The Holy Souls - Year A

Isaiah 25:6-9; Romans 5:5-11; Matthew 11:25-30

In the eyes of many purgatory is a bit of a ‘nuisance’ teaching belonging in the same category as angels and indulgences and even hell. It’s not easy to explain because not many understand it deeply and so it’s always making us run up not only against our own ignorance but the disbelief of our modern world as well – and that’s a real nuisance.

The word purgatory comes from the Latin "purgare" to make clean or to purify. The Catholic Encyclopaedia defines it as: a place or condition of temporal punishment for those who, departing this life in God's grace, are, not entirely free from venial faults, or have not fully paid the satisfaction due to their transgressions.

The language can be a bit confusing here. In years gone by we spoke more of punishment while today we speak more of purification or purgation. Whatever word we use the Sacred Scriptures clearly teach that purification from, or punishment for, sin may remain even after the sin has been forgiven by God. We need only remember the Original Sin of Adam and Eve which, although forgiven in Christ, nevertheless had ongoing consequences for all of humanity (With sweat on your brow shall you eat your bread, until you return to the soil. Genesis 3:19).

Again, God took away the sins of Moses and Aaron and David and Solomon and yet they suffered painful consequences for their sins.

I liken it to a heavy smoker, such as I used to be, who declares his intention never to smoke again. This moment of very real liberation is then followed by the equally real sufferings of the withdrawal period which could last for some time.

Actually, this is what the Church means by the term ‘temporal punishment’. Like smoking withdrawals (mine lasted many months) it has a beginning and an end; it is temporal. Eternal punishment, on the other hand, has no end; it is the punishment of hell.

Looking at this matter from another perspective we can note that repentance for sin has always included a firm purpose of amendment and the intention to do penance, that is, make up for our sin. Clearly, the man who steals money has an obligation to pay it back if he can, or to make some other form of restitution. If you admit to me you stole my car I may forgive you, but you are still obliged to return it.

In the same way God will always forgive a sin when we repent. However, forgiving our guilt does not always mean release from punishment. In his mercy God forgives our guilt; in his justice God requires satisfaction.

The Church has always believed that prayer, fasting and almsgiving, indeed any penance, can purify us in this life and, consequently, those who fail to do so in this life will need to do so elsewhere if they are not to suffer the loss of heaven - which nothing impure can enter.

This leads us to make one other thing clear about purgatory. It is also the state or place in which we are freed from our venial sins. A venial sin wounds our relationship with God whereas a mortal sin destroys it. A person who dies in the habit of venial sin is still capable of heaven but needs first to be purged of those habits.

Commonly we fail to see the merciful love of God in this and somehow expect that God should not ask us to participate in our salvation at all. We might say, and correctly, as the Protestants do, that Jesus ‘paid the price’ for our sins! Yes, he did, and that’s why we are now forgiven - but let us not refuse this opportunity to share in the very sufferings of Christ which saved us. As St Paul says: It makes me happy to suffer for you, as I am suffering now, and in my own body to do what I can to make up all that has still to be undergone by Christ for the sake of his body, the Church (Colossians 1:24).

Naturally enough, the Catholic teaching on purgatory is intimately bound up with the practice of praying for the dead. Those who pray for the dead must believe in purgatory; those who do not believe in purgatory will have no reason to pray for the dead; the two realities are always mentioned together in the oldest texts of the Fathers of the Church.

Without going into the historical details, which can be discovered from the Catholic Encyclopaedia, let me simply assert that praying for the dead and belief in the existence of purgatory were well established in the Church from the earliest times. Indeed, the Fathers maintained that the practice of prayers for the dead came from the Apostles themselves.

If we look at the liturgies of these early times we can see that the punishment or the purifying process undergone by the souls in purgatory is the experience of being ‘shut out’ from the sight of God for which they long with unbelievable intensity. This painful longing is made bearable only by the awareness it will one day be fulfilled.

The souls in purgatory have finished with sin and their purifying sufferings prepare them more and more for entrance into the eternal happiness of heaven. Purgatory is therefore a place of suffering, peace and joy.

We here on earth remain in communion with the souls in purgatory and we can aid them with our prayers and works of love. This is clear from the earliest Catholic teaching. Already in the 2nd Century it is recorded that Mass was offered for the faithful departed. Let us do so now and invoke on them and on ourselves the wonderful mercy of God.

30th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

Exodus 22:20-26; 1Thessalonians 1:5-10; Matthew 22:34-40

In the Gospel today Jesus asks of us the very thing Original Sin makes it impossible for us to do - to love totally.

Deep within us we are complicated, fractured, wounded - to such an extent that there is no longer anything we can do totally - either good or bad. We have no totally pure motives and no totally evil motives; our generosity always contains a bit of self-seeking and our selfishness always has a bit of good mixed in - in fact, we are all mixed up.

Our souls are like a class of Grade One children - noisy, distracted, and self-absorbed.

I remember a man once telling me how sorry he was that he could not make himself regret his sins as much as he felt he should. He told me: I didn't really mean to commit them, I don't feel as sorry as I should, I can't even remember if I confessed them all.

Well, that's how it is with us - we gaze at the stars with our feet in the mud.

We look to Jesus for what we need in order to become more and more healed of our brokenness. We long to be whole, we long to be one with ourselves - but not entirely. There is in each one of us this attraction to the perfect, to the complete. We long to love totally - completely - with our entire selves - but not all the time.

It is a hunger in us - a thirst - which responds to the invitation of Jesus to love with all our hearts, and soul, and mind - with a profound 'YES, that's what I want too .. but not right now.'

The philosophers can't seem to make up their mind whether our deepest need is to be loved totally or to give ourselves totally to another in love.

I think it is the latter.

If this is true then our every criticism of others is really a criticism of our inability to love well.

'He is so annoying' is really an admission - 'I am so unable to love' or, 'I don't get anything out of Mass' is really an admission - 'I can't seem to give myself wholly at Mass.'

We long for total love - but we also dread it. Isn't that strange?

And why is it so?

I think it's because we all know that love consumes. Like a fire it warms but get too close and it burns us - and so we keep our distance. And so most of us are stuck somewhere between the cold and the fire.

Fr de Caussade used to speak of prayer as a kind of throwing of ourselves into the fire of love. He said that it is at first terribly painful as we begin to die to ourselves. We can behave like green twigs, spluttering and twisting and hissing out sap, until we begin to glow with the heat of the fire itself.

Then, finally, we are truly at peace, and yet, we are being consumed.

If this is so - our longing to give ourselves totally is at the same time a kind of longing for death - a death to self - a longing to be one with the beloved.

Each act of true love is an act of dying to self.

Jesus died the death of love on the Cross.

On the cross he hangs - between God and neighbour - loving each with all his heart, and soul, and mind - inviting us - to join him.

29th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

Isaiah 45:1.4-6; 1Thessalonians 1:1-5; Matthew 22:15-21

The Sunday Missal is a combination of two books really - the Sunday Lectionary, this big book right here in front of me on the pulpit, which contains all the readings from Scripture used each Sunday - and the Roman Missal, which contains all the prayers said at Mass each day. It is lying over there on the altar.

A Sunday Missal costs about $50 or $60, depending on which version you get, and it's a very useful thing to own because it enables you to read in advance the Scriptures to be read on Sunday. For those of you who go to Mass during the week there is also a Weekday Missal available.

Each week it is the task of the priest to preach on the set readings; this is not always an easy task. Some people call preaching 'breaking the bread of the word'. This is a bit like when you make your small child a sandwich and you cut it into manageable bite sizes. In the same way the priest is supposed to 'break' the bread of God's word into digestible portions, so that it can be more easily received and understood. Naturally, this requires the priest to do his 'homework'.

This week again I sat down in my comfortable recliner and put the legs up. I put my Sunday Missal on the StediTray on my lap and asked God to give me a heart capable of receiving his word and handing it on to others. I generally start with the Gospel which always sets the theme. Next I read the First Reading which usually relates in some way to the theme of the Gospel and, finally, the Second Reading. This part of the process, this first step, is called lectio, which is a Latin word for reading.

At this point I want to make a confession. Years ago, when I first began preaching, I occasionally came to the end of the week and found I had not read the Sunday readings. So what I used to do was consult a whole series of 'homily books' I used to have. I would go through my collection until I found one I liked and give that homily on Sunday. (Of course I changed a few words here and there so I didn't feel quite so guilty.) Today, I guess, priests can do the same thing on the internet; there are truckloads of good homilies out there, just waiting to be stolen, and it means you don't even have to read the Readings!

Well, thank God, I've wised up a bit. Since I've started reading Scripture for myself, as part of my prayer routine each day, I've come to see how there is no substitue for lectio; it all starts there.

Having read the readings once or twice some simple questions will arise. 'Who are the Herodians? - Who was Cyrus? - Where is Thessalonika?' These questions are easily answered if you have the right book. My New American Bible has a very useful Biblical Dictionary at the back and answered my questions straight away.

From lectio I naturally moved into meditatio (that is, meditation). Over the years I've found that the longer I stay with the reading of the passage the more fruitful and interesting my meditation will be. You just can't hurry the process; I have learned this from my little jaunts to the bush.

You jump in the car, drive to a quiet place in the bush, take your director's chair from the boot and sit in a quiet spot. At first nothing happens. You see the trees round you, the leaves on the ground, the bushes and weeds, the sunlight through the leaves overhead. For maybe 10 minutes you sit there in peace - just looking and listening. In fact, you are doing lectio - reading Mother Nature's book.

Suddenly a noise, a little flutter at your feet, among the leaf litter - a lizard. You can see his face peering at something - a small beetle making its way across a twig. The lizard is beautiful - gleaming blue and purple - and you can see his breathing and his tail twitching every now and then.

Now you are distracted by a sound overhead. It's a wren looking for food. She flies to a branch 10 feet away and stares you in the face. What an amazing little creature! She flits from branch to branch moving around you, getting a good look from every angle - fascinated and fascinating. You know, without a word of a lie, I once had a wren come and sit on my hand which was resting on my knee, and then she flew up onto my shoulder and then my head. I felt so privileged - meditatio at its best.

Meditatio is when the readings begin to speak to you. Give them time and they always begin to speak to you.

Sitting in my recliner with my Sunday Missal I was drawn to how the Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap Jesus. I could see their cunning faces and hear their malicious whispers. Like the little lizard they had no idea they were being looked at. I thought to myself, 'You nasty, sneaky things!'

What a contrast the flattering words of those they sent to Jesus to trap him: Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in an honest way , and that you are not afraid of anyone, because a man's rank means nothing to you.

No wonder Jesus replied without hesitation: You hypocrites!

In meditatio we think about these things, we reflect on them, and quite naturally they lead us into the third phase - oratio (prayer).

Lord Jesus, I'm feeling so self-righteous right now, watching those shifty Pharisees plotting your downfall. I find myself condemning them. And yet, as I look at them in their secret huddle I'm somehow reminded of myself and the times I've joined a nasty little group talking about someone, destroying their good name. I see my hypocrisy in theirs as they speak evil behind Jesus' back and then imagine they can flatter him to his face. How sorry I am, Lord! Forgive me! Heal me of all that is hypocritical in me.

Reading leads to reflection which leads to prayer. This is the usual dynamic of what is called lectio divina or sacred reading. There is a final movement in this prayer which follows as gift from God; we call it contemplatio (contemplation). This is basically a cessation of all our activity and a time in which awareness of the God we have been seeking becomes so real for us that we are almost 'paralysed' by it in a peace and joy and rest so real we know it comes from him. The saints tell us that it is during these moments that God does his greatest work in us.

My final word? Get yourself a Sunday Missal.

28th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

Isaiah 25:6-10; 4:12-14.19-20; Matthew 22:1-14

Let's continue our reflection on prayer.

A few weeks ago we considered the proposition that the Christian has only one problem and that is prayer. We considered the need to give time to prayer - significant time, prime time - and the difficulties associated with doing this.

When I suggested we all wanted to 'get ourselves a prayer life' many of you nodded your heads energetically in agreement. So having come to agreement on the need to pray we next ask: How do I pray?

We all seem to be able to pray from time to time, when the mood grabs us, or when we have something serious to pray about, but how do I pray every day? How do I keep going? What should I do?

Without prejudicing any other form of prayer I want to speak on that way of praying called Lectio Divina or Sacred Reading. I'll try to give a glimpse of this ancient method of prayer which, coincidentally, solves many of the problems associated with daily prayer - like the question of distractions, routine, what do I do? what do I say? etc.

This book I'm waving at you is a Bible! It's the word of God; we begin our reflection from this basic fact - it's the word of God.

The whole universe was created by the word of God. God said: Let there be light, and behold, there was light. He didn't use a hammer and chisel or a saw, he made us by commanding it with his word. Let the waters be divided ... let life teem on the earth ... let the sea be filled with fish.

To us humans he gave life with his breath. I wonder if he spoke a word at that moment. Maybe he said 'Love!'

How did Adam and Eve fall? They disobeyed his word. He told them not to - but they did.

Then God spoke a word of promise - a Redeemer.

On Mount Sinai God gave us a word to live by, the Ten Commandments. The prophets reminded us of this word of God and constantly exhorted us to live by it.

Finally God sent the Redeemer. Who was he? He was the Word of God - made flesh - and his name was Jesus.

The word of God is all that Jesus is - loving, forgiving, creative, healing, strengthening, correcting, comforting, disturbing, powerful, irresistible - and lots more.

The word of God is not to be taken lightly - it is also, and at the same time, the action of God. Everywhere we read: God said ... and so it was!

This is true of Jesus too. Jesus says to the leper: Be cured ... and he was cured.

Well, the word of God is found also in the Bible. It goes on creating, healing, loving, strengthening, forming, comforting, correcting and disturbing us. And where the word of God is - living, active, powerful - God himself is not far away; in fact he is truly present.

So what about Lectio Divina?

Let me firstly give you an image. You're on a railway platform waiting for the train. Are you really waiting for the train? No, you are really waiting for the arrival of the person who is on the train. It would be silly if the train pulled in and we all stood around admiring the train and ignored the passengers.

Admiring the train is what's called Bible Study. Lectio Divina is searching for the passenger.

And you know which passenger I mean, don't you - it's God himself - the God of love - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

It's easy to slip from Lectio Divina into Bible Study and its a dangerous confusion. For Lectio Divina you really only need a good Bible with some good footnotes. You can always do some Bible Study at another time. It's important not to confuse the two.

Lectio Divina, as someone once said, is not studying the bible, it's letting the bible study you.

So now we are ready to open our Bible. I always like to begin on page one of any book and so I open to Genesis. In many ways the Bible is like the door belonging to a house. This door has no lock and can be opened any time we like. And when we open this door we find a huge house occupied by a vast number of the most interesting and wonderful (for the most part) people you could ever meet.

In this house live Adam and Eve, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Sarah, Joshua, Saul, David, Rebecca, Esther, prophets, kings, judges, men and women and lots of children - AND GOD HIMSELF - and JESUS, our Lord and Master.

Do you know these people? You should. They are the ones who preceded us in the faith and as we watch them living out their faith, with all their difficulties and trials and human weaknesses and fears we quickly come to realise that their lives are our lives - they are our elder brothers and sisters - that we are really looking at ourselves. As they learn about God, so do we. As they experience his love and mercy, so do we. As they hear the word of correction, so do we.

Have you ever been with Adam and Eve under the tree being tempted by the serpent? Have you ever stood with the People at the Red Sea trapped between the waters and the angry Egyptians? Have you ever celebrated the second Passover - in the desert of Sinai in the twilight of the evening?

Have you ever hidden with David in the cave as King Saul, who was trying to kill him, came in to relieve himself? Did you also whisper to David, 'Go on, kill him, he's at your mercy' - or did you thrill at David's glorious words, 'I will not lay my hand on the Lord's anointed one?'

In Lectio Divina there are four movements - we read, we meditate, we pray, and then, if God has been gracious to us, and we have been generous in our prayer, we contemplate.

Contemplation is a gift. It's when the Lord himself comes to meet us in this marvellous house. Suddenly he is there and we stop reading, thinking, and praying - we just sit resting, growing, being put back together - in his presence.

There is just so much more to say about this topic but there is no substitute for grabbing your Bible, finding a quiet, prayerful place, opening up and beginning. We should do Lectio every day, without fail, especially on the days we are too busy and on the days we don't feel like doing it.

Let me finish with a thought from Psalm 1:

Happy the man who ... finds his pleasure in the Law of Yahweh, and meditates on his law day and night. He is like a tree that is planted by water streams, yielding its fruit in season, its leaves never fading ...

27th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

Isaiah 5:1-7;Philippians 4:6-9; Matthew 21:33-43

A parable is scary because it has the power to ambush its listener and show him a picture of himself while his defences are down; before he can close his eyes the truth is staring him in the face.

The parable which Nathan tells King David is a prime example. David listens to Nathan’s parable and is outraged by the cruelty of the rich man who takes the poor man’s only lamb and calls for him to be severely punished.

You are that man! says Nathan.

David recognises his crime and repents immediately.

Not so, with the chief priests and the elders of the people in today’s Gospel; their hearts are too stubborn.

But let’s go to the First Reading from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah is singing a song of praise to God. He is singing of the love God has for Israel, his vineyard: My friend had a vineyard on a fertile hillside. He dug the soil, cleared it of stones, and planted choice vines in it. In the middle he built a tower, he dug a press there too. He expected it to yield grapes, but sour grapes were all that it gave.

The words are carefully chosen. God plants his vineyard in the best possible place, not only on a hillside, but on a fertile hillside. He digs the soil, clears it of stones, and then plants choice vines in it. He places a tower in the middle so approaching enemies can be easily spotted, and builds a press in anticipation of the harvest. Isaiah laments: but sour grapes were all that it gave.

After all that God has done for his people they fail him. God is rejected by Israel.

In the Gospel today Jesus tells the same story in a different way: There was a man, a landowner, who planted a vineyard; he fenced it round, dug a winepress in it and built a tower; then he leased it to tenants and went abroad.

There is the same loving care by the landowner for the vineyard and we do well to linger here and dwell on the goodness of God. What could I have done for my vineyard that I have not done?

There is nothing like the misery of rejection; no greater, deeper, more scarring pain than the pain of being unwanted. This pain reaches to the heart of a person and when it begins early in life is almost impossible to heal.

Jesus knew this kind of rejection from the religious leaders and the people and was constantly being hurt by it. Look at him on the hillside weeping. He knew he could have saved Jerusalem but they refused. They would neither dance nor mourn. They rejected him; but he refused to reject them.

St John Vianney used to try to move his people to love one another, to love God, to be faithful to their Mass, to their marriage partner but he couldn’t and he wept. They asked him ‘Why do you cry?’ and he said ‘because you won’t’.

How powerful God must be that he can put up with our rejection of him – hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after year, generation after generation!

Now when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?

When the day of justice comes we will be condemned out of our own mouths.

They answered, 'He will bring those wretches to a wretched end and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will deliver the produce to him when the season arrives.'

The chief priests and the elders of the people get it exactly right. When it’s not about them they can see the evil rejection for what it really is, and in the objective light of truth and justice they can see the punishment it deserves.

It is now that the parable delivers its coup de grâce: I tell you, then, that the kingdom of God will be taken from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.

He couldn’t have said it more clearly, ‘You are the tenants!’

And so are we! You and I are tenants of many vineyards.

• The vineyard of your marriage: are you looking after it? Is it bearing proper fruit?

• The vineyard of your family: mother – father; son – daughter?

• The vineyard of this parish: Are we listening to the Word of God, living it, proclaiming it? Are we drawing others to Christ?

• And finally, each one of us is the tenant of a special vineyard called our soul. It is the most important vineyard of all. What condition is it in? Is it bearing fruit?

We had all better know the answer to that question; it’s a matter of life or death. Jesus’ parable ends with a moment of judgment and threat: He will bring those wretches to a wretched end… .

If only the Pharisees and leaders had been ready to allow the parable to convict them of wrongdoing; they could have repented and all would be forgiven. If only we would let the parable convict us.

There’s one thing for sure. I’ll know when it happens by the number of people coming to Confession.