Preferring Nothing to Christ

JOHN 10:1-10
‘I am the gate. Anyone who enters through me will be safe: he will go freely in and out and be sure of finding pasture.’

Biblical scholars tell us that the shepherds of Jesus’ day took the safety of the sheep so seriously that they would lie themselves across the entrance to the sheepfold at night. This would stop both the sheep escaping and any predators entering. The shepherd really did lay down his life for his sheep.

Since the beginning of the pandemic being ‘safe’ has taken on new levels of meaning for us. So many ordinary things have had to be rethought. We have stood at the threshold of life and death. We had to accept that we couldn’t go ‘freely in and out’. I certainly saw our monastic enclosure in a new light. We were and are fortunate to have just about everything we need inside the monastery.

In the quotation above it’s the last few words which really strike me, ‘be sure of finding pasture’. The success of the shepherd depends on providing safety and finding pasture. Finding new grazing would often involve a degree of risk. The Israelites were originally a nomadic people and it was only entry into the Promised Land that began the process of them settling. I’d always assumed that the settled people were the more prosperous, but in ancient Israel the fact that nomads could risk setting out on a journey indicated that they were more secure. They lived closely to nature and knew the movements of the seasons and the risks involved in the terrain that they crossed.

In our own lives finding the pasture that we need isn’t always easy. Many times things can feel barren and as if we have journeyed to the thinnest of grass and the smallest source of water. Often it’s only in looking back that we can see that we were sustained and have grown.

Where have you ‘found pasture’ in this past week?

Matthew 11:25-30

Today we celebrate the feast of St Catherine of Siena. You’ll see her depicted wearing the habit of a nun, but she was in fact a Third Order Dominican. She’s of particular note for her fearless resolve and ability to speak truth to power, and especially to Popes. The Church has recognized her as a Doctor of the Church. She stands alongside Therese of Lisieux, Teresa of Avila and Hildegard of Bingen. All four women are recognized for their holiness, depth of insight and contribution to Catholic teaching and thought.

There’s one thing which unites these women and that’s the intimacy of their relationship with God. Our Gospel text today speaks too of intimacy. The Father chooses to make himself known not to the learned and the clever but to ‘mere children.’ What is required here is an open heart and an ability to be in the moment. This is what we mean by being contemplative. We are each born with this capacity. It’s not the preserve of Religious or even of mystics.

From an open heart flows the desire to collaborate with and work for the things of God. All four Doctors of the Church did this in a unique way. Each of the women suffered in some way as they drew closer to God. They held fast and were able to respond to the invitation:

‘Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart, and you will find rest for your souls.’

Recognising someone as a Doctor of the Church is the Church’s most formal way of acknowledging the power of God at work in a person’s life. This is for the few. There are, however, so many women who have given us light for our paths by their depth of insight and quiet holiness.

Thank God for those women who have walked with you along the way and shown you the face of Christ.

John 6:52-59

‘He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I live in him.’

When we gather together to give thanks to the Father and to share bread and wine we make a statement about who we are as individuals and who we are as community. We receive Christ’s broken body as a pledge of love and hope of healing for the world. Christ lives in and among us. At the end of the Eucharistic celebration you may hear these words: Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life. As we leave the church we are commissioned TO BE the Body of Christ.

The Church Fathers were quite clear about what this meant for believers:

Do you want to honor Christ’s body? Then do not scorn him in his nakedness, nor honour him here in the church with silken garments while neglecting him outside where he is cold and naked. For he who said: This is my body, and made it so by his words, also said: You saw me hungry and did not feed me, and inasmuch as you did not do it for one of these, the least of my brothers, you did not do it for me. [Mat 25:34ff].

( St John Chrysostom, Homily 50)

In our world today we don’t have to look far to see Christ’s broken body.

Where can you be the Body of Christ today?

Photo by Sylvain Brison on Unsplash

John 6:44-51

‘Your fathers ate the manna in the desert and they are dead; but this is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that a man may eat it and not die.’

It’s worth reading the whole of the Bread of Life discourse (John 6:22-66) in one sitting to get a sense of the flow of the argument. The lectionary spreads it over a week, but with several feasts this week it can feel a little disjointed.

When Jesus speaks of manna he is reminding his hearers of the formative time in the desert when the Israelites relied directly on the providence of God. Jewish scholars say that the manna was thought to taste like whatever food one most craved. I like this detail. It speaks to me of a God who knows us and provides for our individual needs.

In the Eucharist Jesus offers us something even greater than manna. He offers us something that will sustain us now and always. While this is a gift which is personal to each of us, it is also a gift with a communal dimension. Benedictine, Godfrey Diekmann, sums this up in a sentence:

“What difference does it make if the bread and wine turn into the Body and Blood of Christ and we don’t?”

The Eucharist invites us to become what we receive. How can you do this today?

Acts 8:1-8
John 6:35-40

I am the bread of life.
He who comes to me will never be hungry;
he who believes in me will never thirst.

We are so familiar with Jesus’ language when he refers to himself as ‘the Bread of Life’ that it is easy to miss just how bold a claim this was. In 1st Century Palestine the vast majority of people belonged to the peasant class. Many were tenant farmers and relied upon a favourable harvest and the integrity of the landlord to be able to survive. Bad fortune with either the harvest or the landlord threatened life. Having the means to make bread literally was a matter of life and death.

If you go in search of references to bread in the Bible you will find material from almost beginning to end. In Genesis we see the bread of Hospitality when Abraham and Sarah entertain their unexpected guests. In Exodus we learn of the Bread of the Presence when 12 loaves are kept on a golden table in the tabernacle. Those loaves symbolise God’s presence. In the New Testament Jesus multiplies the loaves and feeds a multitude. And at Emmaus it is in the breaking of bread that the disciples recognise Jesus. In all of these stories bread is the vehicle for communicating a truth.

So when Jesus says ‘I am the Bread of Life’ he is also saying that every truth that has been communicated through bread can be found in him. In Jesus we find the one who welcomes, the guarantee of God’s presence, the one who feeds and the one who opens our eyes.

How do you hear Christ’s promise that if you come to him you will never be hungry?

1 Peter 5:5-14
Mark 16:15-20

When we celebrate the feast of St Mark the Evangelist we celebrate the gifts of a storyteller. What we read on the printed page had its origins in an oral culture. The early Church preserved in writing the memories and stories which shaped their identity. If you were a well-to-do host in Graeco-Roman society you might pay a ‘gospeller’ to come and perform a Gospel for your guests.

Hearing a Gospel performed in one sitting has a big appeal for me. Mark’s brisk style would lend itself to this very well. Some of Mark’s favourite phrases are ‘immediately’ and ‘at once’. Jesus is a man of action. Through the actions and words of Jesus Mark announces that a new era has dawned. This is the era of Good News.

As a Christian community we still tell and retell our story. It is in the telling and retelling that we begin to learn who we are.

Bring to mind the significant stories in your life.
Thank God for those who have been storytellers in your life.

Romans 5:1-5
John 15:18-21

‘These sufferings bring patience, as we know, and patience brings perseverance, and perseverance brings hope, and this hope is not deceptive, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit which has been given us.‘

In certain circles on Twitter there was discussion as to how far we should follow the principles of the liturgical calendar, when this year that means celebrating St George on the 24th rather than the 23rd. If we look below the surface a little we can easily find some solid ground. The transferring of a feast is the Church’s way of keeping the celebration of the Resurrection front and centre. Liturgically we are now in our third week of celebrating the triumph of life over death, of hope over despair and love over hatred.

St George enters our liturgical landscape as one who embodies the dynamic of the Paschal mystery. His ability to empty himself and to offer his life in the cause of love and truth mirrors Christ’s own self-emptying. Legend gives St George a particular place in our collective psyche. And its this place which is unnerved when his feast is transferred. I think there is a good case for seeing the celebration of the Third Sunday of Easter as a prelude to celebrating St George.

Whatever we might think about the way in which St George has been co-opted into harmful right wing ideologies, his memory remains of one who was ready to have God’s love poured into his heart. This was the source of his chivalry and bravery.

When are you most aware that God’s love has been poured into your heart?

Acts 2:14,22-33 
1 Peter 1:17-21
Luke 24:13-35

Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?

This is the second time that we hear the Emmaus story in the season of Eastertide. We heard it first on Wednesday in the Easter Octave. There is so much to ponder in this text that I sometimes wish that we could hear it several days in a row.

So many of the Gospel stories operate on several levels. The stories have their place in the overall structure of the Gospel and then when used in the liturgy another layer of meaning is added. When both or one of these layers of meaning touch our own story, a new level of meaning is opened up. I see this dynamic most clearly with the Emmaus story.

We’ve become accustomed to the journey metaphor being used in many areas of our lives. There is an implicit understanding that certain sorts of situations require a mental and physical journey. We have learnt the wisdom of the process of the journey being as important as arriving at the destination. The Emmaus story offers us an outer and an inner journey. When we hear the text we are invited to make both journeys too.

Denis McBride has deepened my understanding of the dynamic at work here. He sees many strands in the journey:

from without to within,
from confusion to understanding,
from death to life,
from hopelessness to hope,
from blindness to recognition,
from absence to presence,
from Jerusalem to Jerusalem,
from separation to community.

Read through the Gospel story. Where do you find yourself on this journey?

John 6:16-21

In just 5 verses the writer of the Fourth Gospel has given us a window into a whole theological world. The story of Jesus walking on the water comes just after he had fed the 5,000. For the hearers of this Gospel the resonances with the Exodus story may well have been clear. Just as God fed the Israelites in the long years in the desert, so too Jesus feeds the people. Assured of God’s providence, in the dark of night, the Israelites were led to freedom as the waters of the Red Sea parted and they reached dry land. God is master of the waters. As night is falling, Jesus is master of the strong wind and rough sea and is able to walk on the waters to his disciples. The people of Israel were left in no doubt that God has acted. The disciples, however, are afraid and need reassurance: ‘It is I. Do not be afraid.

In my youth I attended a charismatic prayer group and loved this simple song:

Here comes Jesus, see Him walking on the water,
He’ll lift you up and He’ll help you to stand;
Oh, here comes Jesus,
He’s the Master of the waves that roll.
Here comes Jesus, let him take your hand.

Both the Gospel text and this simple song invite us to recognize Jesus when he comes to us.

Picture yourself in the boat. How do you respond to Jesus when he says: ‘It is I. Do not be afraid.’

John 6:1-15

In his book. Eating Together: Becoming One, Tom O’Loughlin examines the many ways in which meals feature in the Gospels. He lays alongside the Scriptural story our human experience of gathering and sharing food. He suggests that there is a particular grammar at work in meals. When we invite people for a meal the understanding is that everyone will eat. In the event of there not being enough food it would be usual for the host and or family to hold back. We know this grammar, it doesn’t have to be taught.

John’s Gospel begins with a celebratory meal for a wedding at Cana. The unthinkable happens and the wine runs out. Jesus intervenes. The grammar of meals is intact. The Gospel also ends with a meal, this time on the shores of Lake Tiberias. Jesus, the host, has already provided bread and fish and to this he adds fish which the disciples have caught. The grammar of meals is certainly intact.

Today’s Gospel text is a meal on the grandest of scales. Miraculously those five loaves and two fish feed a multitude. There can be no doubt, the grammar of meals is intact. In John’s schema this miracle shows Christ’s glory and is the prelude to the lengthy Bread of Life discourse. For us the story is heavy with meaning. We hear the Eucharistic resonance as Jesus takes, gives thanks and shares.

How can you be open to the Eucharist resonances in the meals you share?