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Commentary on Luke 21:1-4

Today we begin the last chapter of Luke’s Gospel, preceding his account of the Passion. Jesus is still in Jerusalem and spending time preaching in the Temple.

One day, as he stood near the treasury where there were 13 trumpet-shaped boxes to receive the offerings, he saw among all the well-off people dropping in their (surplus) money, a poor widow who put in two copper coins of very small value.

Jesus immediately comments on her generosity and faith. The others were putting in offerings which they could easily afford; it would have involved no diminution of their lifestyle, no hardship of any kind. But this woman was a poor widow and therefore belonging to the least advantaged of all people in that society. In fact, poverty and widowhood were, for many, almost synonymous.

And this woman put in everything she had. It has been observed that she had two coins and she put in both. Under the circumstances and by the Law, she need only have put in one and kept the other for her own needs. Jesus sets her up as an example of someone who put her total trust in God’s providence. She gave everything to him.

No one is saying that one should literally follow her example—it could be seen as irresponsible. We are told to love our neighbours—but also ourselves. At the same time, how often when we do dip into our pockets do we really give to others money that we were thinking of spending on something we do not really need? Or are we like the people in today’s story who casually give money they will not miss in the slightest? There is a difference between ‘giving alms’ and sharing our goods and good fortune with those who have less—a lot less than us.

St Paul, writing to the Christians of Corinth (and quoting from Exodus 16:18) and appealing for help for poorer Christian communities, says in part:

For if the eagerness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what one does not have. For I do not mean that there should be relief for others and hardship for you, but it is a question of equality between your present abundance and their need, so that their abundance may also supply your need, in order that there may be equality. As it is written, “The one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little.” (2 Cor 8:12-15)

This is a nice description of what justice in our society means.

There have been Christians who closely followed the widow’s example. St Teresa of Calcutta (Mother Teresa) absolutely refused to have any stable income for her work, and she was not alone in this. And it has often been remarked that it is people at the lower end of our society who are most generous in supporting needy causes.

The fact that this story comes just before the Passion has led many to see in this woman a symbol of Jesus himself, who will, in the words of the Letter to the Philippians, “empty himself” completely and surrender his whole life totally into the hands of his Father, holding nothing back.

But even during Jesus’ life, he seems to have had no private means of any kind. At the same time, he was not a beggar. He simply lived a life where he gave totally of himself, and others gave him in return just what he needed at any particular time.

Clearly, most people cannot literally follow the example of Jesus, but there are many examples of people who did. If only we too could have that kind of trust, that kind of generosity, that ability to share and that kind of freedom—freedom from material ‘wants’ and freedom for others.

The richest person is not the one who has accumulated much, but the one who has the least needs. In this sense, this poor widow was rich indeed.

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Commentary on Daniel 1:1-6,8-20

For this, the last week of the Church Year, we will be reading the Book of Daniel. At first sight it seems to be a historical book, but in fact it is placed among the prophetic books of the Old Testament. It consists of two principal parts: one of apparently historical accounts and the other with a number of visions.

The book was written during the period of persecution we were reading about last week in the Books of Maccabees with the intention of bolstering the morale of the Jews by reading about the heroic exploits of Daniel and his friends in a similar period of persecution about five hundred years earlier.

The book belongs to the prophetic genre because it is essentially conveying a message of hope and confidence in the ultimate victory of God and his followers. But it is also an apocalyptic book because its message is revealed in highly symbolical language, much of which would only make sense to initiates, and not to outsiders. In this, it very much resembles the Book of Revelation in the New Testament.

As we will see from the passages chosen for this week, it is a highly readable and even entertaining book, but this should not distract us from its serious underlying message. Especially because of the vision of the final coming of the “Son of Man” (to be read on Friday), this Book has been chosen for the final week of the year (as the Book of Revelation will be read in the same week of the Cycle II readings).

Today’s reading is from the introduction to the book and presents four young Hebrews who are brought to serve in the court of King Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon. The story begins by recalling the time when King Nebuchadnezzar besieged Jerusalem during the third year of the reign of King Jehoiakim of Judah (the Southern Hebrew Kingdom), in which Jerusalem was situated. This would have been in 605 BC. We can read about this in the Second Book of Kings.

Nebuchadnezzar took Jehoiakim and the sacred vessels of the Temple back to Babylon (here called the “land of Shinar”). He put his trophies into the treasure of his own gods. Those reading the story and living under the tyranny of Antiochus IV Epiphanes would immediately have seen the parallel with the plunder of Jerusalem and the desecration of the Temple which they themselves experienced under the Assyrians.

Daniel and his companions were in this first deportation to Babylon. The prophet Ezekiel was taken away in a second deportation in 597 BC. In a third deportation in 586 BC, Jerusalem and the Temple were destroyed.

From the Israelites in this first deportation, the king ordered Ashpenaz, his chief eunuch, to pick out a number of young men who were of noble descent. They had to be both physically perfect and intellectually outstanding to be suitable for service at the royal court. They were not then being chosen merely as pages. In eastern courts, those destined for the career of ‘letters’ (such as scribes, translators, archivists, scholars, astrologers) were trained from childhood. The emphasis on physical appearance may indicate that other more ‘personal’ services for the king were also expected of them. This would be quite normal.

They would also be taught to speak and write the Chaldaean language. This would include learning the classical literature in Sumerian and Akkadian cuneiform, a complicated syllabic writing system. The language of normal communication in multiracial Babylon, however, was Aramaic, written in an easily learned alphabetic script and certainly known to the four young men.

They were to be given only the best of food, straight from the king’s own table. This, he felt, would help maintain their good looks. Three years of training were set aside before they entered royal service.

We are now for the first time told their names. They are all from the kingdom of Judah (the Southern Kingdom). They were Daniel (whose name means ‘God is my judge’), Hananiah (‘The Lord shows grace’), Mishael (‘Who is what God is?’), and Azariah (‘The Lord helps’). Our reading omits their also being given Babylonian names by the chief eunuch: Daniel—Belteshazzar, Hananiah—Shadrach, Mishael—Meshach and Azariah—Abednego. These names will be used later in the book. It is clear that Daniel stands taller than his three companions, and there are some clear resemblances between Daniel and Joseph, the son of Jacob who became a high official in the Pharaoh’s court.

There was one problem for the young men in this idyllic life: they were expected to eat food which was in violation of Jewish dietary laws. Daniel, who was anxious to observe the Law, asked the chief eunuch to be excused from eating food which his religion regarded as ‘unclean’. This was not only because the food was, by Jewish laws, unclean, but before eating, the Babylonians offered food and drinks to their gods. So, even otherwise clean foods could be unclean because they had been offered to idols or had been cooked on wood taken from a sacred grove. Some of the wine could have been poured over a pagan altar.

Unclean animals, like pigs, could have been used as meat, and even other animals might not have been killed and prepared in ways acceptable to Jewish law. For a devout Jew, to disobey the laws about food was equivalent to apostasy, and we saw in the readings from Maccabees how Antiochus was forcing the Jews to eat pork as a sign of apostasy.

The eunuch who, by God’s favour, looked kindly on Daniel’s request was at the same time anxious about the king’s reaction. The young men were being fed special food from the royal table and, if by not eating this food, the Jewish boys began to look thinner than the other young men, the king would not be pleased and the eunuch’s own head could be in danger for allowing this.

Daniel then asked the guardian appointed to look after them by the eunuch to allow them a 10 days’ trial just eating raw vegetables and water and, at the end of that time, see how they compared with the other boys. Raw vegetables and fresh water would be safe from any ritual uncleanness. The request was granted. The number ’10’ often had the symbolic significance of completeness.

At the end of the 10 days, the four Jewish boys “appeared better and fatter” than those who had been eating from the king’s table and they were allowed to continue with this diet. Of course, from our better knowledge of food properties, we now understand it is possible that their vegetarian diet was actually much healthier than the rich diet that came from the king’s table.

In addition to their physical perfection, God gave the four young men knowledge and skill in every aspect of literature and learning. This would mean that they mastered Babylonian literature on astrology and divination by dreams. In addition, Daniel had a special gift of interpreting every kind of vision and dream (in this he again resembles Joseph). But in the crucial tests of interpretation and prediction, which Daniel was called on to give later on, only God’s special revelation enabled Daniel to interpret correctly.

When the time of their formation was complete, the chief eunuch presented all the young men to King Nebuchadnezzar. He spoke with all of them, but was most impressed by the four young Jews. And so they became members of the royal court. Whenever the king consulted them, he “he found them ten times better” (perfection again) more reliable than all the magicians and soothsayers in his kingdom.

There are lessons flowing from this story, which does not have to be taken as literally true, although much of the background has a historical basis. It is an edifying story to encourage people living in difficult conditions in a much later age. The loyalty of Daniel and his companions to the requirements of their faith under difficult circumstances is presented as a model and an inspiration to their descendants. And, with God on their side, they were bound to succeed. The gods of Babylon were no match for the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses.

We, too, can be inspired by the integrity and courage of these young men. But in our own Christian tradition, there are many other stories—strictly historical—of people who have not hesitated to give their lives, not just to keep external religious observances, but for much greater issues of Truth and Justice and the Kingdom of God.

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Commentary on Jeremiah 20:7-9; Psalm 100; Matthew 7:13-14, 21-25

The Gospel reading is from Matthew. It is a passage from the Sermon on the Mount, which in general gives a picture of the true disciple of Jesus, beginning with the beautiful set of statements we call the Beatitudes.

Today’s reading comes from the last of the three chapters which make up this long discourse (most likely, it was not delivered at one time by Jesus but is rather a collection of his teachings on a single theme).

In the first part of the reading, Jesus urges his followers to “enter through the narrow gate”. That gate leads to the Way of Jesus. It has very clearly marked parameters but it is the Way to truth, to unconditional love of God and of one’s brothers and sisters, it is a Way of justice, of compassion for those in need, and the Way that leads to deep fulfilment.

On the other hand, “the gate that leads to damnation is wide, the road is clear and many choose to travel it”. It is the way of unbridled liberalism, a way where anything goes, if you like it, do it.
But it is a road that leads to one’s own ultimate destruction and the destruction of others. We see it every day.

The Way of Jesus, the Way of Truth and Love, can seem very restricting, a narrow gate, and yet to those who choose to walk this Way it is the road to true freedom and fulfilment. And it is the Way that Miguel Pro chose to walk and who risked his life in helping others who also wanted to go the Way of Jesus.

In the second part of the reading, Jesus tells his disciples that simply calling out ‘Lord, Lord’ will not guarantee one a place in God’s Kingdom. Only those who faithfully carry out God’s will in their lives will be part of his Kingdom. And that is really a definition of the Kingdom: the Kingdom exists wherever people are living their lives in the way that God wants.

At the end, when “that day” comes, it will not be enough to say that one did all kinds of things in the name of God – that one prophesied, that one exorcised people, or even performed miracles. One hears of certain people who claim to do all these things and attract large numbers of people to them as ‘wonderworkers’ with a direct line to God or a saint. But, where God is concerned, it means nothing if they are not living according to the will of God as laid out for us by Jesus in the Gospel. On meeting the Lord, they will cry out: “We expelled devils in your name!” And God will say to them the terrible words: “I never knew you.”

Again, such accusations could never be thrown against Miguel Pro. He served his Lord not by any sensational demonstrations but, behind closed doors, bringing Christ to his brothers and sisters and doing so at great risk to his life. Publicity was the last thing he wanted. Ironically, it was in his death that his enemies gave him that publicity.

The First Reading from the prophet Jeremiah is a beautiful passage where Jeremiah speaks of the pain he experiences in being a prophet and yet a pain that he in no way can avoid, or wants to avoid. It must reflect the feelings that Miguel Pro experienced in leading a life where he was always just one step ahead of those anxious to destroy him.

Jeremiah begins by partly mocking his God and himself: “You duped me, O Lord, and I let myself be duped; you were too strong for me, and you triumphed. All the day I am an object of ridicule; everyone mocks me.” Miguel, too, allowed himself to be duped by his Lord but did not for a moment regret it. The power of Jesus’ love was too strong and could not be resisted but, as a result, he became a man on the run, an object of contempt for his enemies.

Jeremiah complains that he has no choice but to pass on the message of his Lord but he pays a high price for it. “Whenever I speak, I must cry out, violence and outrage is my message” – the violence that will come when God’s people do not listen to him. “The word of the Lord has brought me derision and reproach all the day.”

Not surprisingly, he would like to keep silence and not endure such derision but he knows he cannot. “I say to myself, I will not mention him, I will speak in his name no more, but then it comes like fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my very bones, I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it.”

Miguel Pro would surely have identified with every word in this experience of Jeremiah. How nice it would have been to run away from Mexico and go to some place where it is easy to be a practising Catholic. But there is no way he could have done that. His flock needed him. He was the good shepherd ready to die for his sheep.

May our Church have many such sheep at every level in the task of our Christian mission.

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Blessed Miguel Augustin Pro, Priest and Martyr, SJ (Optional memorial)

Miguel Augustin Pro was born in Guadalupe de Zacatecas, Mexico, on 13 January 1891 into a large family of seven brothers and sisters. Inspired by two of his sisters entering religious life, Miguel, at the age of 20, entered the Society of Jesus at Hacienda El Llano.

It was a time of political and religious persecution in Mexico under the rule of Presidents Alvaro Obregon and then Plutarco Elias Calles, described by writer Graham Greene as the “fiercest persecution of religion anywhere since the reign of [Queen] Elizabeth”. The Pro family suffered both financial and personal hardship. Miguel and his fellow Jesuit novices were also under threat, as Catholic priests and religious were particular objects of persecution in the reign of terror. Following a raid of their religious house, the Jesuit superiors ordered Miguel and the other novices to flee Mexico. They went first to Los Gatos, California and from there to Granada, Spain (1915-19) and then Miguel taught in Nicaragua from 1919 to 1922.

Because of his background with miners in Mexico and his natural ability to relate well with them, he was sent to Enghein in Belgium to study the Catholic labour movement. He was also ordained priest there on 31 August, 1925. His first assignment as a priest was to work with miners in Charleroi, Belgium and he was able to win them over.

A few months after his ordination, he had several operations because of stomach ulcers. He was also distressed by the situation back home. Yet, his companions noted that when he felt the most pain, he would seem at his most cheerful.

With the hope of helping him regain his health, in 1926, he was granted his wish to return to Mexico to be closer to his family, even though the Church in Mexico was facing major challenges from an anti-Catholic government under the presidency of President Calles. Constitutional amendments and legislation had recently been passed which severely restricted public worship. Any Catholic priest daring to celebrate the Eucharist or administer any of the sacraments risked harassment, arrest, torture and even execution.

Under such circumstances Miguel played a cat and mouse game with the police as he secretly ministered to the physical and spiritual needs of the people – rich, poor, business people or labourers, even some Socialists and Communists. Getting around by bicycle and variously disguised as a mechanic, a servant or an educated person of culture, he was able to give spiritual sustenance to many people. In the spirit of St Paul, he was all things to all people for the sake of proclaiming the Gospel. He won people over through prayer and his great sense of humour. While the army and police had their guns, Miguel used to say, pointing to his crucifix: “Here is my weapon…with this I do not fear anyone.”

He had also said: “I am ready to give my life for souls, but I want nothing for myself. All that I want is to lead them to God. If I kept anything for myself, I should be a thief, infamous; I should no longer be a priest.”

Many of the details of his ministry come from his letters, which he signed ‘Cocol’. In October 1926, a warrant for his arrest was issued. He was arrested, released from prison the next day, but kept under surveillance.

An assassination attempt against former president, Álvaro Obregón, in November, 1927 provided the state with an excuse to arrest Miguel and his brother Roberto. A young engineer who was involved and confessed his part in the assassination, testified the Pro brothers were not involved but he was ignored. The authorities claimed to link the Pro brothers to the crime through an old car which had formerly belonged to one of the brothers. Even though they knew that the brothers were innocent, it was enough that they were both Catholic priests and so enemies of the regime. Simply on that basis, without due process or a trial, the two brothers were condemned to die.

On the morning of 23 November, 1927, Miguel Pro was led from his cell to his place of execution. The police and military ignored the shouts of a man outside the execution area who said he had a stay of execution for the two brothers. As Miguel was led to his death, a policeman responsible for his capture asked his forgiveness which was immediately given. Minutes before his execution and declining the usual blindfold, Miguel asked to be allowed to pray. He knelt down on the ground, in front of a wall already riddled with bullets from previous executions. Like his Master, he accepted God’s will, then stood up, stretched out his arms as if on a cross. Like his Master, he forgave his executioners and, as they raised their guns, he shouted in a clear and loud voice: “Viva Cristo Rey!”. (Long live Christ the King). When the initial shots of the firing squad failed to kill him, a soldier shot him dead at close range.

Strangely, there is a detailed photographic record of the execution. This was done on the express orders of the president and they appeared on the front page of newspapers all over the country. The idea was to intimidate other rebels against the government but, not surprisingly, they had the opposite effect, and are now a precious record of a martyr’s death.

Miguel Pro was beatified by Pope John Paul II on 25 September 1988. He is remembered for his happy disposition, his extraordinary dedication to the priestly ministry under the most harsh conditions, and his devotion to Christ the King. One of his companions, Fr. Pulido, said that he “had never seen such an exquisite wit, never coarse, always sparkling”.

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Commentary on Daniel 7:13-14; Revelation 1:5-8; John 18:33-37

We have almost reached the end of the Church year. Today is the 34th and final Sunday of the year. And as usual, we celebrate today the feast of Christ the Universal King.

Contrast
There is a great contrast between the readings. The First Reading is from the Book of Daniel and the Second is from the Book of Revelation. These are what we call apocalyptic books. The word ‘apocalypse’ comes from a Greek word (apokalypsis), which means an ‘uncovering’ or a ‘revelation’ of something hidden. The books reveal the inner meaning of life, and both were written for people who were suffering great persecution for fidelity to their religious beliefs—Jews in one case and early Christians in the other. The books are full of hope and look forward to a day when God will come in triumph and overcome the earthly powers which commit so many evils and bring so much suffering.

Son of Man
The Book of Daniel was written during the time of King Antiochus Epiphanes who desecrated the Temple of Jerusalem and forced many Jews to adopt idolatrous customs and to abandon the requirements of their Law. Many resisted and paid for their actions with torture and death. It is in this dark atmosphere that the author of Daniel wrote in today’s reading:

I saw one like a human being
coming with the clouds of heaven.

Christians, of course, see in the “human being” (also translated “son of man”), Jesus their Lord who often referred to himself as the ‘Son of Man’. He was presented before the “Ancient One”, God the Father, from whom he received “dominion and glory and kingship”. And this kingdom, unlike all those which have gone before:

…is an everlasting dominion
that shall not pass away,
and his kingship is one
that shall never be destroyed.

As Jesus himself was to say:

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

This kingdom is indestructible and everlasting.

Fierce persecution
The Book of Revelation, from which our Second Reading comes, was written in similar circumstances to Daniel. The Church in parts of the Roman Empire was undergoing fierce persecution. Many Christians were being arrested and martyred while others were driven underground. The Book of Revelation represents an underground document intended to rally morale and build up the courage of Christians. It is full of symbolical language and imagery which the Christians could understand, but which made little sense to their non-Christian persecutors. While the meaning of much of the symbolism and images has been recovered, there are still parts of the book whose meaning we can only guess at. (This opaqueness has given a field day to some evangelical preachers who claim to see in these symbols references to present day events; most of their speculations are quite unjustified.)

Today’s reading comes from the opening chapter and is a hymn of praise for Jesus:

…the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

Echoing the Book of Daniel, it sings:

Look! He is coming with the clouds;
every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him…

“Even those who pierced him” refers to those who condemned Jesus to death on the cross. The passage continues:

…and all the tribes of the earth will wail on account of him.

They will “wail”, i.e. lament, both out of compassion for his sufferings and out of guilt in so far as their sins caused them. And in a way, that includes all of us, for it was because of our sins that he died on the cross. There is none of us who can say: “It does not touch me.”

Alpha and Omega
But as the Lord says:

I am the Alpha and the Omega, who is and who was and who is to come…

Alpha and Omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet. They represent the beginning and the end. Jesus Christ is, as Paul in the letter to the Colossians and John in his Gospel tell us, the source of all that is, the Alpha. Through him, the creating Word of God, all things were created.

And he is also the Omega—the final goal for all creation. Every experience, every dream, every achievement is subordinated to this. Said St Augustine:

You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts will never rest until they rest in you…

This is another way of saying that Jesus Christ is our King. He alone gives meaning to our existence, to our lives.

The King before his judges
The Gospel brings us to a totally different setting. Jesus has been arrested in the garden. He has been subjected to a summary trial by his enemies and found guilty of the capital crime of blasphemy for equating himself with God. However, the Jews have no authority to carry out capital punishment, so they have to submit their prisoner to the Roman authorities.

Jesus now stands before Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Palestine. Pilate asks Jesus:

Are you the King of the Jews?

It is hard not to hear a mocking tone in the question as Jesus stands there before him, a dishevelled prisoner in his simple garment. Immediately, as happened before the Sanhedrin, Pilate experiences the power and dignity of Jesus:

Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?

Pilate was not used to being addressed like this, especially by one of his subjugated people. And it is a challenge to Pilate the Roman to come forward with the kind of firm evidence that was required by a Roman law court. (It is a challenge to us too. Is our knowledge of Jesus based on personal experience or simply on what we have been told in catechism class or sermons?)

Anger and contempt
Not used to being challenged by Jews, there is anger and contempt in Pilate’s retort:

I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?

There again is the phrase “handed over”, which echoes right through the Gospel. John the Baptist, Jesus and his disciples are all ‘handed over’ into the hands of those who would wish to destroy them. And in the Eucharist—in a very different and loving way—the Body of Christ is ‘handed over’ to us to be broken and shared among us.

And the question: “What have you done?” How is it to be answered in a few words? It is the story of Jesus from the moment of the Annunciation, through Bethlehem and Nazareth, to the public life of preaching and teaching, healing and liberating, and finally suffering—dying and rising—out of love. Instead of answering, Jesus speaks of the nature of his kingship:

My kingdom does not belong to this world. If my kingdom belonged to this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.

His kingdom does not belong to this world—it is on a different level altogether. If it was a political kingdom, then his followers would rally together to save him from being ‘handed over’ to his own people. But no one is rallying to his cause. His followers, with one or two exceptions, have fled in fear and confusion. His kingship is on a different level, a level over which Pilate has no control.

‘I am a king’
Again, Pilate asks—now a little more respectful in response to the dignity and power he recognises in Jesus:

So you are a king?

And Jesus responds:

You say that I am a king.

But Jesus goes on to explain what being a king for him means:

For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.

Jesus’ kingship is not one of executive or coercive power. It is to open people’s eyes to the real meaning of life, of their existence and that of the whole world in which they live. And, he continues:

Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.

These are words of challenge thrown to Pilate, to his Jewish judges and to all of us. And that is how one becomes a subject of this King, by sharing fully with him his vision of what is real, as well as his vision of life and his goals.

Extraordinary liberation
To be subject to this King is to experience an extraordinary liberation and an exciting new outlook on life. Earlier he had said:

…and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free. (John 8:32)

Many see Christianity as a religion of bondage. They imagine they have a greater sense of liberation by leaving the Church. This is such a distorted reading of the meaning of Jesus and his mission (a distortion, it must be said, not always of their own making).

None are more free than those who have seen the truth through the eyes of Jesus their King, and who accept that truth as the Way to Life in its fullness. Jesus said:

I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
(John 10:10)

Today then, we celebrate Jesus Christ as our King. And not only our King, but the King of people everywhere, whether they are Christians or not. We are all called to submit ourselves to the same Truth—the same Reality—which governs all things.

Jesus is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End of all things. Through him as the Word of God, we are led to the throne of the one who is all Truth and all Love. As St Augustine said:

Our hearts will find no rest until they rest in Him.

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Commentary on Zechariah 2:14-17; Matthew 12:46-50

The Gospel reading is from Matthew. It is a short, isolated passage between a number of separate incidents taking place between the discourse on the mission of the disciples (chap 10) and the discourse on the parables of the Kingdom (chap 13). It concerns the family of Jesus.

There are slight differences between Mark’s account of this event and Matthew’s. As usually is the case, Matthew’s treatment is softer and more gentle, but Mark’s may be closer to the original.

Matthew says that, while Jesus was speaking to the crowds, he was told that his mother and his ‘brothers’ were outside, looking for him. ‘Brothers’ is normally understood here in a wider sense to include cousins. (In some Asian countries, for instance, it is quite common for people to talk about their ‘cousin brothers’ or ‘cousin sisters’.)

Jesus was told:

…your mother and your brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.

Jesus’ reply seems rather abrupt and unexpected, if not downright impolite, especially coming from him:

Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?

Then, stretching out his hand towards his disciples, he says:

Here are my mother and my brothers!

And he then defines what constitutes being a member of his family:

For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.

Jesus, of course, is not being rude to his mother or the rest of his family. But he is making what he regards as a very important point, and it is put in other ways in other parts of the gospel. To be a follower of Jesus is to belong to a new family, a family with stronger ties than flesh and blood. It is a family which is bound in love and obedience to God as Father, to Jesus as Brother and committed to living according to the Way of Life they propose.

Part of that Way, of course, is unconditional love of every single person, including even enemies. Surely then, the members of one’s own family would be included. But, if ever there was a conflict between what God wants and what a family member wants, then there is only one choice available.

Just prior to Mark’s account of this story (3:31-35), he tells us that Jesus “went home”. This unspecified ‘home’, mentioned a number of times, is a symbol of the place where Christ’s disciples gather together. It is significant that in today’s passage we are told that Jesus’ family members were ‘outside’, indicating they were outside in more ways than one. Jesus, with his disciples, is on the ‘inside’.

And where does Mary come into all of this? Was she an outsider? Hardly. She is the same person who made an unqualified commitment to God’s will at Nazareth never once withdrew it. And she was one of the very few who was with her Son to his last dying breath—with him in every way. I need to ask myself if I am truly a member of Jesus’ family.

The First Reading is a short passage from the prophet Zechariah. The passage is a song of praise for Israel, called here “daughter Zion”. But the words can very easily be applied to Mary, especially where Yahweh says:

Sing and rejoice, O daughter Zion! For I will come and dwell in your midst, says the Lord.

Today’s feast, even if it may lack historical veracity, is full of meaning. It suggests that from her youngest days, Mary was being prepared for her unique role as the Mother of the Son of God, an extraordinary privilege shared by no other. At the same time, the real greatness of Mary is suggested in the gospel where true greatness does not come from birth but from the total giving of oneself to doing what God wants. In this Mary had no peer.

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The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary is a feast celebrated by both the Catholic and the Orthodox Churches. It is the celebration of a presumed event of which there is no strict historical record—namely, that Mary, as a child, was presented to God by her parents. There is no mention of this event anywhere in the New Testament.

However, it does appear in an apocryphal work called the Infancy Narrative of James. According to this story, Mary’s parents, Joachim and Anne, who had been without children, received a heavenly message that they would bear a child. When a girl was born, the parents went in thanksgiving to the Temple in Jerusalem to consecrate her to God. The story then says that Mary remained in the Temple until she reached puberty and then she was entrusted to Joseph who was to be her guardian.

Other versions of the story from works such as the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew and the Gospel of the Nativity of Mary say that Mary was brought to the Temple about the age of 3 in fulfilment of a vow by her parents. And she was to remain there to be prepared for her future role as the Mother of God.

The celebration of the feast began with the dedication of the Basilica of Saint Mary the New, which was constructed in 543 near where the Temple had been in Jerusalem. This basilica was later destroyed, but the feast had now spread all through the Eastern church. In the West, it was first adopted in 1373 by the papal chapel in Avignon (the city in the south of France where the papacy spent several years in exile). However, it was removed as a Church feast by Pope Pius V from the revised Roman Calendar in 1568. But it was then again restored as a feast in 1585 by Pope Sixtus VI.

Western art usually focuses on the figure of the little girl Mary climbing the steps of the Temple, having left her parents at the bottom, and approaching the Chief Priest and other Temple figures at the top of the steps. The Presentation was one of the traditional scenes illustrating The Life of the Virgin.

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Commentary on 1 John 3:14-18; Luke 6:27-38

The Gospel reading is from Luke’s version of the Sermon on the Mount. It is one of the most challenging passages in the whole gospel, not to mention the whole of the Scriptures. To all those listening to him Jesus says: “love your enemies.” For most people the two words ‘love’ and ‘enemy’ are mutually exclusive.

Yet, in case we might misunderstand, he goes on:

…do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you.

And there is more:

If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also…

For many people, such behaviour is only going to make things worse. It is a purely spineless approach and totally lacking in guts. Yet, is that the case? Which is easier to do—to hit someone back or to refrain from taking action?

One of the problems in Jesus’ saying is the word ‘love’. For us, love tends to be something romantic, affectionate, full of warm feelings; the kind of things our songs talk about all the time. How could one have such feelings for someone who wants to harm us? And I think Jesus would agree with this question.

But he is using the word ‘love’ in another sense. The word being used by Jesus is rendered in the Greek of the New Testament as agape. This is a special kind of love. It is not a romantic, emotional feeling. It is something very practical and down to earth. It could be paraphrased as “a very strong desire for the well-being of the other person”.

It is something we are supposed to want for everyone that comes into our life—their well-being. And it includes people who do not know us, do not want to know us, who do know us, but do not like us or even those who to harm us. What would be more in our own self-interest, apart from the good it would do to them, than to want such people to change into people without hatred, anger, or violence? This will certainly not happen by hating them back or giving tit for tat.

Turning the other cheek seems the most wimpish thing a person could do—a sign of weakness. But it can also be a sign of great inner strength and a refusal to stoop to the level of one’s assailant. It was what Jesus did when he was struck on the cheek by the soldier in the Sanhedrin court during his Passion. He did not hit back, but neither did he remain passively silent. He asked the soldier:

If I have spoken wrongly, testify to the wrong. But if I have spoken rightly, why do you strike me? (John 18:23)

He does respond actively and strongly to his assailant, not with violence, but with firm politeness.

Further on in today’s gospel, Jesus says:

Do to others as you would have them do to you.

If I do not like being insulted or being a victim of abuse or violence, why would I do it to someone else? Jesus also says:

If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them.

Some of the greatest people in the world have acted on this principle of active non-violence (the key word being ‘active’). We see it in many of the saints, and there are numerous examples in our recent times.

And we certainly see it in St Elizabeth, whose feast we celebrate today. She suffered abuse from her family and even from her spiritual director. She remained a person of love, peace and reconciliation. There was no weakness there, only great inner strength.

These thoughts can be set against the words of the First Reading which are taken from the First Letter of John, a letter which spends much time discussing the centrality of agape-love in our relationship with God and with the people around us.

The writer says:

We know that we have passed from death to life because we love [agape] the brothers and sisters.

You might have expected him to say “because we love God”.

The the writer says:

Whoever does not love [agape] abides in death.

These might be physically alive, but they are spiritually dead because:

All who hate a brother or sister are murderers, and you know that murderers do not have eternal life abiding in them.

And the reason for the centrality of this agape-love is perfectly clear:

We know love [agape] by this, that he laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers and sisters.

And how are we to do that?

…God’s love [agape] abide[s] in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need… Little children, let us love not in word or speech, but in deed and truth.

Elizabeth could have led a prayerful and pious life while enjoying all the good things that would come with her royal status. But she spent her wealth in reaching out to the poor and underprivileged. She really did love in deed and in truth.

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Elizabeth was born in 1207 at Pressburg, and was the daughter of King Andrew II of Hungary. She was brought up in Thuringia and in 1221, was married to the saintly Louis IV, its landgrave (a feudal lord who was directly and solely accountable to the Holy Roman Emperor), at the age of 13. Out of jealousy, her mother-in-law tried to prevent the wedding and constantly mocked Elizabeth for her charity and humility, and said she was totally unfitted to be consort.

Elizabeth had the reputation of being lively, passionate and good-looking. She enjoyed an extremely happy family life and had four children. She spent large amounts on alms, setting up hospitals and taking care of needy children and orphans. She wore the simplest of clothes and ate sparingly. She refused to wear a jewelled crown, when Christ’s was one of thorns. When not actively engaged in government, she spent her time either in prayer or visiting the poor and the sick.

In 1227, her husband Louis went on a Crusade under King Frederick II, but just three months later died of the plague. After her husband’s death, his family accused her of squandering his money on beggars. Elizabeth found it difficult to accept the news of her husband’s death, which upset her greatly, but it would become the turning point in her life.

She was evicted from the palace with her four children when Henry, her brother-in-law declared himself regent. He forbade any citizen to give Elizabeth hospitality, and she had to spend the first few days in a pigsty. She declined the hospitality offered by her father, but then agreed to stay with her uncle, the bishop of Bamberg.

Some people urged her to remarry, but she refused. In 1228, she settled at Marburg and lived under the spiritual guidance of her confessor, Conrad of Marburg, whom she had known since 1225. He was a severe and unpopular pursuer of heretics. Elizabeth placed herself unreservedly under his direction, which was so severe as to be deemed sadistic. He banished her ladies in waiting and substituted two unpleasant women in their stead. If she did not follow his instructions he would beat her, even for trivial matters. In spite of this, she refused an offer to return to her native Hungary, preferring to live out her days in exile, while maintaining her good humour.

She joined the Third Order of St Francis as an expression of her desire for a simple life, and devoted herself to the relief of the sick, the poor, and the elderly. She did this by building and then working in a hospital which was close to her simple residence. She also arranged for other people to bring up her children. She busied herself with simple tasks like spinning and carding, or cleaning the homes of the poor and catching fish to help feed them.

On their return from the Crusades, her husband’s friends had been entrusted with the duty of protecting Elizabeth. But then Henry the self-appointed regent, changed his attitude about her and recognised the rights of her son as heir. She had only a few more years of life left, but she spent them in constant prayer and in helping the needy. She was universally loved and respected.

She died on 19 November, 1231, and as an indication of her reputation, was canonized only four years later (in 1235) by Pope Gregory IX.

In the following year, her relics were brought to the church of St Elizabeth at Marburg where they remained the object of popular pilgrimage until 1539, when they were removed to an unknown location by the Lutheran, Philip of Hesse.

St Elizabeth is traditionally represented as dressed in rich clothes, bearing in her skirt—which is gathered up at the front to form an apron—a profusion of red roses, while behind her back she holds a loaf of bread. These are the symbols of her life, her inherited position as Queen of Hungary, and the life she elected for herself of penance and asceticism.

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Roque González was born in Asunción, Paraguay, in 1576. As a young man, he studied with the Jesuits but became a diocesan priest. His first assignment was to work with native peoples near Asunción. He did this so well that the bishop made him pastor of the cathedral. In 1609, at the age of 33, he joined the Jesuits. While still a novice he was sent to work with the Guaraní people, who lived along the Paraguay and Pilcomayao Rivers. The aim was to convert them to Christianity in order to make it easier for the Spaniards to pass through their territory on their way to Peru. González became fluent in the language and could preach effectively. Although baptisms were few, the people became more friendly and stopped making attacks on Asunción.

After spending two years in this mission, he was transferred in 1611 to the St Ignatius Mission, which did very well under his pastoral care. These missions were known as “Reductions” from the Spanish verb reducer (to bring together), because their idea was to bring people to live together in towns. At St Ignatius, González laid out a public square (plaza), supervised the building of houses, set up a school and built a church. In addition to providing living space, he also taught them how to farm and to raise sheep and cattle. And he continued preaching the Gospel illustrating its message with colour, music and processions.

The four years he stayed there saw the development of the model he would follow during the next 12 years in other locations. He set up a number of Reductions in areas which are now part of southern Brazil, Paraguay, and north-east Argentina. His success was due to his many talents—architect, mason, farmer, doctor as well as pastor. He also was fully inserted into the communities, living like them and eating what they ate. In times of hunger, he was hungry too.

In 1619, he was the first Jesuit to enter what is now Uruguay, when a chief from there asked González to set up a similar Reduction for his people. The invitation was accepted and in 1620, the town of Concepción was founded. Later he set up other missions, including Candelaria, and the Assumptión Mission at Iyui, a village of 400 people. He put Juan del Castillo, a recently ordained Jesuit in charge of it. Then, in the company of another Jesuit, Alfonso Rodríguez Olmedo, he set out for Caaro to set up a new mission.

They arrived on 1 November, and called the new mission All Saints. Within a few days they had already baptised three children. But this brought them into conflict with Nezu, the local religious leader, who resented the influence of the missionaries which he felt threatened his own. He decided to get rid of them. As González was leaving the chapel one morning after Mass, he went to help some men setting up a bell. As he bent down, some of Nezu’s men split the priest’s head open with an axe. When Olmedo came out to investigate, he, too, was struck down. The bodies of the two priests were thrown into the chapel, which was set on fire. It was 15 November, 1628.

Alphonsus Rodríguez Olmedo was born in Zamora, Spain in 1598, and arrived at the Latin American mission in 1616 as a scholastic and, after studies at Cordoba, Argentina, was ordained priest in 1625. He was sent with Juan del Castillo to work as a missionary under Roque González. As mentioned, he was González’ companion in setting up the new mission at Caaro where they came in conflict with the local religious leader and were both killed.

John del Castillo was born in Belmonte, Spain, in 1596. He began studying law but then joined the Jesuits and became a missionary to Latin America while still a scholastic and, like Olmedo, studied theology at Cordobaand was ordained in 1625. His first missionary assignment was to Itapua, where Fr Roque González found him and took him along to found several new missions.

As mentioned above, González had put the young priest in charge of a mission at Iyuí, named Assumptión since it had been founded on August 15, while González set off with Alfonso Rodríguez Olmedo to Caaro. The day after the murder of González and Rodríguez, a number of Nezu’s supporters went to Iyui. They attacked del Castillo before taking him into the jungle where he was beaten to death and his body set on fire. His remains were later recovered and buried together with his two companions.

These three were canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1988. González was the first native-born person from any of the Americas to be canonised as a saint. They are remembered for their missionary zeal and their fortitude in defending the indigenous peoples against oppressors.