Sermons by Fr Guy Nicholls (Cong Orat), our Chaplain

Dear Sisters, dear brethren, how glad I am to know that at last you are able to read today’s Gospel in a way that makes sense! We have just heard St Luke’s version of what we call the Sermon on the Mount, which is admittedly more familiar in St Matthew’s version. Both evangelists begin in the same way, with the Beatitudes, so called because each phrase begins with the same word ‘beati’.

I want to say something about this important word: ‘beati’. For many years now most of us have either heard or read the first word of each of these statements translated as ‘happy’. Those of you who come frequently to Mass here will know that I always read a version which uses instead the word ‘blessed’. Now at last, we are all on the same page! When I was a seminarian in Rome, we were given a spiritual conference at our college by a famous Benedictine monk and liturgical scholar who spoke to us about the Beatitudes. He was opposed to translating the word ‘beati’ as ‘blessed’ because, he said, the word our Lord used is not ‘benedicti’, which is what would be faithfully rendered ‘blessed’ in English. For instance, ‘benedictus qui venit’ is ‘blessed is He who comes’. Indeed, the root word of ‘benedictus’ is ‘benedicere’, which is ‘to bless’. He therefore defended the translation of the beatitudes with the word ‘happy’, as in the Jerusalem Bible version, as most of us used to hear until the new English Standard Version of the scriptures replaced it in this country on the First Sunday of Advent last December.

So why does the new translation say ‘blessed’ where formerly the Jerusalem said ‘happy’? Well, the first thing to note is that the Gospels were not written in English, nor even in Latin. They were written in Greek. And both Matthew and Luke use the same word which is rendered in Latin as ‘beati’: it is ‘makarios’. Now I want to explain that ‘makarios’ does not mean ‘happy’ for the Greek word for what we call ‘happy’ is not ‘makarios’ but ‘eudaimon’. ‘Happy’ in general English use tends to mean ‘cheerful’, although it can also mean ‘fortunate’, or even ‘lucky’, but this is not what our Lord is saying. When he says that his hearers are ‘makarioi’ he doesn’t mean that they are, or ought to be, cheerful; He is saying nothing to do with their present mood. He is speaking of a spiritual good estate, of being ‘fortunate’, though not in any sense accidentally, as we might call someone ‘fortunate’ who wins the lottery. That is not our Lord’s meaning at all. ‘Makarios’, as it is used here, represents the word our Lord must have used in Aramaic meaning ‘looked upon favourably by God, and so blessed’. One thing is clear from each of the beatitudes, namely that the present state of those who are makarioi or blessed is contrasted with their future state. Those who are poor, or who are hungry or who are in mourning are certainly not ‘happy’ now, but they may well be ‘blessed’ if they are going to share God’s bliss in the eternal future.

Now for the actual phrases themselves. Matthew’s familiar nine phrases beginning ‘blessed are they’, are replaced in Luke by only four such phrases beginning ‘blessed are you’. In Matthew only the final beatitude begins ‘blessed are you when men revile and persecute you…’ In Luke all four are addressed to the audience directly: ‘blessed are you…’

We begin then with ‘you who are poor’. These are the ones whom St Matthew more explicitly calls the ‘poor in spirit’, since that is what is principally meant. These are not simply destitute, but rather those who rely totally on the goodness and justice of God either to defend them, or to give them justice against their oppressors. The next thing to note, though a small detail, is nonetheless helpful. Both Matthew and Luke construct these phrases in the form of: Blessed are you (or those) who are poor or hungry or sorrowing, because or for you (or they) are destined to receive some future satisfaction or fulfilment. In other words, there is a causal connection between the two halves of each phrase: your future state will be what it is to be because your present is what it is.

In the case of the first beatitude, ‘blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of heaven is yours’, this is a blessing which is already given in promise, not in present possession. The second beatitude concerns those who hunger now, who will be satisfied in the future. Luke emphasises the word ‘now’, as though to draw an even greater contrast between the present state of misery and the future state of satisfaction which God in His justice will render to the starving. So, too, with the third beatitude: ‘Blessed are you who are mourning and weeping now’, to which the corresponding future blessing is ‘for you shall laugh’, which is more dramatic than Matthew’s ‘for you shall be comforted.’ It sounds like just the sort of thing our Lord would say.

The final beatitude is mostly similar to that in Matthew, though, if anything, even more dramatic, saying: ‘Blessed are you when men hate you and when they exclude you and revile you and cast out your name as evil, on account of the Son of man! Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven.’ Note how Luke sharpens Matthew’s version, not only by filling out the pain of rejection by one’s contemporaries, but telling us to rejoice on that day and, most extravagantly, to leap for joy! I hope that we are all able to do just that when all this happens to us! ‘Leap for joy’, Our Lord tells us, because the fathers of those who illtreat us, illtreated the prophets in the same way.

Then St Luke does something St Matthew does not do. He puts in our Lord’s mouth a series of ‘woes’ that proclaims the exact opposite to the beatitudes we have just heard. Yet again, too, these ‘woes’ are all addressed to the audience as a warning to those to whom it may apply: ‘Woe to you who are rich, for you are having your comfort now’, clearly implying that a time will come when all that shall be taken away, presumably at the very time when the same comforts will be lavished on those who are presently poor.

So, too, ‘woe to you who are filled now, for you will go hungry’, and ‘woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep.’ In both cases the comfortable present will be transformed into endless misery. And finally, ‘woe to you when all men speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets.’

St Luke loves juxtaposing groups of sayings with each other in a clear structure. But I think it is likely that our Lord used these powerful contrasting groups of teachings on many occasions, certainly far more than just once, since He preached in so many different places before many different audiences. We know that in His audience there were sometimes a mixture of those who were His supporters and those who opposed Him. The form of the teaching we have just heard in St Luke’s account presupposes that there was just such a mixed audience on at least this occasion.

It is a reminder that, just as our Lord teaches, the good and the wicked are mixed together and not to be separated easily here and now. His aim is to convert those who are wicked by warning them. Our Lord allows good and wicked to flourish here and now in the same Church. He hopes for the conversion of the wicked before it is too late. But remember this: He also sees in us things that are partly good and partly wicked; our good deeds and our sins. He addresses the beatitudes to us regarding what is good in us, but He also addresses the woes to us regarding what is sinful. May He grant us all the grace to uproot all that is evil in us and become only good. As Lent draws nearer, may our Lord purify us of all that is evil and strengthen all that is good. On the last day, may we therefore hear Him say to us: ‘Come you whom my Father has blessed..’ and not hear that dreadful curse: ‘depart from me all you wicked…’ May our lot be for ever with the ‘makarioi’, the ‘beati’, the blessed.

Dear Sisters, dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ, what we have heard about in all the readings today is life-changing experiences. Isaiah, Paul, Simon Peter, James and John – all of these men were totally transformed by experiences which we have just heard told to us. We begin with Isaiah. Isaiah was an Israelite nobleman in Jerusalem about 700 years before the time of our Lord. His book is one of the greatest of the Old Testament, which is why his name is familiar even nowadays. The book of Isaiah is one of the longest books in the whole Bible, containing some sixty six chapters. We hear it read in instalments at Mass during Advent and Passiontide especially. Today’s reading comes from the sixth chapter and describes the wonderful vision of God and His angels in the Temple of Jerusalem in which Isaiah was given his mission as a prophet by God Himself.

Isaiah was in the Temple, the holy place of God’s dwelling among His chosen people, the place in which sacrifices were offered daily to God. Here he was suddenly taken into an ecstasy. He saw the Lord God enthroned on high above him. Then he saw mighty spirits surrounding God’s throne. He names them as ‘Seraphim’, which is the Hebrew word for ‘burning spirits’. These are the greatest of all the angelic spirits, greater even than angels, whose name means ‘messengers’. The seraphim are more than messengers. They are the mighty spirits whom God made at the beginning of creation to stand around His throne perpetually worshipping their creator. Their bright beauty and burning majesty reflects the even greater beauty and majesty of their maker. This is a most extraordinary vision given to Isaiah, because the Seraphim are far greater than any of the angels whom we meet in the Scriptures and it is the only time in all Scripture that they are seen or even mentioned. Isaiah describes their strangely wonderful appearance. They each have six wings, again reflecting their greater status than the angelic messengers normally pictured with two wings. Of course, what Isaiah saw was a vision. The Seraphim are spirits and so they are invisible by nature. Therefore this vision was designed by God Himself to represent His power and majesty in a way that Isaiah could experience as something vastly greater than any human language or concept could explain.

Then Isaiah was granted another level of experience. He not only saw the Seraphim, but he was allowed to hear them singing to God. This, we should remember, is the very meaning of their existence, the fulfilment of their purpose in God’s plan: eternally to sing His praises. Isaiah is given an insight into their great hymn of praise: they sing in turn, one first, then another, these words: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory.’ Isaiah hears them singing this great refrain, back and forth, endlessly praising God. The sound is so tremendous and deep that the entire foundations shake as though in a great earthquake. This is what Isaiah heard. Then he saw something else: the Temple was filled with smoke. This was so dense that he could not see through it. God was hidden from his sight. What was this smoke? There are several places in Scripture where a dense cloud is described as hiding God’s infinite majesty from human sight. It is called the ‘shekinah’, a word meaning ‘glory’. We hear of it, for instance in the cloud which leads the people of Israel through the wilderness after the Exodus and appears to Moses on Mount Sinai. We hear of it in the account of the Transfiguration, where Christ in glory is hidden by a cloud out of which God speaks to Peter, James and John, ‘This is my beloved Son; hear Him!’. And we are told that the disciples fell on their faces out of fear and awe. So too, Isaiah suddenly comes to himself in the midst of this awe-inspiring cloud of glory and the mighty chant of God’s seraphim, and says: ‘woe is me! For I am lost!’.

It is the same cloud of smoke that fills the Temple when Solomon solemnly consecrates it to the worship of God. We see it symbolized in the fragrant cloud of incense rising around the altar at Mass on high feast days, or before the Blessed Sacrament at Adoration and Benediction. It is a sign of God’s presence and of His majesty, and it should inspire awe in us and a holy fear.

But what is holy fear? It is not a phobia, i.e. an irrational fear such as fear of the dark or of spiders, but rather a fear which inspires both a strong sense of unworthiness coupled with a deep desire to worship and adore the object toward which holy fear is directed. In Isaiah’s case holy fear is expressed in his dramatic exclamation: ‘woe is me! For I am lost!’ This holy fear is also found in today’s Gospel, when Simon Peter was suddenly aware that this man who has led him to a miraculous catch of fish is indeed truly awe-inspiring and something else too: holy. It is holiness that inspires this fear; the holiness of God. It is this sense in Isaiah and Simon Peter that makes Isaiah say ‘I am a man of unclean lips’ and Peter say ‘depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’.

But for both men this is not the end. God does not leave Isaiah lost in uncleanness, nor Peter in a sense of his total sinfulness in this awe-inspiring presence. Instead, God uses the experience of both men to commission them. Isaiah sees a seraph fly towards him, who takes a burning coal from the altar, a coal on which incense is burned, and the seraph touches Isaiah’s lips to burn away his sinfulness. This vision is the basis of the prayer that the priest or deacon says silently before he reads the Gospel at Mass: ‘Clean my heart and my lips O Almighty God, who cleansed the lips of Isaiah with a burning coal, so that I may worthily proclaim your holy Gospel.’ After this, Isaiah, now cleansed from his unworthiness, hears God asking, ‘Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?’ to which Isaiah now replies, filled with new confidence and zeal for God: ‘Here I am; send me!’ and so it is that Isaiah received his commission as a prophet, and we can read his wonderful book to this day which enlightens us about the Messiah and the terrible sufferings He freely endured for our sake.

Then there is Peter. He tries to distance himself from Christ, whose holiness has struck him with terrible force; ‘Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, Lord!’ Our Lord does no such thing. He does not touch him with a burning coal, but says to him, ‘fear not!’ and then He gives Peter his commission: ‘from now on you wll be catching men’. These words Jesus also addresses to James and John, and so, hearing these words, the three men leave their boats, and they follow Him.’

So, too, Paul recounts how he, too, received a commission as Apostle from Christ in person, saying to the Corinthians in today’s second reading that Jesus had appeared to the Apostles after His resurrection to renew their mission to preach throughout the world. He adds that ‘Last of all, as to one untimely born, [Jesus] appeared to me.’ We know what he is talking about here: his vision at the gates of Damascus…. This was Paul’s great commission as an Apostle too.

In all these cases, Isaiah, Paul, Peter, James and John – their commission as God’s special ministers and servants is given them as a result of a tremendous experience of God’s holiness. That experience is not given to everyone, but instead we have the liturgy in which at every Mass we join the Seraphim in their great hymn of praise, singing ‘Holy, holy, holy Lord God of Sabaoth’. In that wonderful hymn we are given communion with the great spirits around God’s throne in order to prepare us for the moment that awaits us all when we will stand face to face with the all-holy God, our Creator, Redeemer and Lord. May our lot be with the angels and the saints in eternity.

We have just heard St. Luke’s account of Our Lord’s baptism in the River Jordan. Whereas St. Matthew and St. Mark tell us that as Our Lord came up from the water, the heavens opened, the Father’s voice was heard, and the Holy Spirit descended on Him, St. Luke tells us that it was after the Baptism, while Our Lord was praying, presumably privately, that all this happened to Him. St. Matthew’s account of the Father’s words suggests that the announcement “This is my beloved Son, my favour rests on Him”, was meant for others to hear. St. Luke, and for that matter St. Mark, both tell us that the Father’s words were addressed to Our Lord himself: “Thou art my beloved Son; with Thee I am well pleased.”

We do not have to speculate which of these accounts is the most historically accurate, which of them tells us what actually took place – for in a sense all of them tell us different aspects of the same wonderful event. What today’s Gospel shows us is that the Baptism of our Lord was a moment for Him of endowment with the person and power of the Holy Spirit. Our Lord is true God from true God. Yet the Father chose to intensify this special moment when He anointed His only Son with the presence and gifts of the Holy Spirit by proclaiming: “Thou art my beloved Son!” For in His sacred humanity Our Lord needed to grow. Just as He grew in stature from a little child to an adult man, so too St. Luke tells us that throughout the hidden years of Nazareth He grew in wisdom and understanding, and in favour with God and men.

St. Luke in a special way is the Evangelist of Our Lord’s sacred humanity. This doesn’t mean that, the more human our Lord seems to be, the less fully can He be God. Rather, Our Lord’s humanity belongs to the beloved Son on whom the Father’s favour rests. God the Son has been with the Father since the beginning, before all time, before anything was created, but now that the Son has become a man, by being born of our Blessed Lady, the Father also recognises and acknowledges the same Son as now truly human.

St. Luke has a special insight into the humanity of the Son of God for a particular reason: it is because he listened with great care to the words of one who had the greatest understanding of any human being of what it meant for God to become man: Our Lord’s own mother. It is St. Luke who tells us on several occasions that Mary “kept all these things in her heart and pondered on them”. For it can only have been from Mary that Luke was able to gather and pass on the account of Our Lord’s conception, of His birth and of His infancy and childhood. It is for this reason that many ancient icons of Our Lady are attributed to St. Luke, and he is portrayed in later centuries painting Our Lady’s portrait.

Our Lord had none but God for His Father. He knew that even as a twelve year-old boy, when He said to Mary and Joseph, “did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business?” But His blessed Mother gave Him His humanity. God became a child in His mother’s womb; He was her special charge and care; He was her love above all things.

This is what St. Luke passes on in his turn to us. His understanding of what it meant for the Son of God to be man was drawn from carefully hearing what His Mother had to say.

What we learn from St. Luke, and through him from Our Lady, is that God profoundly respects the integrity of the human nature He has created. Our Lord chose to appear in the world not in the appearance of man, but as a true man, like us in all things but sin. In this way He pays us the highest compliment. He does not think it beneath His dignity as God to take to Himself every aspect of our state, including the necessity of our growing in understanding as well as in body. The incarnation of the Son of God, which we celebrate during this Christmas season, is the culmination, the crowning point of God’s originally having chosen to “make man in His own image and likeness”. As God’s Son and Mary’s Son, Our Lord hears the words “Thou art my beloved Son”. He receives the Holy Spirit, descending on Him in bodily form because He is Himself present in the human world in bodily form. He receives the Holy Spirit to sanctify and empower His humanity for the work on which He is about to embark in His public ministry and His forthcoming Passion and Death. Moreover, by becoming man, Our Lord makes us no longer just creatures, for although human nature was already endowed with the dignity of being made in “his own image and likeness”, in His incarnation our Lord has made us His own brothers and sisters. He receives the Holy Spirit as one of us, for us. He hears the words “Thou art my beloved Son”, as one of us, and on behalf of us.

It is for this reason that we Catholics have such a high regard for human life, since God Himself has shown us His own infinite regard for it. This is why we believe passionately that it is our right and our duty to defend it from all mean-spirited reductivism, that would see it as only good when it serves some other end. For there is a spirit abroad now that is not Holy; a spirit which proclaims that no individual human life has value of its own, but only for what it is judged to be able to contribute to society. So, if a particular individual human life is inconvenient, because conceived when not expected or wanted, or because it is deemed to be burdened with a handicap which will place demands on its family and on society, or if a particular human life seems to be no longer productive through illness or old age, or seems no more to be conscious, or is in some way judged to be burdensome to itself or to others, then that life is expendable. Indeed, that spirit goes further than saying such lives are expendable, to saying that it is a duty to do away with them. We are now in a state which is actively preparing to legalise assisted suicide. But we should look at countries where euthanasia has already been legalised, as in the Netherlands, where infirm or elderly people are now frightened to go to hospitals which were built to save lives, not do away with them, for fear of being pressurised into accepting death as a duty to society. In the Low Countries, even children who are depressed are put to death. It is this lack of respect for the individual dignity of every human life which must be opposed, because God Himself has shown us the infinite value of each and every human life made in the image of His beloved Son. As the brothers and sisters of Jesus, we must defend all human life, because He has shown us infinite respect by becoming human like each one of us, and in sharing our nature He has given us the hope of reaching heaven.

Dear Sisters, dear brethren, today we celebrate a great mystery: the manifestation in glory of the King. What kind of celebration is this, then, what sort of mystery? Well, in the first place, it is not a single event which we celebrate. True, we have just heard of a single event in the Gospel, namely the visit of the eastern Magi to Bethlehem and their giving of gifts to Christ there, and their adoration of Him before returning to their own country. But this is only the first of three events which are all connected by the theme of glory and manifestation. It is Christ who is manifested, who is shown forth in majesty and glory, and we are going to hear of the other two such events over the next two Sundays in the Gospel readings.

So first of all, today. Most of what we celebrate concerning the birth and early days of Christ is found in St Luke’s Gospel, but the coming of the Magi and all connected with their arrival, including the slaughter of the Holy Innocents by Herod and the flight into Egypt, all this comes to us from St Matthew’s Gospel. The word ‘mystery’ is important. What does it mean? We are used to think of it, if you like, in terms of Agatha Christie’s novels, of Inspector Poirot and suchlike detectives who have to ‘solve’ a mystery. In this sense, I suppose, a mystery can be said to be a truth which is hidden. This is the essence of what a ‘whodunnit’ is like. At the heart of it is a ‘mystery’: the identity and perhaps the method of the killer. Now, when we use that word in the Mass it is in some ways similar but in the most important ways it is quite different. A ‘mystery’ such as the Epiphany is indeed something hidden, but not like a puzzle, not something requiring a brilliant detective to uncover and reveal; it is rather something which is truly present in a hidden way, but which can be revealed to the right persons in the right kind of way. It is more like a treasure hidden in a field or in a trunk in the loft of an old house – something that awaits discovery, and in the discovery will come a great joy – like finding hidden treasure.

When God the Son, the second person of the Trinity, of whom we say in the Nicene Creed whose 1700th anniversary we celebrate this year, that He is ‘born of the Father before all ages, God from God, Light from Light, True God from True God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father’, it is clear that we are talking about someone not just very important, but literally infinitely great: Almighty God Himself no less. This divine person in the words of the same Creed, ‘by the power of the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary and became man.’ It is this which we have been celebrating at Christmas: that God who is all powerful, pure Spirit and Lord of all creation, became man in the womb of His Mother Mary, and was born at Bethlehem, not in a palace nor even a house, but in a stable. At Christmas we recalled how Jesus was born in great humility, yet His birth was announced by angels singing ‘Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to people of good will’. The shepherds who heard this astonishing heavenly singing went in haste and found the child and His Mother, just as had been foretold by the angel. What a contrast! Born in a stable, laid in straw, yet heralded by the angelic powers!

Today we have another and different kind of event: the Magi come to adore the new-born King. There is so much that can be said about this admittedly strange event. Who were the Magi? How many of them were there? Why did they come from the East? What drew them to Jerusalem? What is the significance of their coming and of their gifts?

Well, to focus on one or two points only today, and choosing those which in a special way reveal the mystery – that is, the hidden treasure – let us begin with their name. Magi were Persian wise men, learned in the movements of the stars and planets in the night sky. They understood that behind such remarkable order as the heavens showed, there was a great intelligence, a magnificent architect, whom they adored as a mighty God without knowing any more about Him except the works of His hands, the sun, moon and stars. The arrival of a new kind of star in the midst of the ordered regularity of the night sky struck them as being a sign from the God they saw behind the movements of the heavenly lights. This is why they set off to find out more. As Shakespeare puts it in Julius Caesar, ‘the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes,’ meaning that in the ancient world sudden changes in the stars had a dramatic significance, and could be seen as in a way coinciding with the births or deaths of great persons. The Magi shared this view but wanted to go further. They wanted actually to find who this new King was, whose coming was signified by this strange star in the sky, and where He could be found.

It was not just that the star seemed to point towards Jerusalem, but that the knowledge that at that time a Messiah was eagerly expected in Palestine was widespread throughout the Middle East as we know it. The teachings of the prophets, especially Isaiah, were known outside Israel and were deemed to be inspired. So they set off with gifts to offer in recognition of the new King’s status. How many of them were there? St Matthew doesn’t tell us. But the gifts he describes were three in number, so that seems a good reason to guess that there are three Magi to bring them, one gift each. Now here is an interesting point. Look at the Christmas crib and see: how are the Magi dressed? As kings. Why? Matthew says nothing about that. But this is to do with the prophet Isaiah where in today’s first reading he looks towards the future coming of foreign kings to Jerusalem to do homage. Then look also at the Responsorial psalm, ps. 71, in which the psalmist says that ‘the kings of Tarshish and of the Islands shall offer gifts; the kings of the Arabians and Saba shall bring presents’. Thus, the Magi are seen as fulfilling these prophecies. Why is this significant? Because of two reasons: first, kings generally acknowledge no-one superior to themselves; so the recognition that they want to offer gifts to this new king and to adore Him, as they do, shows that they recognize that the new King is greater than they are. Secondly, these kings come from distant places, not from the Holy Land. So the meaning is that this new King, though they call Him the ‘newborn King of the Jews’ has an authority far greater than merely among the Jewish people. The kings in psalm 71 are from gentile, non-Jewish races, and so the Magi represent the first acknowledgement in the Life of Christ that He is the King of all nations, not just of the Jews.

Look again at the crib. You will always find that one of the three Magi is black. Is this just an early case of ‘Diversity Equity and Inclusion’? Well, yes and no. It signifies that all races are under the authority of Christ. The gifts the kings offer also show this. But there is another reason for a specifically black king among the three Magi. In the Book of Genesis we recall how God saved Noah from the Great Flood. It was from Noah’s children that the entire human race was regenerated after the Flood was past. And Noah had three sons who were the ancestors of the different branches of the human race thereafter. Three sons, three magi – is there a connection?

The entire human race was subsequently seen to be descended from each of these three sons and the three great branches of humanity were named after each of these sons: Japheth, Ham and Shem. So the biblical names for the three great divisions of humanity after the Flood were Japhetic, Hamitic and Semitic. Japhetic for the northern white-skinned peoples, Hamitic for the dark skinned peoples from Africa to the South, and Semitic for the Jews, Arabs and other related peoples of the Middle East. Who knew that the word Semitic doesn’t mean simply Jewish, but includes all the Arabs, Lebanese and Syrians as well? So each of the three Magi represents one of the three great branches of humanity beyond Israel.

This is enough for today. The Magi represent all of us gentiles for whom Christ is just as much our King and Saviour as He is for the Jews, His own people. We will hear how the unfolding of this wonderful mystery of God made man will continue next Sunday in the Epiphany, Part Two.

Let me begin by asking you a question: Where is the oldest English institution anywhere in the world outside England itself? Before I tell you what it is, let me tell you something about it. It is six hundred and sixty-two years old, and although its exact purpose has changed several times since its foundation in 1362 during the reign of the great King Edward III, it is still in the same location and even partly in the same original buildings.

Well, in case you haven’t already guessed, I will tell you: it is now known as the Venerable English College and it is in the heart of ancient Rome. It was founded as a hostel for English pilgrims to the eternal City and subsequently became also the home of the ambassadors of the Kings of England to the Pope. In 1579, after the steady flow of English pilgrims to Rome had dried up because of the so-called Reformation, Cardinal William Allen petitioned the Pope to refound the hostel in its original buildings as a new college for the training of priests who would return to England to keep alive the Catholic faith in the face of persecution and even probable death. This College still exists to this day, and it is where I myself trained for the priesthood in the 1970’s and 80’s. It bears witness to the continuity of English Catholic life from before the Reformation to the present day in a way that hardly any other institutions can do, because it is both completely English and has never been under Protestant rule.

Why am I talking about this great College, this historic English institution abroad? It is because it is dedicated to arguably the greatest English Saint of the Middle Ages, St Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury and martyr. St Thomas was famous in his lifetime and even more famous after his violent death at the hands of four of King Henry II’s knights. In the High Middle Ages, Thomas was one of the best known of saints not only in England but abroad. Many churches were dedicated to him, and the name ‘Thomas’ became one of the most popular in England because of him. Think of Thomas More, Thomas Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell in the reign of Henry VIII just for starters. Pilgrimages to his shrine in Canterbury Cathedral were hugely popular, so much that one of the greatest early works of English literature was based on the tradition of pilgrims travelling in groups from London to Canterbury – the ‘Canterbury Tales’ by Geoffrey Chaucer. It is fascinating to think that Chaucer wrote this now very old seeming poetry some decades after the foundation of the English Hostel in Rome, and that the hostel is still there in the same place!

So why was Thomas Becket, St Thomas of Canterbury, so very famous and so very popular? Why are we celebrating his feast day here today? It is because what he stands for is so very important, and the way in which he stood firm in the face of great peril shows such bravery and conviction, that we remember him today and, here in Tettenhall especially, because he is the patron saint of this church and parish.

St Thomas was born in London in 1119 or 20, the son of wealthy Norman parents. Also. Because this was only about 50 years after the Norman conquest, he would have spoken Norman French rather than English. After being educated in Paris, which was then the most important intellectual centre of Western Europe, he returned to England where he became a clerk in the household of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Theobald, who was, of course, a Norman like all the leading churchmen and landowners in England at that time. Thomas was not a priest, it must be said, and seems to have had no intention of ever becoming one. He was, in effect, a highly efficient and competent civil servant, a man of affairs and capable of handling complex issues to do with money, property and law. His great abilities brought him to the attention of the twenty-two-year-old king, Henry II, who ascended the throne in 1154, when Thomas was himself about 30 years of age.

Thomas and Henry became firm friends and the king appointed Thomas his Chancellor, the head of the government. Thomas had power over many aspects of church and state, controlling taxation and spending. It is curious to recognise the parallels between this King Henry and the later King Henry VIII, who also became a good friend of the slightly older Thomas More, whom he would make his Chancellor nearly four centuries later, and with whom he, too, would fall out to the point of having him killed.

But Henry II went one step further than Henry VIII would go with Thomas More; for when Archbishop Theobald of Canterbury died in 1162, Henry II decided to have Thomas Becket, his friend and Chancellor, appointed Theobald’s successor. Thomas resisted for as long as he could. He was unhappy at the prospect of becoming the Archbishop. This was not only because he was not even a priest, but because he knew something that the King didn‘t understand: namely that if he were ever to be given the great responsibility before Almighty God of being the most important bishop in all England, then he would have to behave towards the king his friend in a far different way. No longer would Thomas put the king’s interests and wishes first, but rather God’s.

Now Thomas, although until now a layman, had always been pious and dutiful, but nobody would have expected what happened next. Thomas began to insist on doing his duties as a bishop and on being treated as God’s representative and as protector of the Church. Where the king wanted to exploit the Church’s wealth for his own purposes, Thomas resisted. But Thomas was not merely a stout defender of the Church against the King, he was also a man dedicated to the Gospel. He regularly gave alms to the poor, often washing their feet himself and wearing penitential garb in place of the splendid robes of such a great churchman. His firmness in face of the King may seem somewhat excessive to us now and it would be unhelpful to go through all the details of the back and forth between Henry and Thomas. But one thing is worth stressing: such was the falling out between the two men that Thomas was forced to flee the country and live in exile in a French monastery for no less than six years. Only after that was the King prevailed upon to allow the Archbishop back to his own country and his see of Canterbury. But after only a short time the King once again tried to bring the Church under his control and Thomas once again resisted firmly. It was then that, just after Christmas Day in 1170, the King flew into a rage and said something which he came to regret. There are different accounts of the exact words but it matter little, because the result was that four of the King’s knights set off immediately to Canterbury to sort the Archbishop out for good and all.

Once they arrived, they sought out Thomas. The Archbishop’s attendants saw how furious the knights were and begged Thomas to hide away and if possible to flee once more. But Thomas was adamant. He would neither hide nor flee. He stood his ground before the armed men inside the Cathedral while the Office of Vespers was being sung in the choir. In a rage they all struck him with their swords and slew him, even slicing off the top of his skull with the force of their blows.

When the news of this got back to the King, he was appalled and tried to blame his men for misunderstanding his words, but the whole country and indeed the whole of Europe knew of the quarrel that had raged between the two men and King Henry was excommunicated by the Pope. He sought forgiveness and was obliged to humiliate himself by being stripped and flogged outside the Cathedral where Thomas had been murdered before being readmitted to Communion.

Meanwhile the Pope canonised Saint Thomas only three years after his death, one of the fastest canonisations in history. This was not just a political act on the part of the Church and the Pope, not merely a way of saying ‘Thomas has won’, but a recognition of Thomas’s true sanctity. People from all over England were already flocking to his tomb and there were wonderful miracles reported there as evidence of his holiness. That is why his shrine in Canterbury Cathedral became so important and his name was so popular in England, and why the English Hospice in Rome was named after him.

So, when a later King Henry, the eighth of that name, was enraged at the thought of an archbishop resisting one of his own predecessors, he not only had St Thomas’s shrine destroyed but tried utterly to obliterate his memory. His feast day was abolished and any reference to St Thomas was brutally eliminated from all religious books. For instance, back in the English College archive there is a late mediaeval Altar Missal from England which still bears the scars of this purge. The Mass for St Thomas of Canterbury on December 29^th has been brutally scored out and defaced. Fortunately, of course, Henry VIII did not win. The Venerable English College was never under the direct jurisdiction of Henry VIII’s tyranny and continued to celebrate St Thomas’s Day today as its patronal feast on this day. So, I am glad to say, do you here in Tettenhall, for both this church and the college church in Rome are dedicated to the one whom Geoffrey Chaucer in the Canterbury Tales called ‘the Holy blissful Martyr’. And St Thomas’s Day is still commemorated in the Universal Calendar of the Catholic Church. St Thomas of Canterbury, patron of the English clergy, pray for England and pray for us. Amen.

Dear Sisters, dear brethren, for many years this solemnity of Christ the King has been regarded by many people as something of an embarrassment. Isn’t it rather old-fashioned to be thinking of Christ as a King? Surely we have outgrown that kind of thing. What is a king, after all? He is a ruler, one with authority to govern and to command respect and obedience. He is not elected and does not have to give an account of himself to anyone living. This kind of ruler was all very well in the ancient world, with such figures as the Pharaohs of Egypt, or Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, or Darius the Great of Persia. And even in the time of our Lord, the ruler of the whole Roman Empire was not a king, but an Imperator, the Latin word for ‘commander’ which really means the ruler of the army – even though the word Imperator gives us the word ‘Emperor’, which might seem to be more than a king, because from Imperator comes the word Empire.

And of course, in the Middle Ages all the nations of Europe were ruled by kings. Curiously enough, the first country to get rid of a king as its ruler was England, when Oliver Cromwell brought about the execution of King Charles I and made himself ‘Protector of the Realm’, most definitely not king. Even after Cromwell’s death, when Charles II returned from exile to take up the throne as king, his sovereign power, his ability to rule as he wished, was somewhat limited by Parliament, and so, over the course of three centuries, we come to King Charles III, whose role is defined not by election but by descent from his mother, the late Queen Elizabeth. The name of the country in which we live is the United Kingdom; it is not a republic. But of course, the king is not the absolute ruler of this kingdom. He is the Head of State, but not the Head of Government. He is what we call a ‘constitutional monarch’. So his kingship, his authority, is very much less even than that of the Prime Minister who heads the government. And the Prime Minister does not enjoy uncontrolled authority either. He (or she) must submit to the process of public election every four or five years. He or she can be dis-elected, so to speak. A king, however, cannot be deselected, because he was not elected in the first place. He inherited his throne, his crown, his kingly status.

But just because we do have a king doesn’t make this feast of Christ the King any easier to understand. I think it is at least as difficult for us to understand what it means to call Christ a king, indeed our king, as it is for, say, the Americans, whose republic was founded on the principle of rejecting royal power and privilege. Americans think that kingship is something from their past, from the time when they were colonials, subjects of the King of Great Britain. This makes the idea of Christ the King difficult for them to understand in yet another way from us.

Now Christ is altogether a different kind of king from this. In the Gospel we have heard, Pontius Pilate asks Jesus if He is a king? Why? Because this is an accusation that has been brought against Jesus. It is not a title of dignity in the thought of the Jewish people and the chief priests. For them, Christ is an upstart who has falsely claimed to be king. And, furthermore, as our Lord says, if He were a king in the usual sense of the word, would not He have soldiers under His command who would defend Him against His enemies? Yet here Christ is, standing before the Roman Governor, a representative of the Roman Emperor, about to be condemned to death. What kind of king is He really? Listen as He tells us precisely what kind of King he is: ‘Yes, I am a king. I was born for this. I came into the world for this: to bear witness to the truth.’ This is indeed not like any other kingship. Where others have rule over kingdoms and command armies and raise tribute to fund their lifestyles, Jesus is utterly different. He has come to bear witness to the truth.

We need to ponder this idea of kingship in order to understand it. What is truth? This is, in fact, they very question that Pilate goes on to ask immediately after the end of this passage. Was he serious? Did he not know what truth is? I think Pilate was a good example of a man who had got where he was by lots of compromises. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had had to please the right people, marry the right wife, get himself seen and promoted by those who had influence and who had the ear of the Emperor. If you are going to get on, then you have to cut corners where truth is concerned. You can’t be too highly principled. You can’t be too picky about how people are treated.

This is where truth is so demanding. Truth is the absolute ruler of conscience. It is not elected, it is not chosen. It is given. Truth comes not from us but from Him who made us. There is no my truth opposed to your truth, This is what Jesus our King embodies. It is what He lived for and what He died for. But His death was not the end. As the Second reading from the Apocalypse put it: Jesus is the ‘first born from the dead, the Ruler of the kings of the earth.’ So He, who was put to death by Pilate at the insistence of the Jewish people and chief priests, has been raised to life, to a life that can never end. Although His kingdom is not of this world, it will come upon the world one day with complete, undeniable, authority. But it cannot be an oppressive authority. It cannot be authoritarian. It is the authority which was foretold in the first reading by the great prophet Daniel, who foresaw ‘one like a son of man…He came into the presence of the one of great age, (that is, God the Father). On Him was conferred sovereignty, glory and kingship.’ These are the qualities of kingship. Of that sovereignty Daniel goes on to speak further, saying: ‘His sovereignty is an eternal sovereignty, which shall never pass away.’ Christ has kingship conferred upon Him, not by election, but by appointment. It is God’s doing. But we must understand that this sovereignty is not oppression. His rule is not to subject us to tyranny, but to set us free. In His rule is the true freedom of those who are His subjects by choice, that is by faith.

We are subject in this life to many forms of tyranny, mostly of our own making; the tyranny of sin and temptation which we find so difficult to escape from; the tyranny of rule by lies and untruth – such as that which is perpetuated by the media which misrepresents the truth about God and about our relation to Him and to each other. The lie that is summed up in the culture of death, which sees the power to kill children In the womb and suicide as the highest forms of freedom, when they are really slavery and despair. Christ, on the other hand, has made us free by His death, so that we can be liberated from sin and untruth of all kinds. It is truth that sets us free, not lies. Truth shows us the real value of death and its relation to life, not just this life, but eternal life. If we acknowledge Christ as our King, then we will be made into a kingdom of priests to serve our God and Father. If we are on the side of truth, then we will listen to Christ’s voice. We will know how to reject the subtlety of lies and half-truths.

Then we will be among those who see Him coming on the last day in glory, along with all those who pierced Him and killed Him. For ‘His sovereignty is an eternal sovereignty which shall never pass away; nor will His empire be destroyed.’

This is the meaning of Christ’s eternal kingship. He already has it, but it will only be fully revealed when He comes again in glory to judge the living and the dead. The difference is this: that those who have lived this life in denial of Him and of the Truth will see Him coming and will wail and howl at the sight. But those who have lived by faith in Him and have been prepared to face persecution and rejection on account of witnessing to the Truth, will welcome His coming with unbounded joy. Because when He comes as King, to those who love Him now He is now oppressor but a liberator. We ourselves will become not slaves and subjects, but kings, for to serve Him is not only to be free, but it is to reign. That is what heaven will be for those who wait longingly for Christ to reveal His Kingship in all its glory and majesty.

There is a lot about coins in the Gospels. They frequently appear in our Lord’s parables. The coins with which the Good Samaritan pays for the welfare of the man who fell among thieves; The talents, of which the servant who received only one hid it in the ground and gave it back to his master without any interest, for which he was roundly condemned. Then in actual events they figure more often than we might realise. Yesterday on the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran, we heard how our Lord overthrew the money-changers’ tables in the Temple and scattered their coins around. On another occasion our Lord told Peter to pay the temple tax with a coin which he would find inside the mouth of a fish which he was going to catch in the Lake of Galilee. Then our Lord wonderfully confounds His foes when they ask Him about the legitimacy of paying taxes to Caesar by asking them whose image is stamped on the coinage they pay the tax with. Most dreadful of all are the thirty silver pieces. I need say no more about them.

The widow of today’s Gospel gave from out of her poverty, from all she had to live on, as our Lord observes. What she gave is sometimes called ‘the widow’s mite’, but St Mark tells us that she gave two coins, which he calls ‘lepta’, the smallest denomination of currency available.

I recall an occasion when I was the junior curate in a parish where we were three priests (yes, there used to be such days of clerical abundance!) It was Christmas Day in the Presbytery. The PP used to insist that because the Christmas Collection was for the clergy, then the clergy should count it and share it out. Well, as we waded through paper money and lots of odd coins, I came across three small envelopes, all in good condition, so not reused, carefully sealed from end to end and, when I opened them I found in each one a single penny. Well, it was obvious that they had been deliberately given in that way to attract our attention, and the donor clearly succeeded as here I am telling you about this some forty years later. To this day I don’t know whether that was a reflection of what the donor thought of the priestly ministry he or she was receiving from us, or if it was a real case of the widow’s mite, or three mites on that occasion. But even pennies, forty years ago, though not very valuable, were still not the smallest denomination. There used to be in those days still the halfpenny, a word I suspect some of you may not even have heard before, much less actually had in your pocket or used to pay towards anything.

Coinage, or money in general, represents value – something we put a price on and we give either in order to gain something else in return, or just to discharge a duty like paying taxes. But in the case of the widow’s lepta they are hardly able to buy anything. So the value they represented to the Temple Treasury is virtually infinitesimal. On the other hand, the large sums of money Our Lord sees put in by the rich could have contributed substantially to the daily expenditure of Temple outlay: the equivalent of their Hayes and Finch weekly bill for candles, or for vestments, or perhaps to pay for cleaning, or even the occasional sacrificial animal, maybe.

Nonetheless, Our Lord points out to His disciples the true value of anything given is to be identified not with what you can buy with it, but with what it costs the giver, and also something else – what it means to whoever receives it. And if what is given and received is, as in this case, not something given under compulsion, but freely, then the value is quite different from that of the price of something bought or sold. So, in this case, the widow’s two tiny lepta are very precious indeed.

First, she gave freely. This was not compelled, like the Temple Tax or any other tax for that matter. Secondly, she gave from her great need, not from wealth. This represented a far greater value both to the woman and also to God to whom it was given. Thirdly, she gave both her lepta, when she could reasonably have given just one and kept the other for her needs. After all, as a widow, she has very limited income. A wife or mother relies on her husband or children to supply her needs. Without a man in the home, where is the money going to come from? If the widow today gives away the only two coins she possesses, where is she going to get what she needs for a small meal?

This is what Elijah’s example teaches us. He meets the widow of Sidon, (and note she was not a Jew), and asks her for a drink of water and a mere scrap of bread. Not much to ask for. She replies, ‘as the Lord your God lives,’ - and this is how we know she is not a Jew, because she refers to Elijah’s God as your God – ‘I have no bread but only a little flour and oil. I am at this very moment gathering a couple of sticks to make a small fire to cook this tiny amount, and after that is eaten my son and I shall die because we have nothing else to eat.’ Elijah’s next word is very important: ‘Fear not!’ - for she is obviously resigned to death by starvation very soon, - ‘trust me because I speak now the Lord God’s word to you.’ And so, trusting his word, the widow does as he has asked her and she receives her reward. She does not receive a whole barnful of flour nor a tankerload of oil, but just enough to get by each day until the end of the drought.

She has put her trust in God’s messenger, and she is saved. Her generosity and her trust together are a very valuable offering in the sight not just of Elijah but also in the sight of God. This is how our Lord sees the widow’s offering. It is given as the offering of a free and willing heart and is given with complete trust in God. We can be sure that she is among the great saints in heaven even if she didn’t ever meet our Lord in this life and find out how much He knew about her. She certainly knows now!

And we know about her because our Lord told His disciples about the real value of what she had given. We, too, can be absolutely sure that He knows everything we give to Him and in what spirit of generosity and trust. We can offer not just money (or the lack of it), but the coinage of our entire lives to the service of His Temple, of His holy Sanctuary, in the priesthood. God receives with great joy what we offer Him with a generous spirit, when we put our trust in His goodness to us. He will most certainly honour and reward whatever we offer Him. Poor as we are in our own estimation, weak as we may be in so many ways, God doesn’t look at the value of what we give as being no more to Him that two tiny lepta, but rather as the offering of our hearts in love and gratitude to Him, and for that love and gratitude He will reward us, and when He rewards us, then like the widow herself, we will know then, too!

Last Thursday was the anniversary of the day in 1517 when Martin Luther technically launched the Protestant revolt against the Church. He opposed, among other things, the Church’s practice and teaching concerning Purgatory and those who go there, and what we can do to help those souls. Luther objected to the whole idea of Purgatory, both because he said that, since it is not mentioned in Scripture it can’t be true, and also because he thought it wasn’t necessary anyway. When we die, if we die in God’s favour, whether we are sinners or not, so long as we are forgiven we go straight to heaven. No Purgatory. No nasty punishment for sins. No fearsome fires.

But it is very timely to remind ourselves on this first Sunday of November what the Church actually does teach about Purgatory. The first point is that we must always make amends for our misdeeds. Not just a matter of forgiveness by those whom we harm or offend, but of satisfaction. e.g. When someone commits a crime in this life and are taken to court, then, whether they are sorry or not, whether they are forgiven or not, they have to make amends. They are fined or sent to prison. In the same way after this life is over there is a need of Purgatory.

The second point is that we cannot see God in heaven until we are fully holy, therefore, if we are not already perfectly holy at the time of our death, we need to be made perfect before we can enter heaven. Therefore, after this life there is the need for Purgatory.

The third point is that all humanity is somehow joined together. When I say ‘all’, I am including those who are dead. Sin is something we all share in, as a result of Adam, who is the cause of original sin. St Paul says: ‘when one [part of the body] is hurt, all parts are hurt with it’. We are all affected by the sins of others. But so too, thank God, we are affected by the goodness of others, and share in that too, for again Paul says: ‘If one part [of the body] is given special honour, all parts [of the body] enjoy it.’ (1Cor 12:26). Now the entire human race consists of those who are alive now and those who are dead. And the Church, too, consists of those who live now and those who are dead. As St Paul says, ‘if we live by the truth and in love, we shall grow in all ways into Christ, who is the head by whom the whole body is fitted and joined together.

The fourth point is that however much sin there is in the whole human race and in all history, the grace of Christ is greater than all sin. So, in the end, goodness will always triumph even in us poor sinners, but only when we have been changed inwardly by it. This is what makes the saints what they are. They are those who were once in the world like us and had to overcome sin in order to become what they now are in heaven. But the saints are still joined to us by descent from Adam, and by union in Christ, whom St Paul calls the ‘new Adam’, for just as Adam, who sinned, is the father of the entire human race, so Christ is the author of the human race renewed and saved by His grace. So St Paul says: ‘however great the number of sins committed, grace was even greater; and so, just as sin reigned wherever there was death, so grace will reign to bring eternal life, thanks to the righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ (Rom 5:20-21)

But our being in this altogether, the living and the dead, the sinners, those needing purification, those who have been made perfect, means that we all have a part to play in helping each other. We ask the saints to pray for us, because they are one with us in Christ. So too, we can pray for the souls who are being purified, and who are paying their debt of sin, including those sins already forgiven by God. Those souls want to be purged, they want to become fully holy once they have glimpsed the Face of God after death.

They know they are not yet able to stand the gaze of that loving Face, but they long to be able to do so. That is why Purgatory is, rather paradoxically, described in Catholic tradition as both painful and joyful at the same time.

But this is the crunch for us here and now in November, in the month of prayers for those souls who long for the completion of what they need in order to be able freely and joyfully to enter and stay in God’s presence: our loving assistance. Love is the key to all this. God’s love is so great that when we realise it for the first time on leaving this world, it utterly overwhelms us. In the Dream of Gerontius, Saint John Henry, Cardinal Newman pictured the soul of Gerontius going into the presence of God, seeing His loving Creator and Redeemer face to face, and recognising for the first time the infinite greatness of that love, and the amazing fact that such love brought God to become a son of Adam, and take Adam’s sin upon Himself on the cross so as to free us from sin’s consequences: which are everlasting death and damnation. In the sight of that beautiful face, Gerontius can only say: ‘take me away!’ for all he wants at this moment of understanding is to be cleansed of all his imperfections, which make him unworthy of that loving God, and to make amends for absolutely everything that he has ever done wrong.

So we come to the fifth point: the idea of Purgatory does not deny the loving mercy of God, but builds on it. Without God’s mercy there would be no opportunity to make amends after this life is over. It would be: ‘you’ve had your chance, you’ve completely messed up, and now you have deserved hell for ever.’ But thank God for His mercy which says to the deceased soul, ‘now on glimpsing my face you have seen the meaning of all that life was really about, and how you failed to love me properly, whether in your practice of the faith, or keeping free of sin, or in your lack of care for your neighbour, now you can make amends, now you can become truly holy and prepare to enter into the everlasting joy of your Lord with our Lady and all the saints.’

That is where we come in. For again as St Paul says, ‘It makes me happy to suffer for you, as I am suffering now, and in my own body to do what I can to make up all that still has to be undergone by Christ for the sake of His Body, the Church.’ (Col.1:24). It is this which is at the heart of the practice of indulgences obtained for the souls in Purgatory, for by our loving sacrifices we can accelerate the change which they must undergo, we can alleviate the suffering which they endure simply from knowing how much they need that purification, how much they need and want to make amends. Our love can help them. That is what Christ asks of us, as a sign of solidarity with the Church in Purgatory.

But what exactly are indulgences? What are we doing when we say some prayers, and do so specifically for the benefit of the souls in Purgatory? How does that help them? Well, this is because of the union we have with Christ. He is the one who has perfectly fulfilled all that is necessary for our salvation, but he asks us to share, with Him, the work of purification, both our own and others’. We are members of His Body and so we share in His sufferings and His triumph. But just as we still have to grow in holiness ourselves, so too do the souls of the dead who are not yet perfect on leaving this world. As we are helped by the saints, and as we help our brothers and sisters in Christ around us who are in need, so too we can help those who are also in need, but not any longer in this world and life, to make that final preparation for complete union with Christ and God.

So, please, during this month of November, remember to pray for those souls undergoing this state of preparation for heaven, so that our sacrifices, in union with Christ’s saving death and resurrection, may be of service to them.

And here’s something else: when we do this, we not only help the souls in purgatory, but we actually grow in holiness ourselves. For there is nothing mechanical about this. We have to put our whole selves into it; hence the central importance of being in a state of grace – That is why the Church insists that in order to gain an indulgence (either for ourselves or for the Holy Souls) we must have confessed our sins recently enough still to be in a state of grace, and we must go to Holy Communion on the very day we try to gain the indulgence, for only then are we in that state of holiness which can make our offering profitable both to ourselves and to others.

So, finally, to fulfil the conditions of a plenary or full indulgence to help the souls in purgatory, go to confession (unless you have been very recently and are still in a state of grace), go to Holy Communion, and then visit a cemetery any day between now and November 8th praying an Our Father and a Creed (I believe in God). Over the next couple of weeks I will announce the dates and times of the blessing of the graves in all the major cemeteries of the town, so that you may join the priests and people of the town in prayer for the souls of the faithful departed in general, or of those in particular whom you wish to pray for. You can do this also on your own throughout the rest of November too, and it will also help the souls by means of a partial indulgence. God alone decides exactly how much what we do for them can help them to become holy enough to enter heaven sooner.

Dear Sisters, dear brethren, once again St Mark has given us a very vivid account of an event such as only an eye-witness is likely to have been able to tell us; now whether that witness is Mark or not we cannot be sure, but in any case the account is at least likely to have been St Peter’s own recollection of this very dramatic healing witnessed by such a large crowd, as Mark tells us. After all, we do know that Mark wrote his Gospel from St Peter’s recollections and to assist S Peter in his preaching.

What do we learn from this healing of the blind man? First, this is not the same man as the man born blind of whom we hear in St John’s equally dramatic account in his Gospel. The man in today’s account, named Bartimaeus, or ‘Son of Timaeus’, was not born blind, since he asks for his sight to be restored to him, which is how we know he once was able to see, quite unlike the man born blind in St John.

This took place as Jesus was leaving Jericho, one of the most ancient and important cities of Judea, which lies about 25 miles east of Jerusalem. The road from Jericho to Jerusalem is bleak and dangerous on account of the many robbers that infested it and attacked lonely travellers between the cities. That is why our Lord set the parable of the Good Samaritan on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, and it would be along that road which Our Lord Himself wold pass after this event of which we have just heard, making His way to Jerusalem and to death and resurrection.

But to return to today’s Gospel; Our Lord was leaving the city accompanied by a large crowd. He was by now famous as a travelling preacher and teacher, and doubtless His reputation was enhanced by His many wonderful miracles over the course of His public ministry which had lasted about three years by now. We do not know how far these people wold be going with Him. Some surely would be staying behind, while a few apart from the Apostles, disciples and the holy women who cared for Him would be travelling with Him wherever He went.

Now a blind beggar enters the scene; he is even given a name, Bar-Timaeus, i.e. Son of Timaeus. This is probably significant. Why would St Mark tell us his name? Well, there are other cases where he does just that. For instance, he alone of the evangelists tells us that Simon of Cyrene, who helped Jesus to carry His cross, was the father of Alexander and Rufus. This can only mean that the people to whom Mark addressed his gospel must have known exactly who Alexander and Rufus were, otherwise there would be no point in telling their names. This would strongly indicate that Simon of Cyrene and his entire family must have become followers of Jesus directly as a result of the carrying of the cross. Mark indirectly tells us this simply by telling us about Alexander and Rufus. So what of Bar-Timaeus? There is a strong indication that exactly the same is true of him, i.e. that he became a disciple of Jesus, too. The strength of this suggestions lies in the very final words of today’s Gospel reading: ‘and he followed Him on the way.’ This surely doesn’t mean merely that he was one of the large crowd that walked through the streets of Jericho until Jesus left the city and then went back home. No. Being a ‘follower along the way’ is much more significant than that. It means that he became a disciple and accompanied Jesus thereafter, doubtless becoming a well-known early Christian among those who formed the early Church in Jerusalem after Pentecost.

Now to return to the narrative.

He shouts and the words he shouts are ‘Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!’ This is a prayer, addressed to Jesus as the Messiah, for the Son of David was a recognised title of the One who was to come, the great king who would liberate Israel. But we note that Bartimaeus is shouting out to Jesus as one who could have pity or mercy on him.

Even when those around try to silence him, he will not be stopped. He doubles down, as we say, crying out all the louder: ‘Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me.’

Then our Lord stops in His tracks and tells those around Him to call the blind man to Him. They now change their tune, far from trying to silence him, they now see that Jesus Himself is asking to meet him. Note how he threw off his cloak and jumped up. Such eagerness!

Then Jesus spoke. Such important words. Jesus has waited till now. ‘What do you want of me?’ ‘Lord, my Master, give me back my sight.’ Rabbuni is a special title. Mary Magdalene uses it in the Garden on the Tomb when she recognises the risen Lord. Bartimaeus is not simply regarding Jesus as a miracle-worker but as Son of David and Teacher, indeed as his teacher. Jesus tells him to go as his faith has saved him and his sight is restored at that moment.

But he does not go. He could have done, but instead he chooses to follow Jesus on the road. And as I said before, this is the road to Jerusalem, a hard and dangerous road leading to suffering and the humiliation of the cross unto death. Yet Bartimaeus follows Jesus gratefully and faithfully. He believes.

Note that Bartimaeus is not half-hearted in his request, and he gets the full response. His sight is restored fully, not in part. Padre Pio’s blind man’s prayer…

Bartimaeus gets more than even his sight back; he is given the gift of spiritual sight and understanding. Jesus is His Lord, even to death and beyond.

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

Assisted Dying, what is it? Assisted Suicide is the proper description. AD=Usurpation of a term.

Dignity, what is it? An organisation which assists people to commit suicide and campaigns for it to be made legal. ‘Dignitas’ = Usurpation of a word for tendentious purposes.

Easy to make out a case on compassionate grounds for putting to death someone suffering and destined to die soon. Why? Compassion sounds good, and the case for assisted suicide sounds perfectly compassionate. Surely safeguards can be put in place? What safeguards can be certain to last? But how does anyone know when someone will die? In my experience many expected to die soon last a long time, while the opposite also is true. Even doctors have only a informed power of guessing.

Every few years someone attempts to change the current and very well-established law which proclaims that to assist another person to commit suicide is a crime. Yet so often in the past it has failed. The last time was when a former MP in this constituency introduced such a bill.

Think of abortion: in 1967 this was lade legal and we were told it would only be safe and rare and in exceptional circumstances of danger to a mother’s life. Yet for years it has been virtually ‘on demand’. I remember the first time I heard the name ‘Keir Starmer’. It was when he was DPP and refused to prosecute certain doctors who were blatantly breaking the law by signing certificates permitting abortion on women on the grounds of mental health when they had never even seen the women concerned – just because certain persons wanted abortion for convenience.

So in the case of euthaniasia/assisted suicide. It may begin with safeguards, with clear limits in law, but what about pressure put on a dying person to stop using up resources uselessly? What about pressure from relations who want to get hold of an elderly relative’s property?

There is another such assisted suicide bill about to be introduced into Parliament. and there is a greater chance that it will be passed this time, given the range of views among the MPs elected to the Commons last July. The most atheistic and anti-life parliament ever in our history.

Now although it is the case that whenever such a change in the law has been rejected in the past, as was the case with Marris’s Bill in 2016, this never stops the proposers of euthanasia from continuing to keep up the pressure. And they are well supported by the supposedly neutral BBC.

Yet even though the proposers of assisted suicide continue to present bill after bill in Parliamnet until such time as the law finally is changed, will a bill opposing suicide ever be allowed afterwards? Think again about abortion.

The pro-suicide lobby insist that their proposals are measured and limited and appeal to compassion t justify their planned change to the law. But in reality all such protections are gradually removed. Remember conscience clauses or doctors and nurses opposed to abortion? Where are they now? Now you can’t even publicly opposed abortion without the serious risk of being sent to jail, and even without saying a single word! Yes, Isabel Vaughan Spruce, the fearless campaigner against abortion was compensated after two wrongful arrests, but think of Adam Smith Connor. He has not only been arrested for the same alleged ‘crime’, but sent to prison.

If the assisted suicide bill is passed, then the same will happen to anyone who opposes euthanasia some time in the future, and I predict it won’t be very long. Just as being anti-abortion has now become seen as fanatical and socially unacceptable, so too will being anti-assisted suicide in the future.

In fact, it is already happening on the quiet in hospitals. People who are seriously ill and in a coma which won’t permit them to speak, are being starved to death. This was the Liverpool pathway of a few years ago. But although there was an outcry against it and it was stopped, it just went underground and changed its name. Hospitals are still killing patients who are deemed unworthy of living any longer.

So it will be very easy to argue that people who are ill, whether dying or not, but are using up the valuable costly resources of the NHS, people who are depressed or feel guilty that they are a burden on their families, all these should accept the inevitable and allow themselves to be euthanised.