18th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Exodus 16:2-4. 12-15; Ephesians 4:17. 20-24; John 6:24-35

Last week Jesus fed the crowds on five loaves and two fish. They were deeply impressed. Not only did they eat all they wanted but had twelve baskets of scraps left over. Jesus had asked that this be collected so that no food was wasted; a good lesson for us today in this world of plenty for some and starvation for others.

The crowds wanted to make him king but Jesus escaped to the hills while the disciples crossed the lake in their boat. Jesus himself walked on the rough waters and joined them on the other side. Next day the people, too, crossed in their boats. Today’s Gospel begins at the moment they met him there.

Surprised to see him, since they knew the disciples had set off alone, they ask him when he came; instead he tells them why they came; a lesson in self-knowledge. I tell you most solemnly, you are not looking for me because you have seen the signs but because you had all the bread you wanted to eat.

Jesus knows who he is, and he knows who they are. This is what drew the crowds to him; he knows them and teaches them with the full authority of his knowing.

Jesus is an uncompromising teacher; have you noticed that? He stands in the midst of the crowd - courageous, confident, uncompromising - knowing far more than he can teach and teaching them far more than they want to learn. There is no uncertainty, no casting about for the right words, he knows what he must say. He is truly the sower going out into the field to sow. He does not negotiate; he simply throws the seed: I tell you most solemnly, you are not looking for me because you have seen the signs but because you had all the bread you wanted to eat. In other words, you are not looking for me (for God), you are looking for bread (for yourselves).

We might ask ourselves why we are here? What is the real reason? What are we looking for - worship (God) or consolation (self)?

Jesus’ teaching proceeds through a series of questions and answers which are all set against the miracle of the previous day. The word ‘work’ becomes the lynch pin of each new step in the unfolding catechesis.

• You 'worked' (i.e. got into your boats and crossed to this side of the lake) looking for bread that cannot last.

• Do not work for food that cannot last.

• Work for food that endures to eternal life.

• What work does God want us to do?

• This is the work God wants – believe in the one he has sent.

• What work will you do – to show us we should believe in you?

At this point Jesus, as he always does, shows that it is really God, his Father, who is doing this work; that Jesus himself is the work of the Father: for on him the Father, God himself, has set his seal.

When a king, emperor, president, or any leader sends an ambassador to a foreign country to speak in his name that ambassador speaks with the full power of the one who sent him. The teaching of Jesus is therefore the teaching of the Father himself and consequently, the works that God wants from his people is to believe in the one he has sent.

The connection between God and Jesus is inescapable, just as the connection between Jesus and the Apostles is inescapable: As the Father sent me, so am I sending you. (John 20:21) And then: Anyone who listens to you listens to me; anyone who rejects you rejects me, and those who reject me reject the one who sent me. (Luke 10:16)

God – Jesus – Church – and don’t let anyone tell you any different. To reject the authentic teaching of the Church is to reject Jesus, and to reject Jesus is to reject the Father who sent him. As Pope Benedict has clarified for us, those who say Jesus yes, Church no, are actually saying Church no, Jesus no.

So, finally, what is the work that God the Father is here doing through Jesus? It is my Father who gives you the bread from heaven, the true bread; for the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. (Please note the present tense of the words is and gives – so they apply to us here in this church too, here and now.)

I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never be hungry; he who believes in me will never thirst.

Jesus is the true bread which the Father has given his people from heaven and to accept him as such is to do the work the Father wants of us.

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

2 Kings 4:42-44; Ephesians 4:1-6; John 6:1-15

God, infinitely perfect and blessed in himself, in a plan of sheer goodness freely created man to make him share in his own blessed life. In the fullness of time, God the Father sent his Son as the Redeemer and Saviour of mankind, fallen into sin, thus calling all into his Church and through the work of the Holy Spirit, making them adopted children and heirs of his eternal happiness. [Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church No 1]

The moment of creation is described for us in the Book of Genesis. It is a revelatory moment in which the veil is taken from our God who stands revealed in his sheer goodness and generosity.

How did he do it? Was it just as Genesis describes in a series of six days; or was it a big bang, containing within it the seed of his entire creative plan which would unfold over billions of years? We don't really know.

What we do know, without any uncertainty or ambiguity, is that our God is awe-inspiring in his perfection, in his goodness, in his mercy, and in his extraordinary readiness to shower his creatures with every good gift.

If we read carefully the quotation above from the Compendium we will see that the sending of the Saviour is placed in the same paragraph and thereby tied to the statement on creation. This is, of course, because the redemption is the completion of creation and we have come to understand that God saved us with the same lavish generosity with which he created us.

Lovers of Sacred Scripture will recognise this generosity of God in every page of the inspired text, beginning with that first command: Let there be light!

And then: Let the earth produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants, and fruit trees bearing fruit with their seed inside, on the earth.

Let the waters teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth within the vault of heaven.

Let the earth produce every kind of living creature: cattle, reptiles, and every kind of wild beast.

The limitless generosity of God bursts forth in his creation of the universe with its billions of stars, its sun and moon and earth with its myriad entrancingly beautiful life-forms - and then - all this, all this, he gives to man, to Adam and Eve, to you and to me.

God's generosity fills the whole world like a fragrant perfume. He pours it out on his creation like the perfume poured out by Mary on the feet of Jesus, perfume which filled the whole house. It embraces us. It rejoices us and is irresistibly attractive to those who have some degree of spiritual sense and are alive to their world. Indeed, the generosity of God seduces us into wanting to give ourselves to him. No wonder the Psalmist cried out: What return can I make to God for all his goodness to me? [116:12]

If this 'galloping goodness' of God, in which he gives far more than is necessary, is seen in creation it is even more clearly seen in Redemption.

Jesus, sent to redeem fallen mankind, had already accomplished this task merely by his Incarnation. Even the pain of the circumcision, just to mention one occasion, would have been sufficient to save us all considering it was suffered by Jesus, the only-begotten Son of the Eternal Father, and therefore had infinite value before the Father.

But his generosity knows no bounds. He wishes to leave us in absolutely no doubt that we are loved absolutely. It is not until he has stretched out his arms on the cross and is about to die that he can say: It is accomplished.

It is as if he were saying 'I came to earth to show mankind how much I love them and how my love always reaches deeper and wider and higher than their sins. In all sorts of ways I have sought to do this. Now I have exhausted all the possibilities. There is nothing more I can do to show them my love. I have achieved my goal. It is accomplished.'

What return can I make to God for all his goodness to me?

But let us return to the readings of today's Mass. There is something of the 'big bang' in today's Gospel with the five loaves and two fish exploding into food for thousands. (The First Reading from 2 Kings has already prepared us for this with a similar feeding of one hundred men with 20 barley loaves and some fresh grain in the ear.)

The people are very conscious of this power in their midst which is able not only to satisfy their hunger but which can do so superabundantly - twelve hampers of scraps were left over from the meal.

The crowd notices the concern Jesus has for them and it draws and attaches them to Jesus whose intent is to teach them that he can feed much more than their bodies.

This bread is multiplied and given to all as a clear expression of that unconditional love with which he would call all into his Church (see quote above from Compendium).

Today we have come to this church to be fed by the same Christ who stood on the mount and fed his people. We have come not to fill our stomachs; we have come for the Bread of Life.

May it be for each one of us healing and strength and may it call forth from our hearts a generosity which will cause us to give ourselves to one another and to all who hunger for love.

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Jeremiah 23:1-6; Ephesians 2:13-18; Mark 6:30-34

There are, I know, a number of parishioners here who would be aware that last Thursday it was the feast of Our Lady of Mt Carmel. This is the feast also of the Brown Scapular which many Catholics are in the habit of wearing. I have worn it most of my life. The promise of the Brown Scapular is that ‘whoever wears it faithfully, will not see eternal fire.’

So this weekend I am going to speak to you about Mary, the daughter of the Father, the Mother of the Son, and the Bride of the Holy Spirit.

Let me start with the well-known penny Catechism question, ‘Why did God make me?’ We all remember the answer ‘God made me to know him, love him, and serve him here on earth and to be happy with him for ever in heaven.’

To get to heaven we have to become like God. We have to become holy. This is our vocation. Not just mine or his or hers, but your vocation. Everything we do must lead us to holiness. All our thoughts, words, and actions, all our sufferings, all our endeavours must lead us to holiness.

If holiness is not the goal of our life we are not living meaningful life; we are not doing the work God created us to do.

St Louis de Montfort says, ‘What a marvellous transformation is possible! Dust into light, uncleanness into purity, sinfulness into holiness, creature into Creator, man into God. A marvellous work, I repeat, so difficult in itself, and even impossible for a mere human to bring about, for only God can accomplish it through his grace ..’

He goes on to say that the very creation of the whole universe is not as great an achievement as this – that a human soul should become holy like God.

But how will we bring this about? Which book will we read? Which expert spiritual director will we find? Which class will we attend? Which prayers will we say and which penances will we do?

A simple, powerful, infallible thing to do is to place ourselves in Mary’s hands. To approach Mary the expert of experts, the guru of gurus, the Spiritual Director of spiritual directors and, like little children who are lost, humbly and sincerely to place ourselves in her hands.

To approach Mary is to approach one who is the Mother of Holiness, the Mother of Jesus, and our Mother. She knows we are lost, she knows we are helpless, and she knows what we need. She will lead us home and she will prepare us to go in through the front door when we get there - by making us holy along the way.

Mary ‘mothered’ Jesus to earth and she will ‘mother’ us to heaven. God has called her to this task. Her motherhood does not stop with Jesus the Head. Mary continues to bring forth the Body of Christ as well. That’s us!

When God gave Jesus to Mary he gave her EVERY grace. That is why the angel called her ‘full of grace’. This grace was meant for us. Just as Mary gave us Jesus she gives us every grace. Some have called her the Mother of all grace. And that is what we need to become holy; we need grace.

How wise we are to bring ourselves to Mary!

Mary formed God in her womb and gave him to us. Do you think she cannot form us and give us to God?

Jesus submitted to Mary and God wants us to submit to Mary. How wise we are to do this!

Mary taught God to be human – do you think she cannot teach us to be like God?

Jesus obeyed Mary, and how wise we are when we do the same.

We have to learn to stay close to her because she knows the way to Jesus. She is always with him.

We live in a dangerous world .. a world that is dangerous for our soul. We need to be protected. Mary, our Mother, is the ultimate protection against evil. And even in the midst of dangers and sufferings, Mary works wonders in our soul.

When we give ourselves to God through Mary we are imitating God who gave himself to us through Mary; we are imitating the Son who came to us through her; we are imitating the Holy Spirit who gives himself through her.

The Brown Scapular is a beautiful, simple, effective way to begin to give ourselves to Mary.

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Amos 7:12-15; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:7-13

Both Opening Prayers of today's Mass contain a luminous (excuse the pun) little phrase - the light of truth.

The first says:

God our Father,

your light of truth

guides us to the way of Christ.

The second says:

Father,

let the light of your truth

guide us to your kingdom.

The light of truth – what a marvellous phrase!

We all know the light of the sun in the daytime, and of the moon in the night. We know the useful light of a torch, the revealing light of a spotlight. We know the lights blazing down on the football field and the comforting lights in the dark street as we walk home at night.

But do we know the light of truth, the most splendid light of all? This is the light we should all be walking in because this light illuminates the path to heaven, the path to God. Without this light we are lost even more completely than the football players are lost when the lights unexpectedly go off in the middle of the game.

The light of truth is God’s light. It reveals to us who we are as humans; it tells us how to act, how to worship God, the meaning of our lives. God’s light is not a torch or a burning flame, it is a man – Jesus Christ. Yes, Jesus is the light of truth – the light that guides us to the kingdom of God. As he himself said (Jn 8:12): I am the light of the world; anyone who follows me will not be walking in the dark; he will have the light of life.

We do not light a lamp to put it under a tub and neither does the Father. He puts it (Jesus) on the lamp-stand where it shines for everyone in the house. (c.f. Mt 5:15) And where is that lamp stand? It is the Church. You are the light of the world. (Mt 5:14)

Of course, we do not all shine as brightly as we should and from time to time in the world’s history the light of truth in the world will grow perilously dim; man turns away from God and follows other paths. This, I believe, is very much the case today in the poor, affluent Western World. We are confused and scattered and tangled up in desires and ambitions which lead only to estrangement from God and disaster for ourselves.

In his untiring mercy, however, the good God sends holy men and prophets into the world to draw us back to adherence to the truth. If mankind refuses to listen to these it runs the risk that God will withdraw and simply leave it to experience the painful and destructive consequences of its own stubborn conceit. We remember how last week the Gospel told us that because the people of his home town rejected him: he could work no miracle there. Deprived of God’s help we are on our own.

This brings us to the First Reading from the prophet Amos.

Woe to Damascus, said Amos, for its cruelty in war. You can almost hear Amaziah, the priest of the royal sanctuary in Israel, cheering because Damascus was the enemy of Israel and Amaziah would have been happy to hear they were going to be punished by God.

Next came Gaza which would be punished for its crimes; and then Tyre, Edom, the Ammonites, and Moab. These prophecies would have given Amaziah a great deal of pleasure. Their enemies were going to ‘get it in the neck’ from God. What a good prophet this man Amos is turning out to be. We like him! But not so fast, Amaziah, keep listening.

Then Amos starts on Judah who had rejected the Law of the Lord and were led astray by their own lies. Amaziah must have been getting a bit uncomfortable at this stage. Judah was not yet Israel because the kingdom was split – but Amos was getting uncomfortably close.

Finally comes Israel. I won’t bother listing all the crimes of Israel for which they were going to be punished but I can assure you it was not a pretty picture. Can you imagine how furious Amaziah was? It’s one thing asking someone to look at all the faults of others, but it’s another thing entirely to ask them to look at their own. The light of truth shines so much more comfortably on the faults of our neighbour than it does on our own, doesn’t it?

It was all too much for Amaziah: Go away, seer; get back to the land of Judah; earn your bread there, do your prophesying there. We want no more prophesying in Bethel; this is the royal sanctuary, the national temple.

Well, it didn’t stop Amos: You say: “Do not prophesy against Israel, utter no oracles against the House of Isaac.” Very well, this is what Yahweh says … . Once again it was not a pretty picture; the light of truth rarely is.

Well, let’s get personal. The possibility of taking a wrong turn on the path to the kingdom exists for all of us. When it happens it’s a tragedy. We make the wrong decision, we listen to the wrong advice, we convince ourselves that our conscience is ok, besides, everybody seems to be doing the same thing! And before we know it we have lost the way – we have lost the light of truth – and we don’t realise it.

Amaziah was a priest. He was priest in the royal sanctuary, the national Temple, no less. But he had lost the light of truth. It can happen to anyone. He still offered his sacrifices and holocausts, he still did his religious duties, he still ‘looked’ like a priest – but he had, nevertheless, lost his way.

I believe there are many ways in which we as Catholics have lost the way. I will spare you a list but the light of truth is fading in the Western world; darkness is gathering.

What are we going to do about that?

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Ezekiel 2:2-5; 2 Corinthians 12:7-10; Mark 6:1-6

On a Communion round I did many years ago there was an elderly housebound couple. Their house had a wrought iron fence with a sign “Beware of Dog” and each time I pressed the button ferocious barking would explode from inside the house. A young man would come out and ask me to wait while he put the dog in the bedroom and then I could go in. I took Communion there for 9 months but never once saw the dog. There was a photo in the lounge room though .. of a beautiful German Shepherd.

Towards the end of my time there I said to the lady of the house 'Your dog must be very ferocious.' She answered “Not really. She’s a very nice dog; it’s just that she’s afraid”.

I thought to myself 'The dog is afraid?' By the sound of the barking one would never have guessed.

But then I got to thinking a little more deeply. To be perfectly honest, I had to admit to myself, some of my fiercest barking is caused by fear. It’s a trait we humans share with the animal kingdom, like the hair that stands up on animals to make them appear larger, our growls are often caused by fear.

Fear wears many disguises and it’s usually difficult to identify in others and almost impossible to recognise and admit to in ourselves.

Think about it for a moment. Question yourself about why you say no to things. What disturbs you about others? Why you dislike certain changes? Why are there certain things you don't do?

Fear takes as many forms as there are human situations and, as I have already said, it often disguises itself, like in that Alsatian dog, as as aggression.

Well, let’s look at the Gospel.

At first sight you would think the townspeople in the gospel had taken leave of their senses. They recognise the wisdom of Jesus' words, they admit to the miraculous nature of his deeds, and then, strangely, they reject him. How very contradictory?

They have the evidence of greatness before them but they cannot bring themselves to accept it. What is the explanation for this startling state of affairs?

Listen again to the townspeople’s complaint: This is the carpenter, surely, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joset and Jude and Simon? His sisters, too, are they not here with us?' And they would not accept him.

Do you see how they are arguing for the familiar, the known, the comfortable. They are rehearsing to themselves what they know, or think they know, about Jesus, what they are comfortable with.

This very night a visiting priest told me about how his decision to become a priest was very disturbing to some of the members of his family. To use his own words: it changed the deckchairs of the status quo, and they didn't altogether appreciate it.

Other vocations to the priesthood or to the religious life have caused similar major disruptions in families, particularly non-believing, or non-Catholic families. Imagine a Mormon family suddenly having Catholic priest in its midst; it changes everything for everyone, and not everyone appreciates being 'redefined' without their permission, so to speak.

Returning to our German Shepherd for a moment I think she too, like most territorial dogs, resented the intrusion of an unkown person into the status quo of her family circle; it spelled danger.

For the townspeople of Jesus hometown to accept his wisdom and his miraculous gifts would mean having to accept a number of other things as well, not the least of which is a new 'pecking order' in the social arrangements. They would have had to accept that they had somehow been blind to the prophet in their midst and to admit this to one another. I think they were afraid of doing that. The very way they seem to insist on what they know about Jesus shows their discomfort, and I believe it was discomfort to the point of fear; fear of the unknown.

There are many things we do, and refuse to do, out of fear. Beginning a real prayer life is perhaps one of the most common. To become a person of real prayer is to bring about a radical definition of one's life and values.

Giving up smoking or alcohol does the same thing. When I gave up smoking at age thirty I remember thinking I would never be happy again. With alcohol it's even worse, apparently. Many alcoholics report that they don't give up because they don't know how they would deal with all those hours in a day if they were sober; it would require becoming an entirely new person, and for many that is just too frightening to contemplate.

All this leaves us with the question: What am I afraid of beginning or of leaving behind in order to become the kind of person I know I am really called to be?

Recently the Gospel has spoken of the demons who went into the pigs and caused them to die. The townspeople were so frightened by this they asked Jesus to leave the district! Can you imagine! They asked the one person who could bring them salvation - to leave! We do like our status quo, don't we?

“Do not be afraid!” says God’s word all throughout human history. “Do not be afraid!” Fear lowers our horizons and keeps us trapped in the familiar and safe, as we see in the people of Jesus' hometown. He could work no miracles there. Faith and love cast out fear.