Maundy Thursday 2013

Maundy Thursday

In Jewish circles this is a most holy and a most joyful night: it is a night of family feasting in grateful remembrance of God’s wondrous blessings.  It is a family night because the Passover feast was, from the times of Moses, not a Temple feast celebrated according to minute details of public ritual, but a family gathering in the privacy of the home, a celebration with family and friends.

On returning home for this celebration, and after prayer, the head of the family-gathering had to consider himself a prince: decorating his table with the best food and the most acceptable wines: it was his duty to prepare sumptuously according to the measure of his possibilities.   We are told in the Gospels that Jesus reclined at table with His disciples for what we call the Last Supper.  This was prescribed for faithful Jews; they would have been seated for an ordinary meal, but for this special Passover meal they had to eat reclining, stretched out on their left side with head towards the food; it was a symbol of the liberty they were enjoying and celebrating, the liberty God had won for His Chosen People by the wonders He had worked in Egypt and throughout their desert wanderings, whereby He had delivered them from slavery and brought them to freedom in their own land.  They had, indeed, much to be grateful for, and this was the night on which they gave whole-hearted expression to that gratitude in accordance with the Lord’s command.  Each successive generation of faithful Israelites was taught to consider that they themselves had been brought out of Egypt and saved from slavery by the Lord their God; they were not celebrating something that happened in the past to their fathers only; no, they had to realize that they themselves were among those that had been saved.  The sages, the wise men, of Israel, when speaking of this night’s celebration, tell us that when it is celebrated with such dispositions, the God of Israel, the Holy One Himself, leaves His normal, familiar, entourage of angels and of the righteous in the Garden of Eden, and comes this night, to watch with delight the children of Israel here on earth rejoicing in the deliverance He won for them, gratefully singing His praises and loyally observing His commandments.

This was an occasion to which Jesus had really been looking forward, for it would serve as a launching-pad -- so to speak -- for the ultimate deliverance and freedom of God’s People that Jesus was about to win and hand over to His Apostles’ care:

And he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. (Luke 22:15)

Thus the Last Supper was no sad occasion for saying “Good-by”, nor should our memorial of it be overshadowed by impending loss and grief.  How on earth could Our Lord have eagerly desired to eat such a sorrowful leave-taking meal with His disciples?  This was, on the contrary, something to be eagerly desired, something towards which His whole life’s work had been leading, something that would express the fulfilment of all His previous efforts and presently-consuming desires for His Father, His disciples, and for us.  This was to be a celebration based on the grateful remembrance of God’s historic goodness indeed, but much more, one looking forward to something memorable beyond measure, for they were now prefiguring and indeed actually setting in motion the ultimate fulfilment of the mission Jesus had been given by His Father, for which Israel had been prepared over many centuries, and for which the nations had been waiting ages long; a fulfilment the disciples had been chosen to serve with their lives, and one that would – drawing them through Calvary to the Resurrection and Gift of the Holy Spirit -- totally transform them into most loving and devoted Apostles of the Risen Lord and  selfless servants of His Church on earth:

I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.

This meal was both the symbol of, and the ultimate preparation for, that heavenly banquet that will celebrate by consummating the salvation brought by Jesus: freedom from sin, and membership -- as adopted children and members of Christ -- in the family of God, where all call Him “Father” and share in His eternal blessedness, according to the words:

          Happy are those who are called to His Supper.

That was the blessing the Son had come to bring to a humanity which had long been in darkness, alienated from true happiness and life: a humanity created by God and for God, but deceived by Satan and enchained by sin; a humanity which stirred such compassion in the Father that He sent His only Son to share in and to save the weakness of human flesh by dying sinless and rising again; and in the power of His Resurrection pouring out His Holy Spirit upon those who would believe in His name, the Spirit who would form those disciples in the likeness of their Lord for the glory of the Father.

It was now so near to fulfilment; this was, therefore, no time for sad reminiscences of the past but for ardent aspirations to what was to come: Jesus was indeed to suffer and to die but that was for a divine purpose which would be surely achieved through His human suffering and death and subsequent glorious Resurrection on the third day.

Let us now just look at that suffering and death, which was so close at hand but which, Jesus refused to allow to deter Him:

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:2)

It might have seemed that Jesus’ life was to be taken from Him by the superior power of death after having been betrayed by human treachery and condemned by human hatred.  Had that been the case, then indeed, Jesus’ death would have been the supreme tragedy and the Last Supper an occasion for agonizing farewells and deep-felt loss.  That was not what Jesus wanted and was not what Jesus was going to allow, because at this Supper He most deliberately offered His coming crucifixion and death to His Father, resolving to accept it and embrace it out of obedient love and in total commitment.  Neither would His suffering and death be a result of the tragic betrayal that Judas’ action would seem to signify; because that Passion and Death was being dedicated and offered by Jesus now to wipe away the sins and betrayals of men and women of all times.  The whole tenor of tomorrow’s crucifixion was being pre-determined now, at this very meal, by Jesus.  He would die out of obedient and loving zeal for His Father, out of redeeming love for the whole human race, and in accordance with and fulfilment of the wisdom, the beauty, the goodness of divine Providence

At the Passover Meal the Jews celebrated God’s wonders which saved the nation from physical slavery in Egypt; how much more should we, the new People of God, celebrate the wonder of God’s love for us manifested in the gift of His Son to us and for us?  How  much more should we rejoice in the love which Jesus had and has for us; that love which led Him to endure the Cross and to scorn its shame so that He might enable us to have access and attain, in Him, to our heavenly home:

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Tonight Jesus rejoices that by dying He is going to destroy death and turn betrayal into faithful love; He rejoices that soon He will meet up, once again, with His disciples in the great joy of a heavenly banquet shared among friends; friends to whom, in the meantime, He is about to bequeath this final liturgy of love with its divine Food along with His confident and consoling request:

Do this in memory of Me.

Palm Sunday (Year C) 2013

 Palm Sunday (C)      

   

 (Isaiah 50:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Luke 22:14 – 23:56)

We are gathered together here in solemn preparation for the Easter Passover of Our Lord Jesus Christ and, having heard St. Luke’s account of our Lord’s Passion and Death, we have been struck by the horror of His most bitter sufferings and by wonderment at His patient endurance: embracing the Cross on the left hand by His steadfast, all-enduring, love for us, and, on the right hand, by His absolute trust in, and total commitment to, the Father Who had sent Him; before He ultimately found Himself -- Suffering Servant and most beloved Son -- at rest in the peace and power of His Personal fulfilment: 

            Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

The Gospel is a light of revelation for us: revealing the transcendent beauty and goodness, majesty and power of God, in Himself and in His relations with us; and  also the truth about ourselves in our present state before God and in our future prospects with Him. Having just greatly admired Jesus’ revelation of God in His Passion and death, let us now -- as His aspiring disciples -- search for truth about ourselves, by confronting our Christian self-awareness and personal conscience as honestly and dispassionately as we can.

Did we, perhaps, find that Gospel reading rather long and -- at times -- a little  wearisome?   If so, that can be a humbling and somewhat depressing acknowledgement, in so far as we tend to think that if we were proper Catholics, true disciples, we would not just hear of His holy Passion and Death, but would experience, go through, it with hearts filled with deep sorrow and ardent longing; and we vaguely suspect and fear that such lack of emotional involvement might betray some hidden fault or serious failing in us.

Let us, therefore, take a closer look at that unwanted weariness which can obtrude itself upon us at times when we would much prefer to experience fervent devotion.

First of all, we should be clear in our minds that we are here at Mass, above all, not to get emotions for ourselves but to give ourselves, through devotion, to God.  Those words, ‘I don't seem to be getting anything out of it’ should never be part our thinking.  We also need to be clear in our minds about the difference between emotions and devotion; for they are not the same, nor are they necessarily found together.  Emotions express and affect our natural feelings, whereas devotion is the sign and measure of our supernatural commitment; moreover, our emotions are largely instinctive and self-centred whereas devotion is subject to our will and centred on God.  Devotion benefits greatly when it is backed-up by the power of appropriate emotions; however, devotion is not necessarily diminished by the absence of such emotions; indeed devotion can be at its greatest when deprived of them.  Emotion, alone, is of no worth, its function is to assist what is more worthy than itself, whereas devotion is, in itself, always supremely commendable before God.

Dear People of God, it is essential for us to recognize that we are sinners and that God alone is good; and, because He is so sublimely good we also call Him the all-holy One.  All the blessings we have received in our life, all the ‘goods’ that we have or can have, are His gifts to us: ‘goods’ created for us, befitting and adorning us.  Likewise, all the Christian holiness we might admire, that we might aspire to or long for, is again His gift; but far, far more, it is a gift of Himself, a share in His very own, unique, holiness; it never is, nor ever can be, our own holiness: something we can put on, something owing to us, or something that we can get for ourselves, achieve by ourselves, design for ourselves.  Therefore, we must never be surprised at our own weariness, dryness, or lack of emotional feelings on occasions like today, for that is a true, indeed it is the truest picture of us; for we are -- of ourselves -- naturally barren and fruitless as far as holiness is concerned. 

As Christians, however, our attention and expectation is centred on God, and He is good, so good indeed that He has given His own Son to save us from our sinfulness.  What we have to try to do is what the Suffering Servant, in the first reading, showed us, for:

Morning by morning He wakens my ear to hear as those who are taught.  The Lord God has opened my ear and I was not rebellious, I turned not backward.

Jesus was always lovingly in His Father’s presence, attentively watching for, listening to, and ever ready to do, His will; and we can best imitate that by repeatedly putting ourselves in the presence of God, putting ourselves in the way -- so to speak -- of Jesus.  And that, indeed, is what we are doing here, today: we have learned where Jesus is to be found and have come to put ourselves in His way, waiting and listening in case He should turn His gaze, see us, and choose to speak to us as He did to blind Bartimaeus.  If He does not, we should have no complaint, it is His will and we have no claims on Him: whatever He does, we know that He does it for our good and that He is right.  If, on the other hand, He does turn His attention our way, then we should gratefully accept the ardent emotions His glance stirs within us and use them as a spur to our devotion, endeavouring thereby to give ourselves back, in the Spirit, to Jesus and to God our Father more completely and more wholeheartedly than ever before.  In that way, our emotions can, at times, renew our spirit and spur us on to greater devotion; for ultimately, it is only the enduring power and commitment of devotion that faithfully and perseveringly follows Jesus along His heavenward path. 

Our emotions can also be like flowers along the way that afford our spirit refreshment as we pass, gratefully, on.  At other times, however, and perhaps more frequently, emotions can disturb and hinder us like stones (little ‘upsetters’ or big ‘blockers’) that clutter our path; or, indeed, they can even -- and most deceitfully -- serve as honey-traps that would attach us to themselves and lead us to forget the way we have hitherto been pursuing and ignore the promise Jesus has made to us and the place He has been preparing for us in the home to which the Father calls us.

                                                                    

5th Sunday of Lent (Year C) 2013

5^th. Sunday of Lent (C)

(Isaiah. 43:16-21; Phil. 3:8-14; John 8:1-11)

Today’s gospel passage is famous, exemplifying, as it does, what is perhaps the best-loved aspect of Jesus: His compassionate understanding of our human weakness.   Let us therefore take a closer look at it.

First of all notice that the scribes and Pharisees brought the woman -- quite possibly surreptitiously trapped in the act of adultery – to Jesus and set her standing in full view of the assembled crowd; they wanted everyone to be able to see her clearly, and knowing the serious and emotive charge against her, have their attention fixed on Jesus whom they confidently hoped to trap in His words.  However, it would seem that, in their eagerness to entrap and condemn, they had not averted to the full significance of their actions; for, in the book of Numbers (5:15-16), the Law prescribes that, in the case of a woman guilty of adultery:

The man shall bring his (adulterous) wife to the priest, and the priest shall bring her near, and set her before the LORD.

The Scribes and Pharisees, having taken charge of the adulteress handed over to them, and completely absorbed in their planned ambush of Jesus, actually set her before Him, totally unaware of the significance of their action before the Law.  After having ostentatiously proclaimed the charge against her, they then asked Jesus to tell them the best way of dealing with her.  In response, Jesus, we are told, 

bent down and began to write on the ground with His finger.

Notice that in His compassion He did not look the woman straight in the eye; He was not seeking to give her further, gratuitous, embarrassment; He would look her in the eye later when giving her His saving grace and final warning

At this moment, however, the scribes and Pharisees -- seeking to publicise the fact of this woman’s adultery -- call for Jesus’ opinion on the proper procedure they should follow in the matter, so that they might, hopefully, ensnare Him in legal technicalities.   Jesus, in other words, was their principal target, and that is why:

            When they continued asking Him, (Jesus) raised Himself up.

Yes, when they persisted in questioning Him, Jesus straightened up to face them directly.  The woman was publicly humiliated and contrite enough already, the Scribes and Pharisees, on the other hand, were proud and malicious: Jesus most certainly did want to face up to them, He wanted to both knock down their pride and thwart their malice; and so, standing up and facing them, He said:

            He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first.

Those baying and eager accusers melted quietly away one by one until Jesus was finally left alone with the still-standing woman, to whom He said:

            Neither do I condemn you.  Go, and from now on do not sin any more.

Many sinners remember that famous ending to the story and both misunderstand and abuse it.  What so easily and so forcefully strikes their imagination is the vague, general, impression of Jesus rescuing an adulteress from the self-righteous Scribes and Pharisees.  They rightly consider that it shows how Jesus, knowing our sinfulness and compassionating our weakness, is always prepared to forgive rather than to punish.  However, they then show their perversity by imagining that the gravity of sin is thereby seen to be easily excused and their personal sinfulness, in some measure, condoned.  Of course, they cannot deny that Jesus said “sin no more”, but, for them, such words are what we might call ‘politically correct’: satisfying public proprieties but having no real significance or meaning.

Now, what, for us, is the real meaning and significance of Jesus’ actions here?  Recall what the prophet Isaiah said in our first reading:

See, I am doing something new! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? In the desert I make a way, in the wasteland, rivers.  Wild beasts honour me, jackals and ostriches; for I put water in the desert and rivers in the wasteland for my chosen people to drink, the people whom I formed for myself, that they might announce my praise. 

Water, then, as now, was precious in Israel: it meant life for a people who could see in the desert wastelands so close at hand the ever-present threat of death: for them, the greatest miracle imaginable was to make water flow in the desert and streams run in the wastelands.  Moreover, this new thing would lead even the wild animals to praise and honour God, before finally achieving its ultimate purpose of forming a new people to sing worthily the praises of their God:

This people I have formed for Myself that they might announce My praise. 

What would this new thing be?  How was God going to bring it about?

The Scribes and Pharisees had recognized aright that the woman taken in adultery was a sinner.  What they did not recognize, however, was that this woman’s bad living was a symptom of the whole world’s sinfulness, a sinfulness from which they themselves were not exempt, learned and devout though they were.  She and they, yes, and all mankind, were still slaves; not, indeed, to Egypt any longer, but still to sin.  The Scribes and Pharisees could not understand what the prophet Isaiah had foreseen: he had spoken of a new thing, a new act of God that would make all who heard of it forget even the miracle at the Red Sea, which the authorities in Israel revered as the supreme act of God that could only be repeated, never transcended.  God, they thought, could and would repeat what He had done at the Red Sea: as He had slaughtered the Egyptians there long ago, so the time would come when He would lead Israel to triumph over the Romans and all her worldly enemies, and then the prescriptions of the Law would be perfectly fulfilled and God would be King.  Isaiah, however, had spoken of a new act of God that would totally transcend the former physical deliverance, because this new act that He would perform through Jesus would save not simply Israel but also the whole of mankind from a captivity far worse than Israel’s former slavery in Egypt, that is, from the spiritual and potentially eternal thraldom to sin.  God’s new spiritual act would prepare, as you heard Isaiah foretell, a people able and worthy to sing God’s praises.  Sinners, slaves, could not do that.  Yes, that new act would bring about a new creation, a new People of God able to sing a new song, expressing both the beauty and goodness of divine glory and the fullness of human beatitude.

How was Jesus going to do this?   

Do you remember the Gospel reading just a fortnight ago?  There we heard Jesus tell a parable about a landowner wanting to cut down an unfruitful tree whilst the gardener pleaded:

Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future.  If not you can cut it down. 

Jesus knew it would be Himself Who, in real life, would fertilize the failing tree of God’s own planting with His own most Precious Blood; and that tree figured the whole root and stock of sinful Adam: adulterous woman, Scribes and Pharisees, Jews and Gentiles: all mankind. 

We are now in a position to understand the whole picture.  How could Jesus condemn this woman for whom He was soon to give His life on the Cross?  In fact it would be easier to save her because she had just been made aware of and, we trust, ashamed of her sinfulness.  Jesus was going to give all sinners, like her, one last chance: He would loose the bonds of sin by the outpouring of His own Most Precious Blood in His sacrifice on Calvary.  His final words on both these occasions have the same significance:

It may bear fruit in the future. If not, you can cut it down.

Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.

The Scribes and Pharisees, on the other hand, unable to recognize and admit their own sinfulness, thereby made it much more difficult for Jesus to set them free.  And why were they so blind to their own sins and failings?  Because they saw the Law as a list of commandments to be obeyed and prescriptions to be carried out, they took it up as a challenge that would demonstrate their own personal integrity, instead of receiving it as a heavenly gift, inviting and provoking them to a grateful response of total love for God and humble service of their neighbour.   As a result they were centred on and satisfied with what they regarded as their own achievements: they gave tithes of everything they earned, they prayed at prescribed times and observed the requirements of liturgical purity, and in this respect their achievements – thanks to the grace God had bestowed on His chosen people -- were indeed more than those of all others.  But in all this they had only learnt to love themselves, not God; they trusted in their own punctilious performance, not in God’s goodness to them and mercy for all; and instead of serving their neighbours they could only criticise and condemn them along with the adulterous woman.  Therefore, for their own sakes, Jesus had to try to make them realize and admit the truth about themselves:

Let the one among you who is without sin, be the first to throw a stone at her.

Now, dear People of God, let us look at our own sinful selves and at our sinful times.  Jesus in no way condones sin.  When He dealt so kindly with that adulterous woman He was in fact giving her a last chance.  However, those firm last words of Jesus, ‘go and sin no more’ have, for many, become wrapped up in the cosy, soft, and sentimental memory of Jesus saving a woman from  self-righteous Scribes and Pharisees: many sinners today neither have nor want true knowledge or clear understanding of Jesus, they prefer to have nothing more than a vague impression of His kindness and mercy, a dull awareness that allows them to feel comfortable despite their continued sin.

We must never forget that our God is a God of both Truth and Beauty, and that, as physical beauty is built upon the sure basis of a good bone structure, so spiritual beauty calls for a firm foundation of obedience to Christian truth.  The Goodness and Holiness of God are likewise co-ordinated, for His goodness toward us is only fully realized by calling us upwards, out of our earthly condition, towards Himself and a share in His holiness.  He is indeed compassionate, He knows our sinfulness and our weakness, our ignorance and our blindness, that is why He sent His own Son to die for us, and why He sustains and guides Mother Church, so that through her, His Son might -- by His Spirit -- be always present to us, and ever abiding with us, throughout the ages.   However, His Son in no way intends to allow His disciples to live for an earthly destiny: He was sent and He intends to lead His own with Himself heavenwards.   Remember what the prophet Isaiah in our first reading said:

I have formed My chosen people for Myself that they might announce My praise. 

That is indeed our ultimate calling in Jesus: to sing the praises of God in heaven for all eternity in total joy, peace, and fulfilment.  Thinking of that, St. Paul told us in the second reading:

I even consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having any righteousness of my own based on the Law but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God, depending on faith to know him and the power of his resurrection and (the) sharing of his sufferings by being conformed to his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. 

 Spurred on by that desire to attain the resurrection from the dead, to praise God for all eternity, he advises us:

Forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead, I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling, in Christ Jesus.  Let us, then, who are mature, adopt this attitude.