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Note: The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ—also known as Corpus Christi—is traditionally celebrated on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday. But in some countries and in some dioceses, it is celebrated on the following Sunday.

Commentary on Genesis 14:18-20; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; Luke 9:11-17

In a way, we have already celebrated this feast. We did so on Holy (Maundy) Thursday in Holy Week. On that occasion, the emphasis was on the institution, the gift of the Eucharist to us as one of Jesus’ last acts before his suffering and death. It was, moreover, to be an enduring memorial of that great liberating act by which God’s love would be forever kept before our minds.

One reason why we may have this second feast of the Eucharist is that it takes place during the more joyful period of the Easter season when we can celebrate it with greater freedom from the constraints of Lent and Holy Week. In many parts of the world, there will be a solemn and joyful procession of the Blessed Sacrament through the parish grounds or even through the public streets.

Community dimension
Perhaps today we should emphasise more the community dimension of the celebration of the Eucharist which is often missing. We tend to see ‘going to Mass’ very much in individual terms. If ‘I’ fail to ‘go to Mass’ through ‘my own fault’, ‘I’ have committed a mortal sin. We also tend to talk about ‘hearing’ Mass, or being ‘at Mass’. We ask questions like: “Who said the Mass?” The priest himself may even be heard to announce: “I am saying this Mass for the repose of the soul of…” or even “I am saying this Mass for all of you here”.

On reflection, these expressions are very strange. They tend to present the Eucharist as something that the priest alone does on behalf of other people. People seem to feel themselves present at a performance in which they are only expected to be physically present. This is sometimes further accentuated by a choir doing all the singing (that is, if there is singing) and a ‘commentator’ shouting out all the prayers over the microphone. Quite a number of people come in late and many leave before the end. These things are all so common that we hardly notice them. We may even accept these things as ‘just the way they are’. But it tells us a lot about what it means to people to be present (or not present) at the Eucharist.

Active participation
The Eucharist is essentially, and of its very nature, a community action in which every person present is expected to be an active participant. We are here, on the one hand, recalling what makes us Christians in the first place—our identification with the life, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus. And that identification with Jesus is expressed not through a one-to-one relationship with him, but in a community relationship with him present in all those who call themselves Christian. We relate to him through his Risen Body, which is the whole community bearing his name. There is no place in Christianity for individualism. It is a horizontal faith: we go to God with and through those around us.

Every Lord’s Day we come together as that Body, as a community, to say thanks to him and hence the name ‘Eucharist’ which means ‘thanks’. It is regrettable, then, if we are only in church to ‘keep the Third Commandment’ on a purely private, individual, devotional basis. With that mentality, it will not be surprising if we think it does not matter if we are late or leave early. Because, with that mentality, ‘going to Mass’ is a private affair for me and all the others who ‘happen’ to be there, too.

Some even resent that there is too much going on. They wonder why they cannot be “left in peace to say their prayers”. It is true some Mass celebrations can be overactive or over-intrusive, but on the other hand, it is not a time for contemplative prayer. One can do that much better at home. The whole point of being at Mass is to celebrate together with one’s fellow-Christians as a community of the disciples of Jesus.

Eating together
As well as remembering and giving thanks as a community—as the Body of Christ—the Eucharist is also a time when we express that unity through the eating and drinking together of that Body.

The key to our being in Christ is love, love not only for God, but for every single person. Jesus said that the two ways by which it would be known publicly that we live in him would be by our love for each other and the unity which follows from that:

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:35)

and

…that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. (John 17:21)

and

I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you [the Father] have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. (John 17:23)

This, of course, we are to manifest first and foremost by the way we live our daily lives. And one of the reasons we may find it difficult to express ourselves as community during Mass is because we do not have that deepdown sense of togetherness as Christians in general. Mass is not the time to manufacture community; rather, it is the time to celebrate it. Unfortunately, past emphasis on individual morality as the key to ‘saving my soul’ still runs deep several decades after the Second Vatican Council. As a result, we come into the church on Sunday largely as strangers to each other.

Stiff and formal
Not surprisingly, the ‘sign of peace’ is, in many cases, hardly a warm-hearted act of reconciliation and friendship, but a stiff and formal bowing in which some people still decline to take part.

Communion can be seen primarily as ‘receiving Jesus in my heart’. I close my eyes lest I might be ‘distracted’ by the people around me. The choir sings on my behalf while I make ‘my thanksgiving’. Certainly reverence and prayer have their place at Communion time, as throughout the Eucharist. But we need to remember, too, that we are taking part in the joyful celebration of a community of brothers and sisters. This communion calls for sharing and communication and even a certain level of spontaneity and naturalness.

‘Going to communion’ is not a private ‘receiving’, but a sharing—an eating together of the one Bread and the shared drinking of the one Cup. This one Bread and one Cup is Jesus in his Risen Body; it includes not only Jesus, but the whole community present. We recognise in the sharing not just the individual Jesus coming to me, but Jesus in his Body, of which we are all part.

Jesus is in the host, but he is also in the hand that gives the host and in the hand of the one who receives. There are some ultra-devotional people who genuflect just before receiving. By right, they should also genuflect to the whole congregation because that is where the real presence of Christ is. If Jesus is not present by faith and action in this community, what meaning can the Eucharist have?

Eucharistic ministers
Hence the meaningfulness now, in some parishes, of having the induction of lay Eucharistic ministers on this day. We have moved from a purely priest-centred Eucharist at which the laity are passive spectators to one that is community-centred because that is where Christ is to be found. The priest certainly has his role, of course, as the one who presides. He is the focal point of unity around which the community gathers, but it is the community—including the priest—who celebrates.

These ministers may also be bringing the Eucharist to the sick and the homebound. This is, too, an extension of the community celebration of the Eucharist. Our sick brothers and sisters cannot come personally to the community celebration, but they are reminded of their membership when they share the same Body of Christ, which binds all together. In communion, not just Jesus, but the whole parish comes to them.

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Commentary on Proverbs 8:22-31; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15

Today’s feast is one which many preachers would prefer not to have to talk about. What can one say that is meaningful about such an abstract concept as the Holy Trinity? In one sense, of course, they are right. It was the great St Thomas Aquinas who said that it was much easier to say what God was not than what he is. In other words, every positive statement made about God has to be immediately denied. If we say God is ‘good’, it is obviously true but our concept of ‘goodness’, however exalted, is so limited that God’s ‘goodness’ cannot be remotely described by our concept of it. And the same is so of every other attribute applied to God.

So when it comes to speaking of the meaning and inner relationship of three “Persons” in one God we are floundering in territory where ordinary human language is totally inadequate to express the reality. Our God can only be reached in the “cloud of unknowing”, as Julian of Norwich so beautifully expressed it. God is not any of the things we say he is. It is, as Fr Anthony de Mello used to put it, something like “trying to explain the colour green to a person who has been totally blind since birth.”

In search of an understanding
However, we should not try to get off the hook too easily and decide to speak or think about something altogether different on this Sunday. Provided we are aware of God’s basic unknowability by our limited minds, there are still many helpful things we can consider about our God and the inner relationships which are part of his being. While it is of the utmost importance that we realise this, there are many statements we can make which will help in our relationships with God.

To go back to Thomas Aquinas again, one of his basic principles was that “Behaviour is determined by the nature of things” (Latin, Agere sequitur esse). From the way things act we know something about what they are. We can thus distinguish the different natures of minerals and other non-living substances, plant life, bacterial and viral life, animal life, human life from the different ways in which each is able to function and react. We normally will not confuse a cow and a horse, a bird or a bat, a shark or a whale, a gorilla or a human being. It is not simply their appearances that are different. We realise that each has certain capabilities and that those capabilities arise from the way they are essentially constituted in their inner being. We don’t expect animals to talk as humans do (except in TV cartoons). We don’t expect snails to run in the Derby or the Grand National—or tortoises to outstrip hares, except in fables.

And, in our daily rubbing shoulders with other people, the only way we can know them is by what they reveal of themselves through their behaviour and interactions. When we say they are kind, it is because they consistently behave in a way that is kind. Or when we say they are cruel, again it is because of what we perceive as consistently cruel behaviour. Jesus said:

You will know them by their fruits…A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. (Matt 7:16,18)

And this is because agere sequitur esse.

Limited understanding
At the same time, while we may feel we can know a lot about people from their behaviour (and do not hesitate to pass judgement!), we can by no means know everything. Every human being, indeed as science constantly discovers, every created thing is a mystery whose innermost reality is really impossible for us to penetrate totally. And that even applies to our own selves. We do not know ourselves totally. We are a mystery to ourselves—and, a fortiori, to others!

If this is true of created reality, we should not be surprised to face the same dilemma with the Creator. God, in his deepest being, is a mystery we cannot ever fathom. This is not just a ‘cop out’; it is a fact. Nevertheless on the basis of what God does we do get some very clear indications of what he is. Agere sequitur esse applies to God also.

What the Christian Testament tells us
And it is in the Christian Testament especially that we get the first hints of there being more than one way of understanding God, although the full theology of the Trinity was only developed later. What it means to have three Persons in one Being is something we do not even try to understand. But we can get some inkling if we confine ourselves to seeing what each of the persons does as a clue to what they are.

In Greek classical drama in the time of Jesus and earlier, the actors put on a mask to indicate the role they were playing (not unlike the elaborate painting of the face in Chinese opera for the same purpose). The Greek word for this mask was prosopon (literally, ‘in front of the face’) and the Latin translation is persona (that through which the sound of the voice came).

So, speaking analogically, we can say that in our God there are three masks, three personae, three roles pointing to three separate sources of action. This is not an explanation. It is a groping effort to get some understanding. Those three roles are that of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Father
We see God as Father, a loving and compassionate Father. Not a daunting patriarchal figure, but one that is easily approached and who can be addressed by the familiar and intimate term “Abba” (similar the English ‘Papa’, or ‘Ah-Ba’ in Chinese and other languages). He is the Creator and giver of all life. Everything good that can be discerned in the world around us comes from him and through him. In him, through him and with him all things exist.

He is the one who cares, the one who waits for the Prodigal to return and forgives completely and immediately. He is the Father of truth, the Father of love and compassion, the Father of justice. The whole of this beautiful world in which we live is a testimony and, at the same time, only a faint indication of what he really is. If we really look at the world he has made (and not at the one we have unmade), our hearts can only be overcome with praise and thanks.

Son
We see God as Son, who in an extraordinary way came to live among us, and whom, in a paradox beyond all understanding, we humans killed. In the Son as a human being, we can see, hear and touch God. We see something of the nature of our God as Jesus heals the sick, identifies with the weak and socialises with the sinful. We see him challenge the dehumanising values that form the fabric of most of our lives and, in the process, he is rejected by those he loves. Though he is God, he empties himself of all human dignity that he might open for us the way to true and unending life.

Spirit
We see God as Spirit, becoming, as it were, the soul of his people. All the good that we do, all our evangelising work, our hospitals, schools, works of social development and social welfare, our care of the sick, the weak, the oppressed and the outcast—all are the work of God’s Spirit working in and through us. Wherever there is love, there is the Spirit of God at work.

Models for our life
And yet, being aware of all this, we still cannot say that we know our God. But there is enough here—if we pray and reflect on it—that is already overpowering in its significance.

We need to remember that we have been called to be and to grow into the image of God himself. In what has been revealed to us through Jesus and the Scriptures, we have more than enough to challenge us and to help us to approach closer to our God. Our ultimate goal, and it is the only goal for all living, is to achieve perfect union with him. We do that, above all, by loving as he loved—by loving unconditionally and continuing to love where no love, and even hate, is returned.

For this we need the creative power of the Father, the compassion of the Son, and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. They are all available to anyone who opens their heart to receive.

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Commentary on Acts 2:1-11; 1 Corinthians 12:3-7,12-13; John 20:19-23

Today we celebrate what is often called the birthday of the Church. Happy birthday to all! We also bring to completion our celebration of the Paschal Mystery – Jesus’ suffering, death, resurrection and ascension, as well as the coming of the Holy Spirit on Jesus’ disciples.

Although this ‘mystery’ is really one great reality, we have stretched its celebration over a period of more than seven weeks. That such a time frame is not to be too excessively emphasised as historical fact is indicated by the two very different accounts of the giving of the Spirit we have in the readings of today’s Mass.

Full of symbols
Most of us are more familiar with the account given in Acts of the Apostles which is the First Reading of today’s Mass. In this account, the Apostles are all gathered in one room at the time of the Jewish feast of Pentecost, which in the Jewish calendar traditionally falls 50 days after the Passover (or Easter in our Christian calendar).

What follows is a scene filled with scriptural symbols. First, there is the sound of a mighty wind from heaven filling the whole house. The word in Greek for ‘spirit’ and ‘wind’ is the same (pneuma), so the wind clearly indicates the Spirit of God.

Then there appeared tongues of fire which rested on the head of each one present. Again we have a symbol of God’s presence. We remember God speaking to Moses from the bush which was on fire. We remember that, as the Israelites wandered through the desert, they were accompanied during the night by a pillar of fire – God was with them. All present are then filled with the Spirit. The sign of this presence is their ability to speak in different languages.

A message for all
Immediately, the Apostles go out and begin to speak to the crowds of people. Jerusalem is filled with Jewish and convert visitors from all over the Mediterranean, from Asia Minor, Egypt and North Africa, even Rome, to celebrate the feast. These people are amazed to hear men, who are clearly relatively unlettered people from the province of Galilee, speaking to them in so many languages.

The meaning is clear. What the Apostles are preaching is a message destined for the whole world and not just for one people. A long time ago, as described in the book of Genesis (11:1-9), men tried to build a tower right up to heaven. For such arrogance they were punished by having to speak in a myriad of languages unintelligible to others. Humanity became deeply divided.

Today, Babel is reversed. All are speaking and hearing the message with full understanding; people are being brought together in unity under God.

Full of fear
The Gospel today has a quite different account of the coming of the Spirit on the disciples. It is the evening of Easter Sunday and the disciples are in a room, with the doors firmly locked. As accomplices in the work of the executed criminal, Jesus, they are afraid they are the next to be arrested. The authorities would surely want to nip this subversive group in the bud before it gets out of control. Fear and anxiety is the prevailing mood among them.

All of a sudden, Jesus is there in their midst and greets them saying:

Peace be with you.

In Hebrew, this is normal the Jewish greeting shalom, but it has a fuller significance here. Earlier, at the Last Supper, Jesus had promised that he would bring peace, a very special kind of peace, to his disciples. A peace they could not get anywhere else and a peace that no one and nothing could take away from them.

Now, he brings that peace to this highly fearful group. In Greek, “Peace with you” has no verb. It can be read either as a wish or a statement of fact; it is something of both.

Jesus then shows them the wounds in his hands and side. There can be no doubt: it is the crucified Jesus himself, risen from the dead. As their fear changes to an unspeakable joy, Jesus again wishes them peace.

Receiving a mission
And then he gives them their mission:

As the Father has sent me, so I send you.

Their mission is the same as his; they are to continue doing what he did. Then he breathes on them. Breath symbolises life. In the creation story, God breathed over the waters. He also breathed on the clay of the ground and formed the first human being. Today he breathes on his disciples and gives them a new life, making them a new creation, giving them the life of his Spirit, saying:

Receive the Holy Spirit.

Then he goes on to say:

If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.

This is no mere juridical authority in which people are declared free of guilt. It is much more than that. The disciples are being given the authority to bring people back to God, to reconcile those who have become separated from their God, to renew their unity with the beginning and the end of their lives. They are also given the authority to decide which people are not yet ready to be forgiven.

Ultimate mission
This is ultimately the mission of the Church, to bring people to God. It is not primarily to make converts to Christianity or to build up the Church, but to work with God in building the Kingdom. The Kingdom realised is the whole world acknowledging the lordship of God our Creator and people directing their lives to be one with him.

This was the mission given by Jesus to his disciples and the same mission has been given to each one of us. So, as soon as a person becomes reconciled with God as Lord and Jesus as Saviour, that person in turn accepts the obligation to become in turn a reconciler of others.

Special gifts
Today’s Second Reading speaks of the gifts that the Spirit of God and Jesus gives to each one for this work. We are not all called to the same thing in the same way:

Now there are varieties of gifts but the same Spirit, and there are varieties of services but the same Lord, and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.

We all have exactly the same ultimate goal, energised from the same Source, but with our different qualities of character and ability, and depending on the environmental situation in which we find ourselves, we aim at that goal in different ways.

Working together in different ways towards a common aim, Paul compares us to a human body:

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.

Each part is ordered to the well-being of the whole. That should be a picture of the Christian community, of our diocese and of each parish and of each community within a parish. We are all equal in dignity — Jew or Greek, slave or citizen, man or woman, cleric or lay – but different in calling and manner of service.

On this feast of Pentecost, as we celebrate the formation and the mission of the whole Christian community, we also need to reflect on the particular role that God has for me, to reflect on the particular contribution that I can make to the corporate mission of the Church and of the particular group with which I am involved.

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Commentary on Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:2-3,5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

Today we celebrate the second of four great manifestations of God in our midst.  The word epiphany comes from Greek and it means a ‘showing’ or ‘manifestation’.  We call today’s feast the Epiphany of the Lord, but the term could equally well be applied to the other three.

The first of these four manifestations we already celebrated on December 25, when God revealed himself to us, manifested in the form of a helpless, newborn infant.  He is presented as born homeless and in poverty and surrounded by the poor and outcasts (represented by the shepherds).  This manifestation fits in very well with the theme of Luke’s Gospel, and it is he who tells the story of Jesus’ birth.

In today’s feast, we see the same recently born baby in similar circumstances, but the material and social surroundings are hardly touched on. The emphasis here, as we shall see, is different. Here are strangers, foreigners, total outsiders coming to give royal homage to this tiny child. This will be the theme of Matthew’s Gospel:

Go therefore and make disciples of all nations… (Matt 28:19)

The third manifestation we will celebrate next Sunday, and it closes the Christmas celebration of the Incarnation. Jesus, now an adult of 30 years or so, is seen standing in a river together with a multitude of penitents.  He is solemnly endorsed by the voice of God as the Son of God:

You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.
(Mark 1:11)

This event is recorded by all the evangelists.

The fourth manifestation is found only in John’s Gospel.  It is not part of the Christmas liturgy but we read it on the Second Sunday during the liturgical Year C, immediately after the Christmas season.  This revelation occurs during a wedding banquet (symbolising the Kingdom of love, justice and peace which is to be established through Jesus).  Water (symbolising the Old Covenant) is changed into new wine (symbolising the New Covenant to be signed and sealed on the cross of Calvary).  Mary (representing the Church, God’s people) is seen as the intermediary through whose request this is brought about.  It is the first of seven ‘signs’ by which Jesus reveals his true identity in John’s Gospel.

Story or history?
Coming back to today’s feast, we may ask is the story of the ‘wise men’ a factual report or is it just that—a story?  Primarily, it is a story.  A report is concerned with hard facts—the temperature dropped to 10 degrees last night or there were 10 mm of rain yesterday.  But a story, especially a biblical story, is concerned much more with meaning.  In reading any Scripture story, including Gospel stories, we should not be asking, “Did it really happen like that?”  Instead, we should be asking, “What does it mean?  What is it saying to us?”  The truth of the story is in its meaning and not in the related facts.

Epiphany
Certainly in this story the facts are extremely vague and not at all sufficient for a news report.  The standard questions a reporter is expected to be able to answer are: Who? What? Why? When? Where? How?  In this story it is difficult to give satisfactory answers to these questions.

Although Jesus is still an infant and still in Bethlehem, we do not know how long after his birth this incident is supposed to have taken place.  We are not told because it does not matter. It is not relevant to the meaning of the story (also, compared to Mark, Matthew tends to be notoriously short on details).

Magi
Who were these ‘wise men’ and where did they come from?  In the Greek text they are called magoi, which is usually rendered in English as “Magi”.  Magi were a group or caste of scholars who were associated with the interpretation of dreams, Zoroastrianism, astrology and magic (hence the name ‘Magi’). In later Christian tradition they were called kings (“We three kings of Orient are…”) under the influence of Psalm 72:10 (“May the kings of Sheba and Seba bring gifts!”), Isaiah 49:7 (“Kings shall see and stand up; princes, and they shall prostrate themselves…”) and Isaiah 60:10 (“…their kings shall minister to you…”).

We are not told what their names were or how many of them there were.  Tradition settled on three individuals, presumably because there were three kinds of gifts.  And they were also given names—Caspar, Balthazar, and Melchior.  Caspar was represented as black, and thus Magi were understood to represent the whole non-Jewish, gentile world which came to Christ.

We are told, too, that they came “from the east”.  This could be Persia, Eastern Syria or Arabia—or indeed any distant place.  The Asian theologian, Fr Aloysius Pieris, points out the significance for Asians—that it was wise men from the East, and not the local wise men, who recognised the light that led to Jesus.

A star in the east
There is talk of following a star.  Was there indeed at this time a comet or supernova or some significant conjunction of planets which would be particularly meaningful to these men?  As well, how does one follow a star—have you ever tried?  How do you know when a star is “over the place” you are looking for?  You could travel several hundred miles and the star would still be ‘over’ you.  Probably, we are wasting our time looking for some significant stellar happening.  The star is rather to be seen as a symbol—a light representing Jesus as the Light of the whole world.

There really is not much to be gained in trying to pinpoint facts here.  We are dealing instead with meaning, and the meaning is very clear from the general context of Matthew’s Gospel.  God, in the person of Jesus, is reaching out to the whole world.  More than that, the religious leaders of his own people—the chief priests and experts in the scriptures, although clearly aware of where the Messiah would be born, made no effort whatever to investigate.  Yet Bethlehem was ‘just down the road’, so to speak, from Jerusalem.

King Herod, an ambitious and ruthless man (and that is a fact of history), was prepared to travel there, but only to wipe out even the remotest threat to his own position. These pagan foreigners, on the other hand, went to great lengths to find the “king of the Jews” and “pay him homage”.

As part of that homage they offered their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.  The gifts seem inspired by a passage from Isaiah quoted in today’s First Reading:

They shall bring gold and frankincense
and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord.

In later tradition, the gold came to symbolise the kingship of Christ, the incense his divine nature, and the myrrh his redemptive suffering and death.  They also came to signify virtue, prayer and suffering.

No outsiders
All in all, today’s feast is telling us that for God there are no foreigners, no outsiders.  From his point of view, all are equally his beloved children.  We all, whatever external physical or cultural differences there may be between us, belong to one single family which has one Father, ‘our’ Father.  It means that every one of us is a brother and sister to everyone else.  There is no room for discrimination of any kind based on nationality, race, religion, class or occupation.  There cannot be a single exception to this position.

The facts of today’s story may be vague, but the message is loud and clear.  We thank God today that there are no ‘Chosen People’, whether they be Jews or Christians (or even Catholics).  Let us try to understand more deeply God’s closeness to us, which is also a reason for us to be close to each other.  There are no outsiders.  All are called—be it the Mother of Jesus, the rich and the poor, the privileged and the lonely, the healthy and the sick, the saints and the sinners.

Yet, we can become outsiders.  We do that every time we make someone else an outsider, whether we do that individually, as a family, a community, or an ethnic grouping.  To make even a single other person an outsider, that is, to deny them the love and respect which belongs equally to all, is to make an outsider of oneself.  It is to join the ranks of the Pharisees, the chief priests and every other practitioner of bigotry.

Where are the stars?
Finally, we might ask ourselves, Where are the stars in my life?  The wise men saw the star and followed it.  The people in Jerusalem did not.  How, and to what, is God calling me at this time?  Where does he want me to find him, to serve and follow him?  Some have their priorities already fixed, and so have stopped or have never even started to look for the real priorities—the God-sent stars in their lives.  That is like first making a right turn at a crossroads, and then wondering where you should be going.  Saint Ignatius Loyola, in his Spiritual Exercises, speaks of people who get married first and then ask, “What does God want me to do?”

This very day, let us stop in our tracks.  Obviously, at this stage there are many things which, for better or worse, we cannot change; some decisions, right or wrong, which cannot now be undone.  But it is not too late to look for our star and begin following it from where we are now.

The wise men did not know where the star would lead them.  They just followed it until it brought them to Bethlehem—and to Jesus.  They never, I am sure, regretted their decision. If we can only have the courage and the trust to follow their example, I doubt if we will have regrets either. If we have not already done so, today is the day to make that start.

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Saints Basil and Gregory were actually life-long friends, first as university students in Athens and later as monks.  They were both important teachers of the Eastern Church, and both came from Cappadocia in what is now Central Turkey, and hence are known as ‘Theologians of the Cappadocian School’.

Basil was born in 330 AD into a family which would later produce a number of canonised saints.  Following his studies, he became a monk and a hermit before he was consecrated Bishop of Caesarea (Kayseri today) in his native Cappadocia.  He was not only a theologian, but a very pastoral bishop and deeply concerned with the plight of the poor.  He produced a monastic rule, known as the ‘Basilian Rule’, which is still followed everywhere by monks and nuns of the Eastern Church.  He died in 379 at the relatively early age of 49.

Gregory was born in the town of Nazianzus, also in Cappadocia and also about 330 AD.  He was the son of a bishop and, like Basil, joined the monastic life.  He was ordained a priest relatively late in life.  He was first made bishop of an out of the way town called Sasima, but later was asked to go to Constantinople to restore harmony to the community there following the divisions of the Arian heresy.  In this, he was very successful.  In later life, Gregory retired to the (for him) more congenial life of study and prayer in a rural setting and subsequently died in 389 AD.

Both Basil and Gregory were deeply involved in dealing with the Arian heresy, named after Arius, a monk from Alexandria in northern Egypt, who denied the divinity of Jesus Christ.  It was Basil’s teaching in particular which influenced the Council of Constantinople (381 AD) in revising the Nicaean Creed of 325 AD into the form we now use on Sundays and feasts.

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Commentary on Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-18

The magnificent passage read today is from the opening of John’s Gospel. There is no mention of Bethlehem, of Mary, of shepherds, or the stable and the manger, so why do we read this Gospel for Christmas Day?

The Bethlehem story was told during last night’s Midnight Mass (or during the evening mass at some parishes). But today we are, as it were, going behind the scenes, and looking at the deeper meaning of that story. After all, who is that little baby, so small, so helpless? And why do we make such a fuss about his birth?

He is the Word of God. From the beginning, he was with God and was God. Think of those extraordinary words as you gaze at the stable or the crib.

Through the Word, God expresses his very self, just as in an analogous way we reveal ourselves through the way we speak and what we say (and sometimes we reveal just as much by what we do not say!). But God’s Word does not just communicate; God’s Word is active—it is a verb rather than a noun. It makes, it produces, it creates.

Again, in an analogous way we can speak of the ‘word’ of Michelangelo on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel; the ‘word’ of Shakespeare in Hamlet, Othello, or King Lear; or the ‘word’ of Beethoven in the Fifth Symphony—all these do far more than express ideas; they have a powerful impact in changing us. So through this Word, “all things came into being”. To this Word, we and our whole world owe our very existence.

Light in darkness
At this time our city and homes are filled with light, guiding us through the dark valleys of our lives. It is no coincidence that Christmas is celebrated in the depth of winter, just after the winter solstice, as we look forward in hope to the longer days of light and the new life ready to burst forth. Jesus will say later that he is “the Light of the world”. Today’s Gospel says:

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.

It is in this hope that we long to see the darkness of our world put to flight. Alas:

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.

But nevertheless:

…the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

It does not say the Word became a human being, but “flesh” (Greek, sarx). In John’s language, “flesh” refers to all that is weak and sinful in our human nature.

The Word came and was fully inserted into that world. ‘World’ has two meanings in John’s writings. It means, first of all, the world in general, our planet and all that is in it. But it also refers to that part of our human world which is caught up in all that is evil, negative, degrading and dehumanising. The Word entered both of these worlds. He did not live on the fringe, but in the very centre of human activity. This caused difficulties for some religious people who found it disturbing that Jesus mixed with sinners and (even worse) ate with them. All this is being said in the Bethlehem story, but in more concrete, image-filled language.

In touch with God
As the letter to the Hebrews (Second Reading) tells us today, God in the past spoke to us through many prophets and other spokespersons. But now, because the Son is the Word of God:

…he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things…

This Son:

…is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being…

In seeing all that Jesus says and does, we are being put in touch with the very nature of God. The baby Jesus was born in utter simplicity, without many of the conveniences of life that we would take for granted and regard as essential, away from home, rejected by every place of shelter in the town, and visited by ‘shepherds’ who were the despised outcasts of their day. A good exercise would be to think of the birth of Jesus in a corresponding situation in our city today.

It is important to be aware that this scene is not just for pious contemplation—it contains a message. God has become a human person like us—he has come to live and work among us. He has entered our world to bless it and to liberate all those enslaved by oppression, by hunger and homelessness; people enslaved by addictive habits and substances; and those enslaved by fear, anger, resentment, hatred and loneliness. Let us pray that we may approach this Child to be liberated from our particular enslavement, because we are all slaves to something!

But more than that, as brothers and sister of Jesus, we are called to work together with him, to help others break the chains of their enslavements, so that, in the words of Isaiah today:

…all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.

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Commentary on 1 John 4:7-16; Psalm 118; Matthew 23:8-12

The Gospel reading from chapter 23 of Matthew is a denunciation of the mentality of many of the Scribes and Pharisees. On the one hand they were very legalistic in their interpretation of the Law of Moses and at the same time tended to put themselves on a pedestal, seeing themselves as superior to ‘ordinary’ people.

In today’s passage, Jesus speaks of their demands to be given honorific titles and to have people bowing and scraping to their superior virtue. He tells his followers that they are not to adopt such titles. They were not to be called ‘rabbi’ because they had only one ‘Rabbi’, God, and they were all brothers to each other. They were to address no one among them as ‘father’ because they had only one Father and that was God. And they were not to be called ‘master’ because they had only one Master and that was the Messiah, the Christ, Jesus their Master and Lord. Unfortunately, in the history of the Church many civic titles were accumulated and we still have them with us, although with less insistence than before.

Augustine was one of the greatest minds in the history of the Christian Church. He was a bishop, and so could have demanded the same kind of honours which the Pharisees (both Jewish and Christian) expected. But he was not like that at all. In spite of his great intellect and theological acumen, and his position as leader of his diocese, he lived a simple life with his clergy and showed a deep concern for the poor.

The motivation for all this is contained in the First Reading from the First Letter of John. This is one of the most striking passages in the whole of the Scriptures. It is about the centrality of love in our relationship with God and with the people all around us. But it is a special kind of love. The word that the Letter uses is agape. Agape-love is an outreaching concern for the other which is totally unconditional. It is given irrespective of how it is received – or rejected.

In today’s short passage a form of the word agape occurs no less than 15 times. It is the love which God has for his creation and for each and every one of us. It is the love which Jesus, the Son of God, showed and which reached its climax on the Cross. It is the love by which followers of Jesus will be recognised.

This love is not just something which God does. God is this love. It is his very nature. He cannot not love. For us to be like him is to be people of this love:

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:35)

And this love is all we need. The Letter today says:

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.

Augustine, who was a very passionate person both before and after his conversion, wrote commentaries on this Letter. One of his most striking phrases is: Ama, et fact quod vis, meaning, “Love, and do whatever you like.” In other words, provided an act or a word is an expression of agape-love, it cannot be bad because where there is agape-love, God is there. It makes life very simple—and very challenging.

He left behind many memorable sayings. Here are two From his Confessions which are among the best known:

Late have I loved Thee, O Lord; and behold,
Thou wast within and I without, and there I sought Thee.
Thou wast with me when I was not with Thee.
Thou didst call, and cry, and burst my deafness.
Thou didst gleam, and glow, and dispel my blindness.
Thou didst touch me, and I burned for Thy peace.

And:

Thou movest us to delight in praising Thee; for Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee. Lord, teach me to know and understand which of these should be first, to call on Thee, or to praise Thee; and likewise to know Thee, or to call upon Thee.

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Commentary on 2 Timothy 2:22-26; Psalm 36; John 17:20-26

The Gospel reading is part of Jesus’ prayer for unity among his followers.  It comes from his long discourse during the Last Supper as given to us in John’s Gospel.  In this particular part of the prayer, he is praying not for those disciples who are with him at the supper, but “on behalf of those who believe in me through their word”.

Jesus prays that:

…that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.

For this is the way that people will come to recognise the true identity of Jesus.  To be a follower of Jesus is not simply to believe in him and lead a good life.  It is not to see the Church as some kind of organisation outside of me, but to which I go to get the ‘graces’ I need to be a good person, to keep the commandments, and as a place where I can carry out my ‘religious obligations’ and in the end ‘save my soul’.

This prayer for unity among the followers of Christ reflects the life work of Irenaeus.  He spent his life dealing with false interpretations of the Christian messages, whether it was the Montanists, or the Gnostics or others.  All these movements tended to bring great divisions and were a cause of confusion among many Christians.

To be a follower of Jesus is essentially to be a follower with and through others. The Christian life is essentially communal. And Jesus is saying here that the most potent witness of who he is we can give is that we who claim to follow him do so as part of a fellowship.  It is said that in the early Church there was a saying: “See those Christians how they love one another!”  That was one of the most striking characteristics to the pagan eye, namely, that people who came from different ethnic and social backgrounds could live together in such harmony.  This was something strange to societies which strongly and defensively identified with their own group.

In the First Reading from the Second Letter to Timothy, Paul instructs Timothy on how to deal with situations where there are disputes between Church members. He tells Timothy:

Shun youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace…Have nothing to do with stupid and senseless controversies; you know that they breed quarrels.

In a quarrel, each side is trying to prove itself right and the other side wrong.  What is needed is mutual listening and dialogue so that there is a common effort to find the truth.

…the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but kindly to everyone, an apt teacher, patient, correcting opponents with gentleness.

That is good advice for all of us.

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Aloysius Gonzaga, who came from one of Italy’s most famous families, was born in the castle of Castiglione delle Stiviere, between Brescia and Mantua in northern Italy on 9 March, 1568. He was the eldest son of Ferdinando Gonzaga (1544-1586), Marquis of Castiglione, and Marta de Santena, daughter of a baron of the Piedmontese Della Rovere family. His father wanted him to be a soldier as the family was constantly involved in local conflicts. His military training started at an early age, but he also received an education in languages and other subjects.

At the age of eight, he was placed in the court of Grand Duke Francesco de’ Medici in Florence, where he remained for two years before going on to Mantua. While there he developed a kidney disease which was to trouble him for the rest of his life. During his sickness, not unlike St Ignatius Loyola, he spent time reading lives of saints and praying. He is said to have taken a private vow of chastity at the age of 9. In November 1579, he was sent with his brother to the Duke of Mantua where Aloysius was shocked by the violent and frivolous lifestyle he found there.

In 1580, he returned to Castiglione where Cardinal (later St) Charles Borromeo discovered that Aloysius, already 12 years old, had not yet received his first Holy Communion and gave it to him on 22 July, 1580. After reading about Jesuit missionaries in India, Aloysius had a desire to be a missionary himself and began giving religious knowledge classes to young boys in Castiglione. He also used to visit some religious communities in the Duchy of Montferrat where his family spent their winters, and to live a more ascetic lifestyle.

In 1581, the family was called to Spain to serve in the court of Empress Mary of Austria. Aloysius and his brother Ridolfo became pages for the Infante Don Diego, Prince of Asturias.

It was while there that he made the resolution of becoming a Jesuit, though he had first thought of joining the Capuchins. His mother agreed to this, but his father was vehemently opposed.

The family returned to Italy in 1584. His family was still strongly against his joining the Jesuits and, when they realised he was set on the priesthood, tried to persuade him to become a diocesan priest where there would be the likelihood that he could obtain a prestigious bishopric worthy of his rank. If he became a Jesuit, such a future would be ruled out. But Aloysius stood firm. Finally, he was allowed to renounce his heritage in favour of his brother on 2 November, 1585. This required the approval of the emperor, as Castiglione was a fief of the empire.

He went to Rome and, because of his noble birth, first had an audience with Pope Sixtus V. On 25 November, 1585, he was accepted into the Jesuit Roman novitiate by the superior general, Claudius Acquaviva. He was asked to temper his ascetical ways as it upset his relationship with his fellow novices. His health problems continued. In addition to the kidney disease, he also suffered from a skin disease, chronic headaches and insomnia.

On 25 November, 1587, he made his first vows as a Jesuit and, after receiving minor orders, began his theological studies. In 1590, he had a vision in which the Archangel Gabriel told him he had less than a year to live.

In 1591, during his fourth and final year of theology a famine and plague broke out in Italy. The Jesuits opened a hospital for the victims and Aloysius volunteered to work there. In order to protect him, he was only allowed to work in a ward where there were no plague victims. However, a man in his ward was infected and on 3 March, 1591, Aloysius showed the first symptoms of the plague. It seemed certain that he would die very soon and he was given the Sacrament of the Sick. However, though he recovered, he was in poorer health.

During this time, he often spoke with his confessor, Cardinal Robert Bellarmine. After another vision, he told Bellarmine he would die on the octave of the feast of Corpus Christi. On that day (21 June), he seemed well in the morning, but insisted he would die before the end of the day. Cardinal Bellarmine gave him the last sacraments and recited the prayers for the dying. Aloysius died just before midnight on 21 June, 1591. He was 23 years of age.

Aloysius was buried in the Church of the Annunciation in Rome. Just before his death his name was changed to Robert, in memory of his confessor. Later, his remains were moved to the Sant’ Ignazio church in Rome, where they now rest in an urn of lapis lazuli in the Lancelotti Chapel. His head was later brought to the basilica bearing his name in Castiglione delle Stiviere.

He was beatified only 14 years after his death by Pope Paul V on 19 October, 1605. On 31 December, 1726, he was canonised together with a Jesuit novice, Stanislaus Kostka, by Pope Benedict XIII. This same pope declared Aloysius patron of young people in 1729.

In 1926, he was named Patron of Christian youth by Pope Pius XI. He has also been considered a patron of plague victims and, in time, this was extended to victims of HIV/AIDS.

In many pictures he is shown as a young man wearing a black cassock and white surplice, or as a page. He holds a lily, indicating his chastity, a cross, indicating his piety and self-sacrifice, a skull, referring to his early death, and a rosary, because of his devotion to the Virgin Mary.

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Commentaries on the Readings:Ezekiel 17:22-24, 2 Corinthians 5:6-10, Mark 4:26-34 Read Readings: Ezekiel 17:22-24, 2 Corinthians 5:6-10, Mark 4:26-34 »