Merciful, Like the Father

Homily at St Philip Evans for the Feast of the Holy Family, Year C.

Is your family a holy family?

Don’t be fooled by the question. I could have asked a different question – is your family a pious family? We’ve just heard the story of two pious families in the Bible. First Hannah and Elkanah with the boy Samuel, then Our Lady and St Joseph with the 12-year-old Jesus – both families do their religious duty and visit the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. There’s nothing wrong with piety, because the word means paying our respects to God. We’re all doing something pious by being here in church just a day or two after Christmas, and it’s good. God appreciates the sacrifice each one of us has made to be here right now.

But we’re not celebrating today the Feast of the Pious Family. Holiness is more than piety. Saying our prayers and going to church makes us pious, but it doesn’t automatically make us holy. A holy life is a life in balance. A holy family puts God first. A holy family puts each other’s needs next. But finding the right balance isn’t always easy. And above all, true holiness needs us to push aside our sense of what we think we deserve.

Consider this story: a big sister and her little brother were in the kitchen, arguing about a chocolate cake.

“We should cut it down the middle, 50:50”, said Little Brother. “Fair shares.”

“Oh no!” said Big Sister. “My tummy is twice the size of yours so I should have twice as much cake as you.”

But before either of them could wield the knife, Mum walked into the kitchen, packed the whole cake into a tin and said, “Sorry kids – this isn’t our cake, the man next door paid me to bake it for him.”

In my eight years as a priest, I have heard very many stories about family rows which have become lasting feuds. They almost always start in one of two ways – one family member says wounding words, or when a will is read, some of the relatives don’t get what they were hoping for.

It’s easy to become angry when other people don’t do what we hope they will. But do you always do what other people would like you to do? Even our Lord, aged 12, didn’t do what his parents were expecting. When they found him in the Temple, Our Lady said that she was most vexed, and took him home. Now, there was no sin here – only two very different sets of expectations. We may have high hopes for what other people will do. But unless they have promised to do it, our hopes may be dashed. Even when there is a promise in place, circumstances beyond their control might get in the way. I have learned, the hard way, that when I have been let down it is always more useful to ask “What stopped you?” rather than the more accusing question, “Why didn’t you?”

Often enough, people say to me “I can’t forgive so-and-so.” But I think what they mean is that they can’t feel warm towards the person who has hurt them. Forgiveness doesn’t require us to change our feelings – that’s not within our power. Forgiveness is a choice – a choice to act with kindness towards those who don’t deserve it. If someone has betrayed a secret, it is wise not to entrust them with another one until they’ve earned your trust back. If someone has spent your money irresponsibly, don’t be quick to entrust them with more funds. But forgiveness means that we don’t punish the other person by doing anything beyond taking sensible precautions.

If your family is a holy family, you will treat every inheritance as an undeserved gift. If you act as if you deserve nothing, then any free gift will be a bonus, and a reason to thank God. But if, like the children in my story, your heart desires the largest share which might reasonably be yours, you are setting yourself up for disappointment.

If your family is a holy family, when there is a major bust-up, you won’t be asking “”Who started it?” but rather “Who’s going to act first to stop it?” Perhaps in your family there is someone you haven’t spoken to for 20 years after a disagreement. Or perhaps you had words with someone around your table this year on Christmas Day. The Lord is inviting you to be a peacemaker!

To finish the story: When Mum got back from delivering their neighbour’s cake, she opened the oven and showed Little Brother and Big Sister that she wasn’t done with the baking. For each child, there was one of their favourite cakes, a carrot cake and a sponge, each just the right size for its intended recipient. Little Brother and Big Sister replied with one voice in the only thing you can possibly say in such circumstances: “Thanks, Mum!”

St John says that in the future, we shall be more like God. Let’s not wait until heaven! Whenever you forgive, you are doing something divine. So let’s, each one of us, choose to be holy within our family.

Holiness is loving those who have let you down.

Holiness is expecting nothing as a right, but rejoicing in everything received as a gift.

Holiness is forgiving not because the other person says sorry, but because forgiveness is our way of life.

We are in the Year of Mercy. Now is the perfect time to become, as the banner says, “Merciful Like The Father!”

A New Hope

Homily at St Philip Evans for Christmas Day 2015.

A long time ago, 
in a village far far away...

a child was born –  a child who was the subject of ancient prophecy. He was born at a time when a great Empire ruled over much of the known world. In a small province, one tribe resisted the imperial demands to worship their Emperor – the Jewish people. The Jewish child born at Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, would be the one, not to ‘bring balance to the Force’, but to deliver the ultimate triumph of light over darkness.

We remember certain films we’ve seen because they tell epic stories. The original Star Wars movie took a simple farm boy and showed how he succeeded in destroying a powerful enemy. In the sequels, Luke Skywalker set out to rescue his friends and even made a strong attempt to persuade his archenemy to abandon evil. As for a certain film released a week ago – no, no spoilers from me. But it’s no secret that the new film is called The Force Awakens.

We human beings tell three kinds of story to explain the way things are. Each story is an epic, but only one can be correct.

In the West, we’ve grown used to the epic story called Science. We study the world around us, and discover the rules by which it operates. Science is good, as far as it goes – I was a research scientist myself before I became a priest – but if science is all there is, this epic is a lonely story indeed. We humans are the only creatures on this planet – and perhaps the entire universe – capable of understanding and controlling the world around us. This story says: we’re on our own, we’re free to create our own moral values, and when our bodies turn to dust we live on only in the memories of our friends.

In the East, the great cultures of Asia have long told a different kind of story. Many believe there is a ‘force’, a ‘life-force’, known by many names – prana, ki, chi, bioenergy, a force which balances good and bad, light and dark, yin and yang. Healing practices such as Chinese medicine, reflexology, acupuncture and reiki all draw on these beliefs. No doubt George Lucas had some of these ideas in mind when he imagined ‘The Force’ in Star Wars.

Lucas’s Force can be used for good or for ill. What distinguishes the ‘Dark Side’ from the Jedi way? The evil Empire seeks to control its citizens, but those who walk in the light respect the freedom of others.

The third epic story is the one we celebrate tonight. It tells how the ultimate power in the Universe is not a Force but a person, the one we call God. Jews, Christians and Muslims all speak of a God who is Good, and though there are dark forces in God’s creation, they are not equal to God in power.

What we celebrate on this Christmas Night is the awakening of a person, a newborn child. The Bible calls him the “Word of God”. When God, the Father of Mercy, wanted to speak to us, his beloved people, he sent part of His own being among us. God knows that we understand the language of stories, so God became part of the Greatest Story Ever Told.

Our Christmas story is full of drama. Would the pregnant Virgin Mary be rejected by St Joseph? Would the wicked King Herod find and destroy the new-born child? At every stage, God-made-flesh is in mortal danger. A chorus of angels fills the sky, but then a small family sets out on a lonely journey to become refugees in Egypt. And what we celebrate at Christmas is only the first reel. In a few months we’ll be invited to two sequels – on Good Friday, The Devil Strikes Back, followed on Easter Sunday by The Return of Jesus.

Our Christian story is indeed epic – but what’s the moral of the tale? To help us grasp the message, Pope Francis has declared the year now beginning a Year of Mercy. Outside every Catholic Church in Cardiff you will see a banner, ‘No-one is excluded from God’s mercy’. Because God’s light comes into the world, says the prophet Isaiah, our boodstained battlegear will be burned. When the light of Christ shines in our human hearts, we let go of old resentments and become ready to make peace. We open the door so that others can find mercy.

Some of us here tonight will feel that we are not worthy of God’s love because who we are, or something we’ve done in our life, doesn’t deserve it. Foolish we are, if that we believe! Rather, listen to these words from the Letter of St Paul to Titus:

When the kindness and love of God our Saviour for mankind were revealed, it was not because he was concerned with any righteous actions we might have done ourselves; it was for no reason except his own compassion that he saved us.

This is God’s gift to you this Christmas. Hear these words: You are loved.

God loved you so much that he sent part of his own being to walk among us, and to die an agonising death on a Cross of wood, to show what he was willing to endure for you.

Yet if the God of the Universe is all-powerful and all-good, why is there so much trouble in our world? We have already glimpsed the answer – if the hallmark of the Dark Side is that it seeks to control others, those who walk in the light must be free to choose for themselves – free to choose even to turn the darkness, or to turn away from it.

The God who respects our freedom asked the Virgin Mary if she would consent to bear His Son into our world. She said yes.

The God who respects our freedom allowed Jesus to choose whether to give his life for us. He sweated tears of blood in his agony at Gethsemane, but he said yes.

The God who respects our freedom sent out disciples into all the world, to tell the epic story of the Christ Child who came among us, to invite us not only to follow his teachings but to become members of God’s family through baptism and know God through prayer. Pope Francis continues this same work by inviting you to baptism, to confession, and to walk through a door which is open for you – and you will find these invitations on the card which you hold in your hands.

Tonight, then, decide which story you will believe. Is there nothing more than human ingenuity? Is there a Force we can use for dark or noble purposes? Or did a loving God who respects our freedom live among us as a new born baby?

In a galaxy far far away, the children of light wish each other well by crying, “The Force be with you!” But those who are wise to the message of the Star of Bethlehem will understand the deep meaning of an ancient Christian greeting: The Lord be with you!

(And with your spirit!)

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit! Amen.

 

Rejoice and Sing!

Homily at St Philip Evans for the 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year C.

Whenever I feel afraid
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect I’m afraid.

 

 Today, as we continue to build up our Christmas crib, we have some unusual objects to place in it: panpipes, a drum and a didgeridoo. Music is part of the story of the first Christmas: angels appeared in the heights, singing Glory to God in the highest! And although the Bible doesn’t say so, we can make a good guess that when shepherds were watching their flocks by night, they sang and played pipes to pass the time.

When we come together for Sunday Mass, we sing. But perhaps we don’t find that easy. Today I’d like to talk about three things that get in the way of singing, and how we can overcome them.

• It doesn’t seem right.

Is singing hymns at Mass a Catholic thing to do? It’s certainly a Jewish thing – we read in the Bible that Jesus and his disciples sang psalms at the Last Supper. There are plenty of songs in the New Testament too – most famously Our Lady’s Magnificat but also words in St Paul’s letters which the scholars think were hymns sung by the first Christians.

Things changed 500 years ago when the Protestant Reformers said that worship only made sense if the congregation could fully understand and join in with what was going on. Our Catholic leaders wanted to make a point of saying that even if the priest said prayers in Latin and the people didn’t join in, we were still doing “what Jesus asked us to do”. For the next five centuries, Catholic music at Mass was mostly Latin chants by skilled choirs – and in places like Britain and Ireland where Mass had to be celebrated in hiding, there was good reason not to sing at all. But under Blessed Paul VI, after the Second Vatican Council, we were once again asked to sing together at Mass.

• We don’t feel like singing.

To be sure, there are days when we don’t feel like rejoicing. The last few weeks have contained many moments of darkness. Terrorists violated Paris with gunfire. Here in Cardiff, Peter O’Brien was killed in an industrial explosion, and our SlimmingWorld organizer, Anna-Louise Bates, lost her husband and young son in a road accident. One of the stranded Filipino sailors whom we supported last summer sadly died on Friday after a long illness. Any loss of life is tragic, and such loss in the weeks before Christmas doubly so.

Now, with this sad news ringing in our ears, we gather to celebrate Eucharist. Every Sunday is meant to be a joyful celebration of Jesus defeating death. This Sunday in particular is called Gaudete Sunday – rejoicing Sunday. Our first reading began with a command: “Shout for joy, daughter of Sion. Rejoice, exult with all your heart!” And lest you be in any doubt, we are the daughter of Sion – members of the Church, the new Israel of God. Rejoicing, exulting, shouting aloud are not optional extras for us – they are divine commands!

There’s a prayer within Mass, where I say to God, as priest of this community, “Look not on our sins but on the faith of your church.” O God, don’t dwell on our failures, but on our trust in you. In the same way, I must say as priest to this community: “Let us not be downcast or dwell on our sorrows. When we gather for Mass, we’re here to celebrate life.” When our thoughts are racing with questions, saying “Why doesn’t God do something about these outrages?” it’s my job to remind us that God has done something about it. God so loved the world that he sent his only Son, that whosoever believes in him shall not perish, but shall have eternal life. As Zephaniah put it, “The Lord has repealed your sentence.” Jesus walked among us not to rule this earth with an iron rod, but to fling open the gates of heaven.

I started with a song from the musical, The King and I, where the English governess, Anna, is teaching one of her children to keep his spirits up. “If you feel afraid, whistle a happy tune.” But then she realises what effect the tune is having on herself:

The result of this deception
Is very strange to tell
For when I fool the people
I fear I fool myself as well.

Sometimes, we sing because we’re happy. Sometimes we sing – or whistle – or smile – because we want to make ourselves feel happy. And what’s true for earthly happiness is even more appropriate for divinely ordained rejoicing. We gather every Sunday to sing Alleluia, Holy Holy, Hosanna, because we know the message is true. Whether we come to worship in the best of moods or bearing the greatest of burdens, we are called to choose to rejoice. Singing for joy is always an appropriate response to God’s love for us, whatever is happening in the world around us.

• I don’t know the songs!

We have a very real and practical problem here. We come from many different countries and cultures, and for some of us, English isn’t our first language. Together with our parish music leaders, I am looking at different ways we can reflect the different traditions present in our community – that’s why we had some Malayalam songs in October. But even in today’s Mass, we’re trying a few things to make it as easy as possible.

We started Mass with The King of Glory. It’s short and energetic, meant to get us in the mood for rejoicing. It has a simple tune, which repeats five times. If you didn’t know it when it began, you had a chance to listen once or twice, join in gently on the next verse and get the hang of it by verse 5. I’d like to encourage you, do try to join in even if it’s unfamiliar – if you don’t try, you’ll never get comfortable with it. We’re going to finish Mass with another energetic hymn, Long Ago, Prophets Knew – but we’re only singing three verses so we don’t get to Bethlehem before Christmas. Just listen to the first verse if you need to, but please join in as strongly as possible for verse 2.

After communion, we’re going to sing number 90, When the King Shall Come Again. Now that’s a song we might only sing once a year, and the given tune might not be familiar. I’ve asked our musicians to use the tune of Good King Wenceslaus – that’s an old trick called one song to the tune of another. So when you open the hymnbook, there’s no need to think “Oh no, I don’t know that one!” – just say to yourself, “This is easy, I know the tune already!”

Our next hymn, 82, is Come Lord, to a world of longing. This is a newer song, and not so familiar to us, but we sang it last week and we are doing again to let it bed in. The music notes are printed in the book, and even if you can’t sight-read, they will give you a sense of when the music goes up or down. The best way to learn is by repetition, so when we come to the end of the song we’re going to start at the beginning again, and keep going until I have incensed the altar.

A final request – if there is just one thing we could do to make it easier to join in with the singing, please tell me or one of our musicians what that one thing would be for you. We all share the responsibility of making this gathering for Mass the most joyful occasion possible. And even in these dark days, let’s choose to worship with all our hearts. If we can choose to sing when we’re sad, lonely or afraid, if we can whistle “Don’t worry – be happy”, if we can even play an uplifting song in the car to lift our spirits, then we can certainly choose to pour out our hearts in song when we gather each Sunday at the Lord’s table. And get this – Zephaniah tells us that God is dancing right now because we’re here to worship Him. The King and I is a musical about an English governess and the King of Siam. Our Catholic Mass is an epic production about an ordinary soul and the Lord of the Universe. But in our case it’s the Lord who leads with a question: Shall we dance?

For further reflection, check out these words of St Augustine!

 

The King and I

Homily at St Paul’s for the 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year C.

Whenever I feel afraid
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect I’m afraid.

In the musical, The King and I, the English governess, Anna, is teaching one of her children to keep his spirits up. “If you feel afraid, whistle a happy tune.” But then she realises what effect the tune is having on herself:

The result of this deception
Is very strange to tell
For when I fool the people
I fear I fool myself as well.

Sometimes, we sing because we’re happy. Sometimes we sing – or whistle – or smile – because we want to make ourselves feel happy. And it works!

This Sunday in the church’s calendar is called Gaudete Sunday – rejoicing Sunday. Our first reading began with a command: “Shout for joy, daughter of Sion. Rejoice, exult with all your heart!” And lest you be in any doubt, we are the daughter of Sion – the members of the Church, the new Israel of God. Rejoicing, exulting, shouting aloud are not optional extras for us – they are divine commands!

To be sure, there are days when we don’t feel like rejoicing. The last few weeks have contained many moments of darkness. Terrorists violated Paris with gunfire. Here in Cardiff, a well-known Catholic father was killed in an industrial explosion, and a prominent Anglican lady lost her husband and young son in a road accident. Any loss of life is tragic, and such loss in the weeks before Christmas doubly so. Now, with this sad news ringing in our ears, we gather to celebrate Eucharist and we hear God’s Word commanding us to rejoice. How dare God do that? Why doesn’t God do something about these outrages?

And yet… this is what we are here to celebrate, on the opening Sunday of the Year of Mercy. God has done something about it. God so loved the world that he sent his only Son, that whosoever believes in him shall not perish, but shall have eternal life. As Zephaniah puts it, “The Lord has repealed your sentence.” Jesus walked among us not to rule this earth with an iron rod, but to fling open the gates of heaven.

Some of us, with longer memories, might worry about whether singing hymns at Mass is really a Catholic thing to do? Or is it one of those “innovations” which snuck in after the Second Vatican Council?

Singing when we worship is certainly a Jewish thing – we read in the Bible’s accounts of the Last Supper that Jesus and his disciples sang psalms that night. We find plenty of songs in the New Testament too – most famously Our Lady’s Magnificat but also several texts in St Paul’s letters which the scholars think were hymns sung by the first Christians.

Things changed 500 years ago when the printing press had been invented and Pope St Pius V issued a standard text for the “Tridentine” Mass for use throughout the Catholic world. The Protestant Reformers at that time said that worship only made sense if the congregation could fully understand and join in with what was going on. Our Catholic leaders wanted to make a point of saying that even if the priest said prayers in Latin and the people didn’t join in, the priest was still doing “what Jesus asked us to do”. For the next five centuries, Catholic music at Mass was mostly Latin chants by skilled choirs – and in places like Britain and Ireland where Mass had to be celebrated in hiding, there was good reason not to sing at all. But under Blessed Paul VI, after the Second Vatican Council, we were once again asked to sing together at Mass, restoring an ancient practice.

We gather every Sunday to sing Alleluia, Holy Holy, Hosanna, because we know the message is true. Whether we come to worship in the best of moods or bearing the greatest of burdens, we are called to look not on our sins but on the faith of the Church. Just as Anna chose to sing herself happy rather than give in to fear, so we are called to choose to rejoice. Singing for joy is an appropriate response to God’s love for us, whatever is happening in the world around us.

Matt Redman, a contemporary Christian songwriter, dared to pen these words:

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there’s pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name.

So even in these dark days, let’s choose to worship with all our hearts. If we can choose to sing when we’re sad, lonely or afraid, if we can whistle “Don’t worry – be happy”, if we can even play an uplifting song in the car to lift our spirits, then we can certainly choose to pour out in hearts in song when we gather each Sunday at the Lord’s table. And get this – Zephaniah tells us that God is dancing right now because we are here to worship Him.

The King and I is a musical about an English governess and the King of Siam. Our Catholic Mass is an epic production about an ordinary soul and the Lord of the Universe. But in our case it’s the Lord who leads with a question: Shall we dance?

For further reflection, check out these words of St Augustine!