The Nativity of St John the Baptist - Year B

Isaiah 49:1-6; Acts 13:22-26; Luke 1:57-66.80

The liturgy applies to John the Baptist the words God spoke to Jeremiah: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you: before you came to birth I consecrated you; I have appointed you as prophet to the nations (Vigil Mass).

These words, of course, apply to each one of us. God has known us, too, from the very beginning, indeed, from all eternity. But John is different in that he was called to a greatness and to an historical and spiritual significance to which most of us are not called: I tell you solemnly, of all the children born of women, a greater than John the Baptist has never been seen…(Mtt 11:11).

The gospel today is a completion of the gospel read at the vigil Mass for the Solemnity. In both we see God at work; hard at work. To the childless priest Zechariah God sends an angel to announce the birth of a son. I would hazard a guess that the angel’s name is Gabriel because the words of the message delivered to John are extraordinarily similar to that delivered to the Virgin Mary: Zechariah … do not be afraid … your wife Elizabeth is to bear you a son … you must name him John … many will rejoice … he will be great … he will be filled with the Holy Spirit …

John is the work of God, the masterpiece of God; he is the ultimate disciple of the Master, so much so that he was often mistaken for the Christ. Much of John’s life, like the childhood of Jesus, was lived in a mysterious silence known only to God.

As the ultimate disciple John was the ultimate witness, or if you prefer the language of today, the ultimate evangeliser. That’s what we should be – disciples and witnesses and evangelisers, but in order to make it clear exactly what that means God raised up John among the people as a towering example of radical discipleship.

The elements of this discipleship are clear and worth underlining.

Firstly we can appreciate John’s asceticism. John divested himself of every useless, empty thing life has to offer so as to clear the path between himself and God. From his diet to his clothing John demonstrated that he would take no comfort in anything the world had to offer. God was his goal and all his desire.

John’s longing for God was so insistent that he chose to surround himself with the silence in which God speaks. His life in the desert was one of unremitting silence – the language of God. John wanted to ‘learn’ God; he wanted to be like God.

John listened to God because he wanted to know his will and he wanted to know his will because he wanted to do his will. John wanted his every footstep to fall on the path of God’s will because he knew that a disciple who puts his own will before that of his master is no disciple at all and not worthy of the name.

John was a deeply humble man. Of Jesus he said (Jn 3:30): He must grow greater, I must grow smaller. What a stunning thing to say! How these words put to shame disciples who place themselves and their opinions, and their so-called ‘rights’, on an equal footing with the word of the Lord!

John was a man of outstanding courage. He spoke God’s truth to those who made it plain they didn’t want to hear that truth. They opposed him with threats but he continued to preach. Finally, because of Herodias, Herod’s brother Philip’s wife, John was arrested: For John had told him, 'It is against the Law for you to have her' (Mtt 14:3). What a man!

It’s a strange phenomenon this anger people feel, and show, when someone says something they don’t want to hear. This is precisely why God sends us prophets – to say the very thing, the exact thing, the one thing we most don’t want to hear. No wonder the prophets invariably got themselves in trouble!

As a priest I know exactly what those things are which make people most upset and angry; what it is that people most don’t want to hear from me. I could make a list of them but let me mention only one –  the mortal sin we commit if we deliberately fail in the obligation to attend Sunday Mass, as well as the further mortal sin we commit if we receive Holy Communion without first confessing our sin to the priest in Confession.

Two recent popes have pointed out that priests must make it their duty to point out this teaching, even at weddings and funerals and other large gatherings where there are likely to be people who don’t know this teaching.

After a recent funeral a parishioner reported to me about a lady who very angrily blurted out after a funeral I conducted, ‘That priest! That priest! He’s telling me that I’m not worthy to go to Communion just because I don’t go to church on Sundays.’

Well, at least she heard me right! That’s the teaching of the Church and that’s what I told the congregation before distributing communion. And what’s more, that’s what I’ll be continuing to tell the congregation at every funeral I conduct.

John the Baptist was a witness to Christ by the life he lived, by the words he said , and by the death he died. The word witness in Greek means martyr. John’s death was his final witness to his Master.

Jesus had foretold that what they did to him they would do to his followers and yet, strangely, this has not deterred people from becoming disciples. Let us too not be afraid. Let us speak the truths and teachings of the Church boldly – to our children, to those who ask, and to one another.

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Year B

Ezekiel 17:22-24; 2 Corinthians 5:6-10; Mark:26-34

In April I picked up an acorn from under a tree in Maffra and took it back to the presbytery. I put it in a glass of water and it sank to the bottom where it lay for twenty-four hours. Then our housekeeper retrieved a nice pot from somewhere and I planted the acorn; it’s now a tiny little four-leafed tree.

My brother-in-law has a huge livestock and grain property in New South Wales. Every year he does the same as I did with the acorn but he does it on a gigantic scale with wheat and barley and other crops. The harvest he produces is rather more impressive than my little oak tree but the dynamics are no different; a partnership with God.

Somewhere in my acorn, as in the grain he plants at cropping time, there is a principle of growth which he did not put there. He does not, he cannot grow his crops; they grow by themselves: Of its own accord the land produces first the shoot, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear.

But God, in his infinite kindness (and humility), offers us a share in producing the harvest. He lovingly invites us to responsibility for its successful production. This partnership offered by God is a great kindness, and a privilege not to be taken lightly. Man provides the labour: A man throws seed on the ground; and God provides the growth: Night and day … the seed is sprouting.

Like all good parables these words of Jesus reach much further than the dynamics of growth which provide a paddock of standing wheat or a sturdy oak tree. This parable tells us about every harvest, material and spiritual. God provides the principle of life for growth and we provide the labour.

Immediately one truth becomes obvious: The labour we provide is always at the service of the growth we are hoping for. My labour must be for what will bring proper growth to the acorn. [Note, by the way, that growth does not serve our labour.] Our labour is always at the service of the growth we are hoping for. This is true for a farmer labouring for a rich crop of wheat; a parent working for healthy growth for a child; a Christian labouring for growth in holiness; or the Catholic Church labouring for a rich harvest of souls, not to mention a harvest of vocations. The labour is always at the service of true growth.

Let me clarify this a little further. One of the amazing things about visiting my brother-in-law on his property is that you can always predict what he’ll be doing. Depending on the time of year he will be harvesting, or cropping, or crutching sheep, or shearing, or spraying weeds, or cutting hay, and so on. It’s a routine he never varies because he knows he is serving a truth, a dynamic of growth, which is greater than he is. He well understands that he 'does not know' how the seed grows but he does know that if he wants the best chance of growth for his harvest he must follow the immutable principles of good agriculture.

Can a parent hope for growth to maturity for a child if he does not discipline? Can a Christian grow in holiness if he doesn’t pray? Can we expect the spread of the Gospel if we don’t evangelise? The law of the harvest is true for all growing things: Our labour must always be at the service of growth.

And if we do what is required, and only what is required – things will grow while we ‘sleep’.

The temptations to change what cannot be changed and what therefore mustn’t be changed are ever present and easily given in to. However, this usually result in disaster.

The principles of good agriculture have their counterpart in most human activities, and especially in the spiritual life. All we have to do is what is required; to resist the temptation to disobediently ‘fiddle with things’. We humans, of course, creative little beings that we are, are ‘born fiddlers’. We seem to have this overwhelming need to express ‘ourselves’ in every process; to make everything ‘our achievement.’ Farmers know this can be a fatal madness. We Catholics are slowly beginning to realise the same thing.

It is when we ‘fiddle’ with the rules which govern growth that the harvest is poor; and when the harvest is poor, we should immediately ask, ‘Has someone been fiddling with the process?’

The gift of growth comes from God, not from us. Some find this an impossible truth to make their own. All around us we see the disastrous consequences of this failure to obey – in our marriages, in our children, in our moral standards, in our suicide numbers – and even in our priestly and religious vocations.

The answer? Follow the law of the harvest. Trust the gift and trust God’s timing. Serve growth and serve life. Learn to participate with God in the way he has laid out for us. Trust God’s power to see our growth through to the end and trust that if we do what his will shows us then the power of God will prevail.

Corpus Christi - Year B

Exodus 24:3-8; Hebrews 9:11-15; Mark 14:12-16.22-26

For many centuries historians, archaeologists, and romantic adventurers have been engaged in the search to find the chalice (or bowl) Jesus used at the Last Supper when he celebrated Mass for the first time. This sacred utensil is often called the Holy Grail.

Surprisingly, the official Church seems not to have shown much interest in the quest for the Holy Grail and I have a suspicion this is because the Church already knows where it is. What’s more, if you listen carefully to Eucharistic Prayer I today you will discover the secret of it's whereabouts buried in the words of consecration which, in a few moments, I will speak over the chalice:

In a similar way, when supper was ended, he took this precious chalice in his holy and venerable hands, and once more giving you thanks, he said the blessing and gave the chalice to his disciples, saying:

TAKE THIS, ALL OF YOU, AND DRINK FROM IT...

There you have it! When supper was ended, he took this precious chalice in his holy and venerable hands. This chalice! The one on the altar; the one I will use today!

Not a chalice, or the chalice but this chalice. Not a chalice like this one but this one.

Now you are probably a bit stunned and confused by what I am telling you. Could this be a misprint? How could Jesus have used this chalice?

My brothers and sisters, we stand here before a wondrous mystery; a mystery better entered into in silent, humble reflection than by wordy, faltering explanation. Nevertheless, allow me to continue speaking for a few minutes so that your reflection might be a little more focussed.

Our starting point must be on the firm ground of a very familiar truth about which we can all agree because it is Church teaching, and that is – Jesus suffered, died and rose for us once and once only - there was only ever one sacrifice on the cross and one resurrection.

A second well-known truth is that on the night before he offered this sacrifice on the cross Jesus took his disciples to an upper room and celebrated with them a meal which seems in many respects to be like a Passover Meal. During this meal he took bread and over it said the words: This is my body which will be given up for you. Then over the cup he said: This is my blood which will be poured out for you.

By separating his body and blood, and by offering it in atonement for sins, not to mention his requirement that the offering be consumed (just like the Passover lamb), Jesus was clearly indicating to us that that the sacrificial offering he was making ‘on the table’ was the same sacrificial offering he would be making the next day ‘on the cross’.

Yes, the Mass is the once-and-for-all sacrifice of the cross! This stupendous mystery can only be made sense of by faith; by our willingness to believe that the sacramental action in the upper room is the same action as that accomplished the next day on the cross in the terrible agony of the Lord’s Passion.

To really grasp this truth we need to imaginatively ‘do away with’ time; to ‘remove’ the hours which intervened between the Last Supper and the Crucifixion and to let the two actions come together in the one ‘eternal’ moment. When we do this we will discover that the two are really one and the same sacrifice. Not the same sacrifice repeated but the one sacrifice. In other words, the table is the cross.

Just as Jesus offered himself ‘in blood’ on the Cross, he offered himself ‘in sacrament’ at the Last Supper. On both occasions there was one priest offering the one sacrifice on the one altar.

If you are able to believe this then you may also have the grace to believe that this altar here, to my left, is the table of the Last Supper and the Cross of Calvary. If you have eyes of faith you will see, not the priest, but Jesus himself, standing at the one altar making the one offering to his Father of the one sacrifice of his precious body and blood.

My brothers and sisters, if you are fortunate enough to be drawn to meditate on all this you will come to recognise that there has only ever been one Mass. This is a profound truth. This is the heart of our faith.

One priest, one victim, one altar, one cup offered only once; an eternal offering, to the one Father of us all.