’s amazing how people will find their way to the convent door. There may be no star rising and halting over the roof but word soon gets round.

This miracle of presence is very much in evidence in the Christmas gospels. Jesus doesn’t do anything at all; he just arrives. Nevertheless, everything is different; the whole world has changed. We could almost say that the rest of the Scriptures, indeed the rest of human history, is really nothing more than the story of what individuals and groups do in response to this ‘presence in our midst’; a presence which ‘discovers’ us.

Today’s gospel is a microcosm – a miniature – of that drama.

The divine Infant has entered the world and now rests peacefully in his mother’s arms. Perhaps it would not be altogether wrong to recall here the words of Isaiah: He does not cry out or shout aloud or make his voice heard in the streets…(42:2).

Jesus has been sent by the Father in accordance with the Father’s plan and it is the Father's will to make the Child known: …a joy to be shared by the whole people Lk 2:10).

But observe how the Almighty goes about this. He sends an angel to announce the birth of the Redeemer first to some poor shepherds in a field watching over their sheep in the dead of night: And suddenly with the angel there was a great throng of the heavenly host, praising God and singing: 'Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace to men who enjoy his favour (Lk 2:13-14)'.

Heaven opens its splendour and delivers its glorious message to a handful of nobodies. It’s as though the entire spectacle of Sydney’s New Year’s Eve fireworks were to be presented to just three or four individuals. A modern marketing manager would say to the Father, ‘Step aside, Lord, I’ll show you how to get your product out there.’

The Father’s next ‘grand move’ seems, humanly speaking, even more puzzling. By the guidance of another heavenly manifestation, this time a star, he draws three pagan astrologers from the East (Iran?) to the house where the infant Jesus is to be found with Mary and Joseph. Just three men from a foreign land!? Again we have the same ‘cosmic’ proclamation made to a tiny group of individuals.

To make matters worse, the wise men stop off at Bethlehem and alert precisely the wrong person to the birth of the ‘King of the Jews’. Herod is terribly troubled by the news and, typical of so many with vested interests, sets out to eradicate what he perceives as the threat.

What we see in this snippet from the life of Jesus is, in fact, a miniature of the drama of salvation which is to unfold, and which is still unfolding, among us. It is as though God has ‘sketched’ the outlines of the painting, outlines which the fulness of time will colour in.

And so, from the Epiphany event we learn a few truths:

• The Father is presenting the world with his only Son, born of the Virgin. He is indeed ‘King of the Jews’, as the wise men call him, but only when he is ‘exalted’ on the Cross will the title take on its most accurate meaning.
• The Father has a plan to make his Son known to the world. It is a sovereign plan; which, despite all resistance, will be fulfilled. Herod may plot but God’s purpose will be accomplished– the wise men will simply return ‘by a different way’.
• God sees the heart. The presence of God’s Son on earth will reveal what lies in the hearts of men. The Magi who travel to seek the divine child travel in a line as straight as their hearts; while Herod shows himself to be evil. He is the precursor of all those throughout history who will oppose Jesus in one way or another, trying to expunge him from the earth.
• God has come for all men. The Magi were pagans, perhaps even astrologers, and were invited to find and worship the Lord of the Universe. He was revealed to them and before him they fell to their knees and ‘did him homage’.

And at this point let us allow the spotlight to shift from these humble truth-loving and truth-seeking hearts to ourselves. What about us? What is our reaction to God’s presence in our midst?

We need go no further than his presence in the Eucharist. What is our … ‘position’; what stance do we take towards the Lord here present not only ‘among’ us – but ‘before’ us – in the tabernacle? How do we relate to his presence in the Scriptures; in the priest? And how do we relate to his presence in those gathered in his name?

In all four of those presences it is truly him; truly the same Lord as the Magi found.

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God - Year B

Numbers 6:22-27; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:16-21

Some years as a member of the Legion of Mary has inscribed on my heart the beautiful antiphon of the Catena Legionis which is said every day by Legionaries. It reads: Who is she that comes forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in battle array?

These words are borrowed from the Song of Songs (6:10) and the liturgy applies them to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The demons are terrified of this woman, they run from her and, as the exorcists tell us, they dare not even pronounce her name. To them she is terrible as an army set in battle array; she makes them quake in fear. Do you know why?

The Jerusalem Bible translation is intriguing and helpful: Who is this arising like the dawn, fair as the moon, resplendent as the sun, terrible as an army with banners? Yes, an army with banners; and on each of these banners blazes a word abhorrent to Satan – humility, obedience, love, mercy, recollection, purity, peace, compassion, adoration, faithfulness, light. On and on it goes … and Satan flees in terror.

Another arresting aspect of this delightful line from the Song of Songs is the almost haunting question ‘Who is she…?' with which it begins. This question has drawn Christians down the centuries to deepest contemplation while the Church herself strives to penetrate the mystery of God’s action in this humble maiden who gave birth to the Redeemer.

Who is she? The first answer to this question is: She is the Mother of God. It is her Motherhood, the greatest of her privileges, which attracts to Mary all the other graces associated with her; chiefly – her Immaculate Conception, her perpetual Virginity and her Assumption into heaven.

The second answer to this question must always be: She is my Mother, too. If Mary can be set among the stars, standing on the moon and clothed with the sun, in recognition of her cosmic status as Mother of the Saviour, she can be as easily set on a dusty road in Galilee, pushing open the door of her cousin Elizabeth’s house, or standing under the Cross of her agonising Son. Mary knows us; she knows our name and our needs and does not hesitate to 'stoop' to our necessities.

Mary is the Mother of Jesus and she is our Mother too; this is the rôle God has assigned to her and for this reason, because she is an essential part of God’s redemptive plan, we honour her not out of a kind of ‘optional’ devotion but from the heart of the Catholic Faith. Devotion to Mary does not start ‘in us’ but in God's Will.

If we wish to sing the praises of the God who saved us we must sing the praises of Mary through whom he chose to do so by making her the Mother of the Saviour. If only this were better understood, especially by those so-called ‘mature and adult’ Catholics who no longer desire to know her and honour her.

Some years ago I had the pleasure of standing at the top of Niagara Falls watching the thundering waters pouring over the cliffs into the depths below. To me it was an image of how grace pours into Mary’s soul, freely and abundantly, making her the Mother of God.

But these waters did not just pile up below; they flowed out for the benefit of others, for your benefit and mine. Mary does not hoard grace; she passes on to her children what she receives from God because she is truly our Mother.

This ‘letting go’ of Mary included even the God-given gift of her divine Son. If St Paul can say: Since God did not spare his own Son, but gave him up to benefit us all, we may be certain, after such a gift, that he will not refuse anything he can give (Rm 8:32); then surely we can say: ‘Since Mary did not spare her own Son, but gave him up to benefit us all, we may be certain, after such a gift, that she will not refuse anything she can give.'

All that Mary receives from God she passes on to us, to the extent that we are willing to receive and respond to these gifts of grace. Even here she comes to help us. As she formed Jesus in herself so she will, if we ask her, form him in us.

Let me conclude in a very practical way. If you really wish Mary to be your Mother on your journey through life, so that you may reach heaven your goal, then don’t get into bed tonight, on this first day of the New Year, without having given yourself to her to be her child. Kneel down and say, ‘Mary, all that I am and have is yours. I belong to you. I am your child. Please be my Mother and keep me safe for heaven.’

Christmas Mass of the Day - Year B

Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-18

How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of one who brings good news…

Good is always beautiful – and that’s why the Good News is beautiful. And the beautiful Good News makes beautiful the one who bears it. This is what Isaiah meant when he said those fascinating words: How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of one who brings good news…

Beautiful … feet …on the mountains …

The feet, of course, belong to Jesus, who brings and who is himself – the Good News.

He comes to us from God, from heaven. His human feet which touch the earth are the feet of God. What a mystery!

Isaiah had prayed (63:19): Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down…

And now he is here.

In our imaginations we gaze … and ponder. It is only the humanity, the feet, we see; the divinity is hidden. How clever of Isaiah to use this image!

And how tempting to use of Jesus the words of the Song of Songs: How beautiful are your feet in their sandals; or to do as the ‘woman who had a bad name’ (Lk 7:38): She waited behind him at his feet weeping, and her tears fell on his feet, and she wiped them away with her hair; then she covered his feet with kisses and anointed them with the ointment.

In this woman the whole of humanity finds a poignant expression of the love and devotion to which we too are called. How beautiful are the feet of God!

John the Baptist spoke with profound humility, in fear and trembling: I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals.

God had revealed through Isaiah that heaven was his throne and earth his footstool (cf. Is 66:1).

No wonder there were so many who threw themselves down before his feet.

The demoniac who: Catching sight of Jesus from a distance, he ran up and fell at his feet…(Mk 5:6).

Jairus, the synagogue official, who came up: and seeing him, fell at his feet…(Mk 5:22).

The woman healed from a haemorrhage: came forward, frightened and trembling because she knew what had happened to her, and she fell at his feet….(Mk 5:33).

• The woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit who: came and fell at his feet….(Mk 7:25).
• And after the resurrection: the women came up to him and, falling down before him, clasped his feet (Mtt 28:9).

And no wonder Satan, full of jealousy, tempted the Lord Jesus: I will give you all these…if you fall at my feet and worship me (Mtt 4:9). How easily applied to Satan the words of Prov 6:18: a heart that weaves wicked plots, feet that hurry to do evil…

Poor Satan! Did he not realise what Paul was later to make so clear about the Lord: He has put all things under his feet and made him, as the ruler of everything…(Eph 1:22).

Yes, indeed, he has put all things under his beautiful feet; feet which Satan, in a last ditch effort to stop them bringing the Good News to the world, would incite the Jewish elders to nail to the cross.

But all to no avail. Satan might more easily have stopped the sun from rising, that sun of which Zechariah spoke when he foretold that the Father: Will bring the rising Sun to visit us, to give light to those who live in darkness and the shadow of death and to guide our feet into the way of peace (Lk 1:79).

Yes, when all is said and done we see that it is really all about ‘our’ feet. As Jesus washed the feet of the Apostles at the last supper he commanded them: If I, then, the Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you should wash each other's feet (Jn 13:14).

With these words Jesus gave us our mission: you should wash each other’s feet.

Satan as he does even today, tried his hardest to impede the spread of the Gospel.

So, following his instructions, he threw them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks (Acts 16:24).

Our Mass usually ends with the words: Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord. These are the Lord’s own words spoken now through his Church; words which we should take not just as a command but as a promise of power.

Let us go, then, as St Paul says: wearing for shoes on your feet the eagerness to spread the gospel of peace (Eph 6:15).

Christmas Vigil Mass (for children) - Year B

Isaiah 62:1-5; Acts 13:16-17.22-25; Matthew 1:1-25

Today I’d like to direct my thoughts to the young people here.

When I was a  teenager I remember watching a movie about a spaceship which landed on earth. An alien came out carrying a box on his chest. He walked down the steps from the spaceship carrying this box and soldiers were ordered to shoot him – and they did.

Later on they discovered that in the box was a cure for cancer! Can you imagine, a cure for cancer? But it was too late; they had killed the alien and now they couldn’t open the box.

What do you imagine God would give to humanity if he came to us from heaven with a gift? Would it be a cure for some horrible disease, or a way to stop tsunamis or earthquakes?

Well, of course, God has come down to earth and he has given us a present - not possessions or money or health – but a Baby – a human baby who is also God!

God gave us a baby:

• firstly, because he doesn't want to frighten us and no one is frightened of a baby. How often does he say in the Christmas story ‘Do not be afraid’? To Zachariah, to Mary, to Joseph, to the shepherds. God says ‘Do not be afraid’.
• secondly, because every baby is a promise of new possibilities, a new future -  this baby especially, because he is the future. Baby Jesus wants to take us to our future where all our dreams are realised.
• because every baby is a sign of love; this is the secret of babies; babies are made by love. It is the love of a mother and father which causes a baby to come into the world and, in the case of Baby Jesus, it was the love of the blessed Virgin Mary which cooperated with the love of God himself.
• because a baby knows how to just be - without ambition, without plans -  just to be happy. In this way babies show us what it will be like for us in heaven - just happy to be there together, in our Father’s house.
• because every baby is innocent and totally accepting of us – non-judgmental. A baby does not compare us to other people but takes us just as we are because they are innocent themselves and happy to be themselves – and especially this baby because he is Innocence.
• because every baby is powerless – weak, helpless, vulnerable, dependent. That’s why we are happy to accept this baby, because it needs us to give it a home.
• because every baby, but especially this baby, is an invitation to friendship; this baby wants to be our friend; to be loved by us.

Let’s think a bit more about this invitation to enter into friendship with Jesus.

Because Jesus is so attractive we want to be friends with him; in fact, we want to become like him so that our friendship will become more and more solid.

That’s why Baby Jesus is so endlessly fascinating. He captures our heart because he is everything we would like to be, everything we are meant to be.


Once we are friends with Jesus our parents can relax; they have no more worries about us because with Jesus as our friend we are safe.

Friendship with Jesus gives meaning to our lives. It’s what we were created for. ‘To know him, love him, serve him … and to be happy with him forever.’

Dear parents: this relationship is not easy – it’s not a game. You can’t play at it at Christmas and Easter Time – it won’t work that way.

Friendship with Jesus is demanding, we have to work at it – it is a total commitment – you can’t turn it off and on. For a Catholic it means coming to the Eucharist every Sunday and celebrating with Jesus’ other friends. It means being ready to say sorry in the sacrament of Reconciliation when necessary. It means daily family prayer and good works.

You, dear parents, will have to answer for how you gave your child an opportunity to come to know Jesus. You have a serious responsibility which you took on when you asked for Baptism for your child.

Jesus is not someone else’s baby – he is ours; we can’t hand him back – he claims us. We can’t pack him up in the cupboard after Christmas like the plaster baby in the crib.

Friendship with Jesus calls us to change our ways, our habits, our life; it calls us to be different from the world. It makes us grow on the inside and gives healing to our own woundedness. Jesus makes us whole again. He gives life and peace – already here on earth but especially in heaven. That’s where we can all truly say, ‘Merry Christmas!’

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4th Sunday of Advent - Year B

2Samuel 7:1-5.8-12.14.16; Romans 16:25-27; Luke 1:26-38

As Christmas approaches what troubles you most about the world? About our culture? About your family? About yourself? As a year comes to a close and a new year begins, what troubles you most about the future? We all have plans for the future. Our anxiety about the future is that something is going to come along and wreck our plans.

Today’s readings tell us one very important thing. God has plans for us and nothing will wreck his plans. The way to real peace in our hearts is to make God’s plan our own; to make a conscious decision to relinquish our own plans for our life and to let God’s plan rule. As the Lord’s Prayer says: Thy will be done.

King David conceived what he thought was a wonderful plan; he was going to build a house for the Lord to dwell in. He had it all worked out.

God hears of David's wonderful plan; he is aghast: It was I who took you from the pasture and from the care of the flock to be commander of my people Israel. I have been with you wherever you went, and I have destroyed all your enemies before you. And I will make you famous …

Will you build me a House? No! If there’s any building to be done, it will be done by me!

If God does not build the house, in vain do the builders toil… (Ps 127:1)

God's plan is to build David into an everlasting house, a house which will stand for ever; a house from which will be born the Messiah.

You see how our plans are nothing beside those of the Lord. They say that if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.

God has a Master Plan which began with creation and was first revealed to us in the Garden of Eden; a plan of salvation involving a Woman and her Offspring. We see this plan swing into action with the opening words of today’s gospel: The angel Gabriel was sent by God… .

Sent by God – yes, it is truly his plan – and as we listen we hear it unfold for us: You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the house of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.

You are to conceive … you must name him .. he will be great … he will be called … the Lord God will give him the throne … he will rule .. his reign will have no end. Do you recognise the sharpness and clarity of the angel’s message? Do you sense the non-negotiable, unstoppable, irresistible thrust of God’s plan?

The Holy Spirit will come upon you … and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so the child will be holy and will be called Son of God.

As it was promised, so it will be, and so it is. Truly, nothing is impossible to God.

And so we read: The angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary.

Lots of proper nouns here – Gabriel, God, Galilee, Nazareth, Joseph, David, Mary – a plan foreknown and prepared before anything was created; realised in time, and set in the mortar  of obedient love.

Mary’s plan had been to live a single life in the service of God but she immediately yielded to his plans: I am the handmaid of the Lord … let what you have said be done to me.


Mary’s womb becomes a Temple more beautiful and lasting than any Temple we could possibly build; God’s plan is always a living plan, constructed from the lives of his children.


In the face of newspaper headlines which daily threaten disaster and doom we should rejoice that there exists for us the possibility of throwing away our finite and fragile plans and surrendering to the beautiful and eternal plan of the Almighty.

Let us not forget the words of St Paul: and you too, in him, are being built into a house where God lives, in the Spirit (Eph 2:22).

And again: there is a house built by God for us, an everlasting home not made by human hands, in the heavens (2 Cor 5:1).