Palm Sunday - Year B

Isaiah 50:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Mark 14:1-15:47

The litany is terrible: trickery, betrayal, arrest, humiliation, rejection, desertion, denial, misunderstanding, false judgment, torture, taunting, mockery, crucifixion and death.

To make it infinitely worse he was entirely innocent.

We have this quick succession of human atrocities, one after the other – but we also have a context which is supernatural.

Not only are these events set against the religious backdrop of the time, they are divinised by the personal prayer of Jesus who prayed his way from one act of cruelty to the next.

Despite the horrendous pain and his agonised suffering Jesus never lost touch with his Father.

Indeed, every step he took was a step towards his Father and in accordance with the will of his Father.

What a lesson for us, who are not innocent!

Jesus prayed his way through his Passion and transformed all its horrors into a prayer offered to his Father on our behalf.

And because he did this we can do the same with the difficulties of our life suffered in union with him. Do you understand this? Can you grasp this? If not, you must meditate on it; spend time.

'Take it; this is my body', Jesus had said at the Last Supper a few hours earlier -and we did.

May we learn to imitate him.

5th Sunday of Lent - Year B

Ezekiel 37:12-14; Romans 8:8-11; John 11:1-45

Have you ever spent time just kneeling, or maybe just sitting, in front of a crucifix? It’s a bit like sitting in front of a muddy pool; you just have stay there and wait patiently for the water to clear. Only then do you begin to see.

The crucifix can tell us an awful lot about ourselves. As we gaze at the lifeless corpse nailed to the wood it begins to speak to our hearts and minds; it has a lot to say to those who generous with their time.

What does it tell us?

Firstly we see a man nailed through his hands and feet. We see a man bruised and pierced and humiliated with a crown of thorns – and we ask ‘Who did this?’ We know the man is Jesus and therefore that he is innocent and we again ask ‘How did Jesus, the Son of God get here? Who did this to him?’

Of course, the answer is ‘Those Roman soldiers standing over there: they did this.’

But we begin to sense there is more. We begin to sense that the evil, the jealousy, the hatred, the fear which put Jesus on the Cross is greater than the evil of a few Roman soldiers.

Gradually we come to recognise that it is the evil of all humanity which put him there – our evil – yours and mine. We, as well as those soldiers, are the crucifiers.

This is a terrible realisation for us; you and I are crucifiers of the innocent one.

Do you resist that idea? I used to resist – I used to say ‘I would not have crucified Jesus!’

But now I see that it’s true. It was the evil in me, it is the evil in me, and in you, that crucifies Jesus. I am responsible. I share the blame. I am a crucifier.

I see too that I, we are ruthless crucifiers. Just look at him hanging there – the nails, the bruises, the crown pressed into his scalp, the spittle. Look at what we have done. We have left no stone unturned, no evil undone. We have given full reign to our wickedness, to our ruthlessness.

We are the crucifiers of Jesus and therefore the crucifiers of innocence - people’s good names and their dignity, unborn babies, the truth, and the grace of God.

Why do we crucify?

Anger? Hatred? Revenge? Envy? Or do we sometimes think we are doing a just and noble thing?

The reasons may be complex and yet, in many cases, surprisingly simple – as simple as, for example ‘jealousy': …Pilate knew it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over (Mtt 27:18). Or as simple as greed: You want something and you haven't got it; so you are prepared to kill (Jms 4:2).

It may seem at first a little far-fetched but I think a lot of crucifying happens through unacknowledged fear. When people invite us or challenge us to step beyond one of our more deeply rooted fears we can often turn on those people rather than face the reality of the fear within us. It seems to me that we all have within us a line we fear to cross, something we fear to become.

The innocent, and yet crucified, Jesus can be for us an image of one of our most persistent fears – the fear of a personhood, a fullness of being, a fullness we feel ourselves called to but which of which we fear to take possession – like a house we own but haven’t yet moved into; it beckons us.

Sebastian Moore in his book ‘The Crucified is no Stranger’ (from whom many of these thoughts are taken), calls it a fear of coming to a ‘meeting place’.

If I were to point to a spot just here in front of the altar and invite a particular one of you to come and stand here facing the congregation and sing a song or do a little dance I am guessing most of us would be reluctant and would prefer to ‘stay in our seat’. Some of you would be quite prepared to accept my invitation but I know very well that somewhere in their life these people, too, to have a ‘spot’ they dare not stand in.

At its worst this fear of becoming can manifest itself as a desire ‘not to be’. Sebastian Moore calls this fear a death wish, like when people say ‘I wished the ground would have opened up and swallowed me’.

This fear is not just a weakness in us; it is a powerful, brutal force which hastens to sweep away anything in the environment which would remind it of what it is called to be. Jesus is, naturally enough, a prime target of this fear.

’Get rid of that man; he is constantly inviting me to become more than I want to be. Away with him! Crucify him!'

Why does secular society want to eliminate the Church?

Why do students in a school humiliate children who serve on the altar?

They want to destroy all reminders of what they themselves could be; indeed, are called to be.

Why are we so uncomfortable and intolerant when someone beside us in Church begins to clap hands with the music or raise their arms in prayer? It is because we experience their freedom as a silent invitation to be the same. They represent a freedom we haven’t got and we don’t like images which remind us about our own fear of becoming free.

So why do we crucify Jesus?

Because he is a clear image of everything we are called to be …

4th Sunday of Lent - Year B

2 Chronicles 36:14-16.19-23; Ephesians 2:4-10; John 3:14-21

The Son of Man must be lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert…

The scriptures always take me by surprise as, even with the first few words, a mysterious current begins to flow, spiritual amps, a subtle vibrancy or radiance unlike anything the world can offer; a being, a peace, a joy, a meaning, a hope, a presence the world cannot give.

I open the cover of my Bible as I open the door of the tabernacle and he is there - and he gives himself to me – and I give myself to him - holy communion.

I love the scriptures and I know that a great many of you share that love, and that you know what I’m talking about. I know that for you the scriptures are like a sudden beam of light falling into a darkened room; like the first rays of the warming sun on a winter morning, or that first breath of the eucalypt forest on an afternoon drive. The word of God awakens us, brings us to life, opens our eyes and ears to the beauty around us and the hope within us.

The scriptures are my, and your, experience of God put into God’s own inspired words; and in this way God shows us to ourselves and we come, bit by bit, to ‘understand’. He calls us gently out of our hiding places and bids us walk with him; to make ourselves ‘locals’ in the scriptural landscape which is his home.

The Son of Man must be lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert…

Ah, yes, the desert – I know it well. I was there with Moses and the people. [Have you ever been there? (Nm 21:4-9)] We wandered the desert for forty years, and then a bit more, because we just couldn’t bring ourselves to trust in the word of God. What a stubborn people we were!

We had lost patience with the difficulties of the journey and we: spoke against God and against Moses, 'Why did you bring us out of Egypt to die in this wilderness? For there is neither bread nor water here; we are sick of this unsatisfying food.'

At this God sent fiery serpents among the people; their bite brought death to many in Israel. The people came and said to Moses, 'We have sinned by speaking against God and against you. Intercede for us with God to save us from these serpents.' Moses interceded for the people, and God answered him, 'Make a fiery serpent and put it on a standard. If anyone is bitten and looks at it, he shall live.' So Moses fashioned a bronze serpent which he put on a standard, and if anyone was bitten by a serpent, he looked at the bronze serpent and lived.

When God sent those fiery serpents I remember thinking ‘How appropriate! How spot on! Complaints are just like that – fiery little serpents – making everyone’s life miserable; taking away everybody’s peace.’

I’m sure you will agree that in a community there’s no one more annoying than a whinger. Well, we were faced in the desert with a whole community of whingers. It was awful, unbearable, like having a whole lot of little fiery serpents slithering in and out among us, biting us, killing us. And each time someone complained another serpent was born.

God commanded Moses to hang a bronze serpent in a tree. We were all totally puzzled. And yet: if anyone was bitten by a serpent, he looked at the bronze serpent and lived.

The secret, of course, was not the serpent but the faith required to believe that by looking at the bronze serpent we would be cured. God was ready to reward such faith. It was like Naaman the leper who was told to bath in the Jordan. It was not the water that cured him, it was the faith it took to believe God’s word and obey.

Standing among the people before that tree and looking up at the bronze serpent, I became aware of a deep, overpowering longing for a stream to bathe in, or a serpent to look at, which would heal me, liberate me, redeem me, once and for all, forever from all the weakness and darkness I experience within. Would that not be truly wonderful? An act of faith which could bring eternal life. But where to find such a serpent?

The Son of Man must be lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.

3rd Sunday of Lent - Year B

Exodus 20:1-17; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; Mark 2:13-25

Here is a question for you: What, in your opinion, is the biggest enemy of a truly spiritual life?

If you said pride you would be right, because pride is the source of all our other spiritual woes. But then what would your second answer be? I am inviting you to think about this in terms of your opinion, which, naturally enough, will vary from person to person.

Lent is a good time for this kind of examination because it calls on us to examine ourselves; our own spiritual lives, our own relationship with the Lord.

Most likely your answer will involve one or other of the seven capital sins apart from pride: avarice, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth but I’m thinking of a common human attribute, not in itself a sin, which can prevent a spiritual life from truly flourishing with devastating effectiveness and that is – a bad memory!

We forget our morning and evening prayers. We forget holy days of obligation. We forget not to eat meat on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. We forget the sins we need to confess. We forget how many beers we’ve had. And we forget who we are and who is watching us every minute of the day.

Why do you think so many people don’t keep their Lenten resolutions? Do they decide one day that they no longer want to be good? Do they say: ‘I’m sick of trying to be good; I think from now on I will just be bad.’ Not at all!

We are like the chief cup bearer whom Joseph helped and then asked him for a favour in return (Gn 40:23): But the chief cup-bearer did not remember Joseph: he forgot him.

God, however, never forgets his people: I have heard the groaning of the sons of Israel, enslaved by the Egyptians and have remembered my covenant (Ex 6:5).

With ten great miracles the Jews were set free from slavery in Egypt. With an even greater miracle they crossed the Red Sea. The Lord fed them with bread from heaven and water from the rock and sent quails so that they might have meat. But when Moses went up the mount to receive the ten commandments, and then took his time coming back, the People forgot their God and worshipped a calf of gold.

It was always Moses’ big fear that the people would simply ‘forget’ and he constantly exhorted them to remember:

• Remember how Yahweh your God dealt with Pharaoh and all Egypt (Ex 7:18).
• Do not forget the things your eyes have seen, nor let them slip from your heart all the days of your life; rather, tell them to your children and to your children's children (Dt 4:9).
• Take care therefore not to forget the covenant which Yahweh your God has made with you... (Dt 4:23).
• Be sure that if you forget Yahweh your God, if you follow other gods, if you serve them and bow down before them - I warn you today - you will most certainly perish (Dt 8:19).
• Remember; never forget how you provoked Yahweh your God in the wilderness (Dt 9:7).

On and on Moses went, begging, warning, reminding his People; all to no avail.

• The Israelites no longer remembered Yahweh their God, who had rescued them from all the enemies round them (Jgs 8:34).

Do you believe the Pharisees maliciously decided to turn the temple court into a market place? No, they simply forget that it was part of the house of God.

There are three other things we forget and would do well to remember at this time of Lent:-

• our death, our judgment and our final destiny – heaven or hell.
• that suffering is part of our calling. It takes us by surprise and we blame God for it. It bowls us over and we forget the Crucified One, the innocent Christ.
• God has the power to save, to overcome, to recreate and place the victory in our hands.