4th Sunday Lent C

See Commentary on Luke 15:1-3; 11-32 in Luke 15:1-10 & Luke 15:11-32


Homily 1 - 2007

We're all familiar with today's Gospel reading – perhaps too familiar! I find it interesting to note the elder brother's summary of life at home: All these years I've slaved for you; You've never rewarded me. I suppose that he and his father got on OK. They would have been civil to each other - well-mannered. He would have treated him with respect; but beneath the civility and respect, it seems there lay a deep resentment.

How were things between him and his young brother? Distant coldness: he wouldn't even call him his brother. He accused him – with no way of knowing – of wasting his money on prostitutes.. Where did that come from? Was it a projection of his own repressed desires - that resulted in intense envy? Whatever was seething inside flashed out as anger when he heard what his father was doing for his young brother. He refused to go in. He would not celebrate. So much for life down on the farm!

Jesus told today's story to his audience of Pharisees who were grumbling and complaining about the way he associated with people whom they judged as sinners. Perhaps he hoped to crack their defences to help them  see themselves and to change, and to let a bit of celebration into their lives.

Of course, in telling the story in his Gospel Luke was not interested in Pharisees – They would have been the last to read what he was writing. Luke was writing for disciples - For you and me. Scratch beneath our surface a bit, and there we may see something of the same agenda that troubled the Pharisees.

If God is ready to forgive people who do not toe the line – if there are no special perks for us – why bother trying hard to be good? All these years I have slaved for you and never disobeyed your orders. You never once offered me a kid to celebrate with my friends...

But, then, it will be different later on - in the end.

Will it? Would we really enjoy being forever in a heaven with a God who punishes the wicked and rewards the good? In heaven, the conditions might be good - plenty of perks.

But it's not much of a relationship.

The young man in the story had apparently been wicked. It looks like self-pity that drove him back to his father. He had his speech all worked out – most disarming. He started the first few words – and then he stopped. Did he stop because his father cut him short with his words to the servants? Or was it that the father’s obvious love broke into his consciousness – and he knew that what he was going to say had suddenly become irrelevant and just didn’t make sense any more. For the first time in his life, he recognised love... and he let himself be loved!

In today's Second Reading, Paul talked about God, calling everyone to a deep relationship – God reconciling the world to himself, not holding their faults against them. Reconciling: That talks of closeness, mutual love, intimacy - trust, mutual surrender. You get the sense from Paul that he was not getting far in interesting people in that. Perhaps people were more at home with rewards. God offers love.

Love is not a question of getting more - of anything - acquiring, storing up - but of letting go, of surrendering the ego, of dying to self- - as Jesus said, to trust the other totally, of letting go of the drive to be in control, even the last little bit.

St John of the Cross used the image of fire – Not just getting close enough to feel warm and cosy - but so close as to get burnt, to catch fire, every skerrick of ego, every skerrick of control, burnt away.. To become the fire, to be one with God, to be love like God.

In the meantime ... Perhaps we can practice taking little steps - like God, forgetting about judging others, rejoicing in each other, being comfortable with difference. 


Homily 2 - 2010

Would it be true that most people, when they hear tonight’s Gospel Reading, think it a wonderful story? Sometimes I wonder: have they really heard it?

There are some who think that such forgiveness on God’s part is unfair, perhaps, even, irresponsible. Others are uncertain. Mercy is one thing – but there is also God’s justice. What about hell? or even Purgatory?

I suspect that in any average congregation there are a lot of people who have been hurt, some deeply hurt – (or, what is sometimes equally painful, parents or siblings or friends of innocent loved ones who have been deeply hurt): domestic violence, emotional violence, persistent humiliation or harassment, sexual abuse, trust betrayed – even by priests, shared hopes and dreams destroyed. Forgiveness of the guilty can seem like denial of the personal dignity of the violated.

It is worth remembering that Jesus did not address this story to victims, to people who were hurting. He told it to the self-styled holy ones, the righteous, who criticised him because, as the Gospel said, he welcomed sinners and ate with them. It’s a story, really, about the elder brother.

Jesus welcomed and ate with the ones whom society, somewhat selectively, marginalised and despised, and, in the process, effectively dehumanised.

Interestingly, these same self-styled holy ones would have no problem condemning Jesus as a destabilising influence, indeed, going as far as murder in order to remove him – and, in the process, considering themselves as piously doing the will of God.

Jesus did not put expectations on people who were deeply wounded. He did say: Come to me, all you who labour and are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke – that is, let’s suffer this violence of the world together, and learn from me, for I am meek – (that is, my response to violence is not more violence) and humble of heart – (that is, I am in touch with myself, neither in denial nor in selective indignation). When Jesus speaks of forgiveness, he is not imposing expectations but offering a way out of an otherwise crippling dead-end. 

The catch is, I think, that we don’t know what forgiveness means; and when we look at it from where we stand, it looks impossible, and, not only impossible, but unreasonable; and, as I said before, it can look like a betrayal of human dignity, almost a loss of identity.

So, what do we do in our pain, (or, even, in our self-righteousness)? Well, he did invite us to come to him, and to stand with him, together, under the yoke of our pain and indignation, and of the pain of the world we live in. That’s all. He would do the rest. He would empower us to learn from him.

I don’t think there is any other way. Somehow, he has to change us if we are ever to become free and unburdened. We can’t do it ourselves. We don’t even know what it involves. We have to learn it – from him. We simply come to him, carry our burden with him … and wait… and see what happens.

I think that that is what St Paul was referring to in tonight’s Second Reading, when he wrote: For anyone who is in Christ, there is a new creation: the old creation has gone, and now the new one is here. It is all God’s work … and the appeal that we make in Christ’s name is: be reconciled to God – that is, simply, let God love you.

Obviously, there is much more that needs to be said.


Homily 3 - 2013

Both today's Second Reading and the Gospel raise the issues of forgiveness and reconciliation.  They are difficult issues – difficult to understand, difficult to implement, difficult sometimes even to agree to.

Unfortunately, when people have hurt us, they continue to have power over us and to control our personal experience of inner peace until we choose deliberately to forgive.  Perhaps, they could not care less whether we forgive them or not.  But until we forgive, like it or not, we are not truly free.

In concern for our inner peace and freedom, Jesus invites us to forgive, even insists on it.  How we feel about that depends a lot on how we understand what he means by forgiveness.

Forgiveness is not excusing.  Forgiveness engages with what cannot be excused.  It does not mean forgetting [we have little control over memory].  And sometimes it may be important not to forget.  Forgiveness does not mean treating the offender as though nothing had happened.  Forgiveness does not mean no longer being angry.  [We have no control over what we feel.]   Anger itself is morally neutral.  It can fire us to act destructively; but it is also the precious energy source that empowers us to act for change, and for justice.

It is also important to distinguish forgiveness from reconciliation.  Forgiveness is one-way; reconciliation is two-way.  Reconciliation is restored relationship; but relationship requires the response of the other.  Relationships are built on trust; and betrayed trust is fragile.  Trust can only be re-established over time, and perhaps may never be.  Certainly, it is not possible unless the offender is truly sorry.  And it is important to distinguish true sorrow from remorse.  They are quite different.

It is interesting to notice the original motivation of the younger son who returned to his father in today's Gospel.  It was totally self-centred, self-interested.  He hadn't learnt anything.  He was not interested in relationship, in love and trust and shared intimacy.  He was interested in a life where he would no longer go hungry.

Perhaps, the totally unexpected and unimaginable enthusiastic welcome by his Father may have empowered him to grow and to change, to learn to see beyond himself and even to love his Father [perhaps for the first time], and to be truly reconciled.  But the story does not tell us.

Whereas forgiveness, being one way, does not demand the other's prior sorrow, reconciliation, which is two-way, does require it.  The wonderful thing is that forgiveness can enable and empower the other's movement to genuine sorrow – but not necessarily so, and not always.

Forgiveness is the distinguishing feature of God.  It was beautifully revealed in the risen Christ when he stood again among his disciples on the night of his resurrection with no trace of recrimination.  He was totally free.  In today's Second Reading, Paul proclaims his faith in the forgiveness of God.  He urges us to accept it, and to enter into relationship with God – that is, to be reconciled with God.  When Jesus taught us to pray, he saw us drawn into a flow of infinite forgiveness, and being swept along by it to bring forgiveness to the world: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. 

At the moment, forgiveness is in short supply in our world.  Close to home, in the light of the increasing revelation of clergy sexual abuse, the public mood is far from forgiving.  To forgive can seem like further abuse of victims already deeply hurt.  And still the temptation of Church people can be to prioritise defence of the Church over concern and care for victims.  The challenge is to find balance.  Victims cannot be betrayed.  Yet, without forgiveness, we remain a vindictive and violent world.

Such forgiveness, however, cannot suppress or wipe away anger; cannot sidestep the need to speak the truth, however painful it may be to hear it; cannot shirk the need for meaningful compensation; cannot avoid the need to reform certain attitudes and structures in the Church; and can never stop being vigilant.  It may be a long and painful process.

Yet, God is in our world, present in the current situation – present as a source of truth and life.  The important thing is to be prepared to search for the presence of God, to listen carefully, and to act with the energy, the grace, that God provides.


 Homily 4 - 2016

I am very conscious of you, Rebecca and Stacey, as I reflect today on the Readings. But at the same time, I hope that everyone else, too, will be listening. And that includes me, as well.  I love the Second Reading – Paul writing to the new disciples at Corinth, “For anyone who is in Christ, there is a new creation … It is all God’s work.” [Thanks, Paul!] Stacey and Rebecca, how do you make sense of what is happening to you – the unaccustomed spring in the step? the new sparkle in the eye? Where do they come from? I hope they come from your closer cooperation in God’s dream for you – a quiet sense of God calling you, a deeper realisation of God loving you. “It is all God’s work!” What thrills me is your choice to join this Church at a time when a lot of others are choosing to leave it.  When so many feel bewildered, confused, angry and torn, you feel attracted, aware of its sheer goodness, beauty and the sense it seems to make.  

I believe that one aspect of belonging to the “new creation” is that we begin to see and to think, as it were, like God. God’s firm, non-negotiable entry point into creation is simply love. Let us never take it for granted. Let us not even think we truly understand it. Love will always be mystery, and the more we come to explore it, the more fascinating it becomes. Persons who love begin to think differently – in terms of “both/and”. They can hold extremes together in tension without denying either. Is the Church holy? or sinful? The eyes of many people today are fixated on the Church’s sinfulness. Others, particularly among those who still come to Church, are into denial or avoidance, instinctively defensive of the Church. To the extent that we learn to love, we can see that the Church is both holy and sinful. We are attracted by its goodness, deeply saddened by its sinfulness – at the same time.

We can also learn to see ourselves. We gratefully accept our radical dignity. At the same time, we mourn that we have spoilt that dignity by our sin. We need to hold both experiences together in tension. To ignore our dignity is to live without hope; to ignore our sin leads to hypocrisy and cover-up. God’s unstoppable love takes shape in forgiveness, and calls us beyond forgiveness to mutual intimacy and reconciliation. Indeed, only when we begin to believe God’s forgiveness can we really see and own our sin without being crushed by it. For some reason we easily resist the offer. So did many of the Corinthian disciples, which is why Paul felt compelled to write: “God was reconciling the world to himself, not holding people’s faults against them… and the appeal that we make in Christ’s name is: Be reconciled to God!” It is a cry that we need to hear as individual disciples. It is a cry that the Church as institution needs to hear and seek to respond to.

If today’s Gospel story were real life and not simply parable, I would wonder if either son, younger or older, really discovered the truth of his father. The younger one, the obvious sinner, had the better chance. In the embrace that enveloped him he could perhaps feel the father’s throbbing heart and hear the quiet sobbing. I agree with the observation of a fourteenth century English mystic, Julian of Norwich, “We need to fail … If we never fell, we should never know how weak and wretched we are of ourselves; nor should we fully appreciate the astonishing love of our Maker… We sin grievously in this life: yet despite all this … it makes no difference at all to God’s love, and we are no less precious in God’s sight.”

Rebecca and Stacey, as you continue your journey into the heart of God, my advice is not to seek the smart answers, but the bracing freshness of wonder.


 Homily 5 - 2019

What a great opening line to today’s First Reading: God speaking to Joshua, leader of the Hebrew people, as they entered the Promised Land: “Today I have taken the shame of Egypt away from you.” They then “kept the Passover” – that Jesus celebrated at his Last Supper– and that we continue to remember at every Eucharist, even today’s.

Is that what God is doing today? here in Penshurst?: “Today I am taking away the shame from you”? High on the list of feelings that tend to weigh down, bewilder and deeply upset us Catholics at the moment is the feeling of shame. We have hit the bottom. And from the depths of our shame, how do we respond?

We know today’s Gospel passage almost by heart. Having heard it so many times, it bores us. We usually call the passage, The Prodigal Son. Personally, I don’t think much of him. His confession to his father sounds as non-convincing as the apologies dutifully mouthed by some of the Australian bishops to those abused by their priests.

The story, I think, is more about the father. Do you think that God is like the father? Would God have been really taken-in, hood-winked, by the son’s carefully rehearsed confession? Would God be totally over the top in his extravagantly uncontrolled readiness to forgive and, more than that, to reinstate him – as the story said, dressing him up in “the best robe”, putting “a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet”, and then celebrating his return with a riotous banquet?

The son did not expect a reaction like that. He simply thought that, if he played his cards convincingly enough, his father might take him back as a slave. The older son in the story was understandably stunned by his father’s extravagant forgiveness, and deeply angry. Neither son, as it turned out, really knew his father. The story does not tell us if either son really changed. It was a parable after all.

I wonder how many people today really know our God.

In the present situation, we bruised and bewildered Catholics have little hope of escaping our feeling of shame unless we come to know our unconditionally loving God – not just intellectually but experientially. We need somehow to let God “clasp us in his arms”, as it were, and to “kiss us tenderly”. This is equally true whether we accept some guilt through our complicity in a sinfully destructive church-culture, or whether we feel ourselves unjustly vilified by inclusion. Shame is feeling rejected, unloved, useless and vulnerable. The only real antidote to it is to know we are loved as we are. And the very definition of God is love. The rejection, ridicule and shaming by others may continue, but has no real power to hurt those who know they are loved.

Our cultural climate at the moment seems to be one of anger, and there is plenty of injustice around to warrant it. People are rightly angry with the church, with perpetrators of abuse and with those who covered up. They are angry, too, with politicians and selected law-breakers – and the list goes on. The older son in the story was angry with his brother, and angry, too, it transpired, with his father. But there is anger that is justified, and anger that is more an expression of self-righteousness. The first kind can be an essential source of motivation and of energy for needed change. The second kind can be destructive. Its source is more the satisfaction of being able to feel “holier than thou”. It feels nice - ask the Pharisees of today’s parable. Unfortunately, there is not enough justified anger in our world, and far too much self-righteous anger. This will be expelled only when people find themselves securely and unreservedly loved. Can our current culture cope with a God like the father of the two sons – a God who loves and even forgives?

Wonderfully, it is never too late to recognise and accept God's unashamed love, and ourselves be empowered to love, to change and to become truly alive.


 

Homily 6 -2022

How often have I read and heard to-day’s parable? During the week, my mind started working on a fresh message from it, for myself and for you, too, at today’s Mass. It is a story, of course, composed for the occasion by Jesus, not an actual incident. But I have been wondering how on earth he imagined a father like the one in the story. In the culture of the time, it would have been near to impossible, unthinkable — almost a bad dream. The instinctive, but fiercely, patriarchal culture of the time would have seen to that; and automatically suppressed the thought before its ever coming to consciousness.

Jesus did think of it, nevertheless, just as he also thought of that other unthinkable, “love your enemies”. In fact, this story is simply a variation on that theme — one that in our culture, in another place and another era, we let slip under our radar. To us, it is a lovely story of unmerited forgiveness — so long as we let it remain merely a story.

You probably remember elsewhere in the Gospels an incident when James and John quietly asked Jesus to let them “sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory”; and Jesus’ spontaneous reaction was to exclaim, “You do not know what you are asking.”

I sometimes feel like saying the same thing as Jesus when I hear some of the “Prayers of the Faithful” that we list off at Mass; or when I take time to reflect on some of the things that I have asked of God; or even when we say, in the Our Father, habitually and without thinking, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth”. Can I hear the voice of Jesus repeating, “Do you know what you are asking?

Perhaps, over the past couple of weeks, we have prayed that the war in Ukraine will stop. Do we know what we are asking? We are asking that enemy nations learn and agree to treat each other with sincere respect, to forgive each other for their long and vicious memories — effectively to love one another. Anything less simply postpones hostilities until the next war. [Remember Kosovo — six-hundred-year old memories! Or even Ireland — too complicated for me to follow.] It is important to realise that when nations react to each other as they invariably do, it is not just their leaders who are responsible for hostilities. Leaders behave as they do because almost everyone else thinks like that. Prayer for lasting peace in Ukraine involves ultimately prayer for the conversion of the whole world — starting with ourselves.

Success there, and in the other theatres of armed hostility around the globe, means a radical, deep, deliberate change of mind and heart in a critical mass of the world’s population — a timely spur to the world’s continuing evolution — what Paul, in today’s Second Reading, referred to as the “new creation in Christ”. It will have to involve us — we, too, must experience a radical, deep, conscious, personal, deliberate change of heart on our part, too.

We love the way that the father in today’s parable forgave his wayward son. But few of us, if any, are good at forgiving. So often, in so many cases, we do not even want to forgive. And, if we have tried, how often have we been strong enough, motivated enough, practised enough, to succeed?

In today’s Second Reading, Paul showed the way. We can start by tuning in, genuinely, to the heart of our prodigal Father, God — accepting, becoming saturated by, God’s radical, conscious, personal, deliberate, unbounded, amazingly transforming forgiveness of us all. There we shall find what Paul referred to as “the new creation in Christ”.

Nothing less will ever be enough.