2nd week of Ordinary Time

Our liturgical calendar reminds that we are now in what is known as ‘Ordinary Time’. Our liturgical colour turns to green – a reminder that these Sundays are about ourselves turning green and growing.

The Church begins with a very ‘growing’ story from St John’s gospel – the story of the wedding feast at Cana.

In the late 1980’s I was engaged in what is commonly known as a thirty day retreat. The thirty days are silent and spent in contemplation of the Scriptures with the guidance of a spiritual director. The retreat follows the dynamic of the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatuis of Loyola. The original exercises were written by Ignatius between 1522 – 1524.

The poem that follows is a result of spending a day sipping wine with Jesus, his mother Mary and other wedding guests.

The illustration I have chosen is by the British painter, Winifred Knights (1899 – 1947). Produced for the British School at Rome, it is now in the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa.

Cana

What is wine
but water at the mercy of
vine, maker and time.

This water
cut trampled and crushed
into the hands of the maker,
Patient;
and skill unfolds it
with a secret known only to the
Maker.
Juice itself not parry to its workings.

Water blended, laid to rest
with a something special not revealed.

{they say you can know the Maker
by supping his juice.}

this priceless water
like the “Daisies of Van Gogh
finds value in dust and darkness.
Who knows its price
smells its fruit
is palate touched
unless blood red ‘tis spilled.

When last did water spill red?
“This cup is for you
do it in memory”

And in the supping of the wine
forget not
the vine from whose stock was sprung,
the maker whose secret unfolded you.

 

The Baptism of the Lord

Jesus is thirty years old when his baptism happens.

According to Mark’s Gospel, he has not said a single word up to now!

Maybe, that is the focal point of Baptism.

Not the washing away of original sin, rather being “dipped into” (the original meaning of the word, Baptism) the never-ending love of my God.

“And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the beloved’” (Lk 3:22)
Until we “know” we’re a beloved son or beloved daughter, we don’t have anything to say.

We can “know” a chocolate cake by reading the recipe.

We can also “know” a chocolate cake by taking a bite of one. And once we have taken a bite, we won’t stop talking about it.

In his baptism, Jesus was dipped in the unifying mystery of life and death and love. That’s where it all begins—even for him!

The unique Son of God had to hear it with his own ears and then he couldn’t be stopped.

Then he has plenty to say for the next three years, because he has finally found his own soul, his own identity, and his own life’s purpose.

Might the only purpose of the gospel, and even religion, be to communicate that one and eternal truth.

You are a beloved daughter or son of God.

The illustration I have chosen might well appear a little confusing at first.

The illustration is titled Baptism of the Lord (Epiphany).

It was produced in the XVII century by the Orthodox dispensation in Greece and is housed in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Swimming in the river Jordan are fish. It is quite natural to have a river with fish.

Also, let us recall one of the oldest images of Christ and his followers was indeed the fish.

The dominant language of the early Church was Greek, and in Greek the phrase “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior” produced the acronym ICHTHYS, the Greek word for fish.

An ancient symbol of Christianity carved on the wall of the cave used as a chapel by the seventh century St. Fillan in Pittenweem, Fife, Scotland”

Feast of the Epiphany

St Luke’s gospel has shepherds and no wise men; St Matthew’s gospel has wise men and no shepherds.

However, both the shepherds and the wise men are important to our story of the in-breaking of God into our world in the person of Jesus, the Word made flesh.

The shepherds were Jews, the wise men (or Magi) were non-Jews, or Gentiles.

The word epiphany means a manifestation or revelation. Literally, ‘a drawing back of the veil.’ Imagine sitting in a playhouse and waiting for the curtains to open,

On this day the veil is drawn back on a great mystery, namely, that Christ is the Saviour of all people.

Today is the feast of inclusivity.

This feast shows that election by God is not a privilege for some, rather a hope for all. It puts an end to every kind of exclusiveness.

And what does our Church do? Includes the wealthy (the Magi needed to be persons of some means which enabled them to travel), and excludes the poor – we have no Sunday dedicated to those who received the first manifestation, namely the shepherds.

In Jesus own mission he reached out to those excluded by the society in which he lived; the poor, the diseased, women and children.

He reached out to Samaritans, Canaanites, foreigners, and every manner of social outcast. He angered the Jewish leaders by telling them that the Kingdom of God was open to everyone. The news that the Gentiles would be accepted on equal terms as themselves caused shock and bewilderment to the Jewish leaders.

This great and wonderful truth was revealed in embryo when the Magi and the shepherds came to honour the Christ child.

Are all welcome, as equals, in our Church, irrespective of race, gender, age, sexual preference, ability or disability? If not, why not? Is the barrier not in them; rather, might it be in me?

I have chosen two illustrations for today.

El Greco’s painting of the Adoration of the Shepherds was painted in 1612.

The full painting includes group of angels hovering.

After spending some time with the painting, I made an amazing discovery. Notice the light shining around the naked infant Jesus. Now look at the posture of the adorers’ hands—it is like they are being warmed by the light (fire) of the Word made Flesh.

Gentile de Fabriano illustrated the three Magi. The work is lavish and detailed and was painted as an altarpiece in 1493.

A chocolate fish if you can spot the monkey! And another one when you spot the head of a lioness!

Towards the conclusion of Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is in discussion with the chief priests and elders, and they are questioning his authority. The discussion concludes with these words of Jesus, “Truly I tell you; the tax collectors and prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you, in accordance with God’s covenant plan, and you didn’t believe him – but the tax collectors and prostitutes believed him. But when you saw it, you didn’t think better of it afterwards and believe him. “ (Mtt. 21: 31-32)

Christmas

I am conscious in my own life of how this season and experience of Advent and Christmas can feel like a ‘historical repeat’. I have celebrated many Advents and Christmases, and much has been/is a repeat of previous years.

Like the season of Easter, much time is taken with the preparation of liturgies.

These liturgies take place both in our Churches and at our homes.

In this rush pausing to stop, look, and listen can be overlooked.

At the centre of our Christmas celebration is the recalling that “Christmas declares the glory of the flesh”. This the wonderful opening line from the poem ‘Christmas and the Common Birth’ by the British poet Anne Ridler (1912 – 2001).

When I take time to stop, look, and listen, I realize that the reality of this truth, that ‘Christmas declares the glory of the flesh’, is strongly affirmed in the lexicon of Christian art.

The frequency with which the newborn Jesus is painted naked declares loudly that what we celebrate is indeed the ‘glory of the flesh’.

As we have declared for many, many years, “ Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto, ex Maria virgine; et homo factus est.”

“And [he] was incarnate by the Holy Spirit, of the Virgin Mary; and was made man.”

This is evidenced most dramatically in the altarpiece by the Flemish painter Hugo van der Goes.

The painting, part of a triptych depicting the Adoration of the Shepherds forms part of the Portinari Altarpiece, c. 1476, has every person richly garmented except for? – you guessed right, “The Word made Flesh”. The artwork now hangs in the Uffizi Gallery, in Florence