24th Sunday Year C

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


Homily 1 - 2007

Pharisees classified certain behaviours as sinful, and those who did them, they judged as sinners. They criticised Jesus for eating with sinners. Whether the ones Jesus ate with were real sinners, of course, was a moot point.

Since we have certain standards, we do judge certain actions to be wrong. If we were to do them knowingly and freely, we would be sinning. But we can never say that others who do them are sinners; because who knows another person’s heart?

If Jesus was not prepared to eat with sinners, he would have had to eat by himself. In fact, Jesus ate frequently with tax collectors, with Pharisees, and with disciples. His last meal was sandwiched between the betrayal of one, denial by another, and abandonment by the rest.

I wonder if he ever felt awkward or compromised with some of the company he kept? How do you mix easily with people whose behaviour you strongly disagree with? who constantly criticise you, at least behind your back? It can be a cop out to say: “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” and especially, “You can love people without liking them.” Would you be satisfied to know that God loved you, but didn’t really like you?

I believe that God likes me, though sometimes I catch myself out feeling uncertain. Equally hard is to believe that God actually likes those people I definitely don’t like.

How does God manage to like everyone? For a start, I think that, when God sees us, God sees into our depths. It is not that God necessarily sees there in our depths a sincerity that we don’t. Sometimes, there is no sincerity there. But I do believe that God sees our deepest sense of being ultimately no good, our insecurity, our deep loneliness, our deepest pain.

Though our instinct is to cover up our weaknesses,strangely, our sharing of our weaknesses can be surprisingly unifying. If we could see more clearly into the hearts of those we dislike or judge, we might find ourselves being more open to them, even, perhaps, increasingly drawn to them. They might never become our bosom friends, but they would not upset us so much.

The problem is that something often gets in the way of our seeing behind their annoying behaviours. What that something is is often our own unrecognised pain, loneliness and insecurity – and the addictions and compulsions they give birth to - and it is these that their differences challenge or needle.

Remember Jesus’ colourful comment in his Sermon on the Mount: Why do you observe the splinter in your brother’s eye, and never notice the plank in your own? Learning to recognise, accept and make peace with the plank in our own eye – is an ongoing task and seems to take a life-time. It is a lot easier to condemn, to avoid, to ridicule those whom we don’t like, than it is to work at learning to like them.

But isn’t it wonderful when you think about it! God likes me. God likes you. God likes even those we particularly dislike. We are all sinners - but that just emphasises our neediness and draws God closer to us. According to Jesus, it gives God great joy when we believe, accept and let it be that God likes us.

God is like the woman who found her lost coin, and then put on  a party for her neighbours; or like the shepherd who found his lost sheep and rejoiced with his friends. 


Homily 2 - 2010

For the past week I’ve been staying with a family where there’s a little girl about two years old – much loved. Each day she watches the same DVD. It’s an animated cartoon, Walt Disney style, about a funny, wise old lion and a host of other animals. It gave me the idea to look at today’s story “Walt Disney style” – a bit of a change from most sitcoms where humans behave, by and large, like sheep, to imagine, this time, the sheep behaving like humans.

The lost sheep. It’s getting dark, shadows lengthening – and it realises that it’s alone, with no idea where it is. In the distance it can hear the howl of a wolf.  Suddenly, panic. It feels acutely its loneliness, its isolation, its danger. It longs to be back with the other sheep, safe under the watchful eye of the shepherd. It realises its own stupidity – it’s all its own fault. It feels desperate. And then, it hears a branch crack – close by. Its heart misses a beat.  Suddenly, out of the growing darkness, the shepherd appears, and runs to it, and picks it up in his arms, lays it across his shoulders – and back to the flock! Sheer bliss fills the heart of the little sheep.

The flock – what about the 99? They realise the shepherd’s not there. They begin to feel insecure. Besides, they’re thirsty; they’re tired. They want to settle down for the night, safe, protected. They, too, hear the distant howl of the wolf. They’ve got each other – but they need the shepherd. Where could he be?

The resentment, always there in their hearts (but below the surface) begins to stir. "That stupid sheep that wandered off.  The shepherd’s gone looking for it, and left us defenceless, vulnerable. If it got lost, then that’s its own fault. But what about us – we stayed together, we did what we should have, we gave no trouble. It deserved to get lost. It deserves to get killed. But us? How could the shepherd neglect us? It’s not fair! It’s not right!"

The shepherd – spent his life for all the sheep. Let’s say he loved them all. Of the hundred sheep, who came to realise the wonder that they were all precious? that they were all loved?  The answer is obvious.

I don’t know if the sheep shared in the party that followed. If they did, I imagine only one enjoyed it and, indeed, enjoyed it immensely – not just because it was rescued but because, for the first time, it really knew the shepherd.

I think that most of us, at some stage of our lives, have been like the 99 sheep. We’ve felt safe enough; we’ve been careful not to stray too far – even been a bit smug, content simply to be one of the flock, indeed, of a prize flock. We’ve felt at home with God – but a bit uneasy that God might be a bit soft on sinners. If the truth be known, we may have felt a bit hostile that others who haven’t done it hard like us might eventually make it across the line along with us.

Perhaps … we have never discovered God, never been swept off our feet at the sheer wonder of his love – his love for us, for us!, and his love, too, for everyone. Only people in love truly know each other – and when they do, they know that the rules of the game are different.

To know that we’re loved, that we’re precious – that’s the question. The truth is that we are – but we need to have our antennae up to have any chance of picking it up. I think we first need to feel we’re stupid, to feel that it’s partly our fault. We need to feel our emptiness, our confusion, our thirst – our thirst for more.

The rest is up to God – but provided that we don’t back off from our thirst, that we don’t set about distracting ourselves to cope with the void, or, perhaps, in our modern world, we don’t let the busyness and the glitz drown out our thirst, God will do the rest – that is what God is all about, really.  And the discovery that God loves us, the discovery, even better, of God who loves suddenly gives meaning – and it’s a different world.


Homily 3 - 2013

A friend was talking to me recently of two people, both of whom I respect. Though their faith in God remains intact, both have stopped practising as Catholics because they are disillusioned with past and current Church leadership around the issue of clerical sexual abuse.  They see a Church more concerned with damage control than with attention to victims. I don’t know – perhaps they tend to see the bishops more like Pharisees than like Jesus.

Against the background of that experience, I find today’s Gospel quite confronting.  What is Jesus like?  Pharisees criticised him because he welcomed sinners and ate with them.  Would Jesus be seen eating with clerical sexual abusers? Would he be seen eating with defensive, even perhaps pompous, bishops?   If he would, would his welcoming  be a kind of  “pretend” welcoming? or warm and sincere?  What is your first reaction to this Jesus?

There is joy in heaven over one sinner who repents.  That seems to imply that the sinner’s repentance is necessary before God rejoices.  That may be so – but today’s stories also make the point that God’s deep concern and involvement are not conditioned by any prior repentance.  Jesus ate with tax-collectors and sinners, presumably independently of any conversion on their part.

Can I comfortably belong to a Church that leaves room for them, and their contemporary equivalents? that leaves room for sexual abusers, and defensive and inadequate leaders?  Or would I feel compromised, and check out somewhere else?  Do I judge myself distinctly different, even a bit superior?

I think that forgiveness is something of a mystery.  It is certainly different from reconciliation.  Forgiveness is one-way; it flows from the innocent party to the offender.  Reconciliation is two-way; it requires repentance from the offender.  God offers forgiveness, calls to repentance and hopes for reconciliation.  God’s forgiveness, however, does nothing for the unrepentant unless they accept it, allow themselves to be empowered by it and begin to change.  Both forgiveness from the innocent one and repentance from the guilty are necessary for reconciliation to happen; and until repentance happens, reconciliation might even be dangerous or too destructive of a still-too-fragile innocent one.

Personally, I find myself in something of a bind.  I am painfully aware that there are many badly bruised, betrayed, and deeply-hurting people in our midst – some of them still coming to Church, many no longer doing so.  Though they are not the only ones, I have in mind primarily victims of clerical abuse and their families.  Most feel they have been overlooked, their stories not heard, their pain not appreciated, their eventual speaking out resented and their search for support and compensation resisted.  To talk only of forgiving perpetrators without talking even more of victims’ needs, without responding compassionately, and doing something practical to meet those needs, can be cruel.

Both are necessary.  Up until the recent past, and perhaps still, victims’ needs have gone largely unaddressed.  Right now, talk of forgiving perpetrators, at least in media circles, is hardly the flavour of the month.  But offenders will never be truly free until they repent; nor will victims be truly free until they forgive.  That is why God invites us to do both.

In the meantime, for the rest of us, Church, at any one time, will have its share of sinners not yet genuinely open to change but possibly wanting something, and hurting people struggling with forgiveness and sometimes unwilling or unable to.  If that is what the Church is like, do we feel too perfect to be at home in such a Church?

Just before we receive Communion today, we are invited to say together: Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.  Say but the word, and my soul will be healed.  Today, let’s say it thoughtfully.


Homily 4 - 2016

In the Eastern Mediterranean world in which Jesus lived, meals were socially and religiously important. They were an expression of solidarity and of approval. In this world, Jesus, who took on himself the role of prophet or holy man, persistently invited as guests and accepted invitations from people whom society clearly branded as either sinful groups or individual sinners. Other professed religious leaders, Pharisees and scribes, were deeply upset by his behavior – and challenged him.

His response was to tell three stories, each with a similar conclusion. The second story finished up, There is rejoicing among the angels of God over one repentant sinner. The first story had expanded that line a little, There will be more rejoicing in heaven over one repentant sinner than over ninety-nine virtuous men who have no need of repentance. And the third story, the well-loved story, usually referred to as The Prodigal Son, concluded with, It was only right we should celebrate and rejoice, because your brother here was dead and has come to life; he was lost and is found.  All three stories speak, in one way or another, of a God of extravagant mercy, who obviously enjoys being so.

Would the scribes and Pharisees have related to such a God? I wonder if religious people in general feel relaxed and at home with such a God, a God whose mercy and forgiveness have nothing to do with prior repentance. There was no prior repentance or its equivalent in the lost sheep or the lost coin, and the repentance shown at first by the Prodigal Son was purely gross self-interest. Many people are more interested in revenge, or in punishment – stricter laws and tighter order. And as for God rejoicing! I think some people want God to show a bit more majesty and decorum, and for everyone else to worship accordingly.

Yet repentance is important. Why? Certainly not to soften up God. Repentance, though, is crucially important for the sinner. Without repentance, sinners cannot enjoy God – or enjoy anything else much, for that matter. Sin is essentially self-interest. It is focus on self. It is ultimately an expression of self-isolation, where other people are not persons but objects to be used or somehow exploited. Sinners certainly can sin together – but their sinning effectively distances them from each other. The younger son found that out the hard way. The elder son of the story was obviously a lonely man, consumed by himself, angry with his father and resentful towards him; and unable even to call his brother such but only the other son of his father.

Repentance involves a whole new way of seeing. The gaze turns outward – towards others. In the process, others are seen and related to as persons; and the former sinners themselves become and develop as persons, as human persons. God can be seen at last as the one who loves, who loves them, but not only them but everyone and everything equally – with a love that asks no questions, stipulates no conditions, is impervious to worthiness or guilt. Over time, God is seen as pure love – who offers relationship but has nothing to do with rewarding or punishing. God is reward, and separation from God is punishment; or, in other words, loving and being loved is itself its own reward – and from it follows joy, joy that is contagious. Repentance opens out inevitably to joy. In fact, through our coming to share in the life of the risen Jesus, we are introduced into the throbbing love and joy that is the life of the Trinity. Not loving [that is, self-absorption or isolation] is its own punishment – and the choice is up to us. God, in whom is no coercion and no violence, respects our choice.

We do not have to wait until we die. We can allow the truth slowly to soften our previously impervious hearts. With the angels of heaven we can rejoice over one repentant sinner – that repentant sinner, in this case, being ourselves.


 

Homily 5 - 2019

I was impressed by the comment of the father of Eurydice Dixon after her murderer was recently convicted. He was quoted as saying: "What I wish [the murderer] and what I believe Eurydice would wish, is that he gets better, and … realises what he's done. I extend my sympathies, my sincere sympathy for those who love him. It's a terrible tragedy all round.” The comment came to my mind when I was reflecting on the Gospel passage for today.

Both stories in today's Gospel passage finish with almost the same conclusion, “Rejoice with me, I have found my sheep [or my drachma] that was lost”. And St Luke uses the comments to throw the spotlight onto the spiritual message, “There is rejoicing among the angels of God over one repentant sinner”. He invites us into wonder before the heart of the God who forgives.

The whole passage was Jesus’ way to answer the criticism made of him by the Pharisees and the scribes. [The more I encounter the phrase "Pharisees and scribes", the more I treat it as code  for "the prevailing culture".] If we had read on, we would have heard the story about what we commonly call the “Prodigal Son” – which is really a story about the “Extravagantly Forgiving Father”. It deepens further our reflection on the heart of our God.

I notice in today’s Parish Bulletin that parishioners have been asked to concentrate on one of the themes condensed from the thousands of responses made to the original question suggested by the planners of the coming Plenary Council. The theme in question sees the Church we desire for the future as a “Humble, Healing and Merciful” Church. It strikes me that the Church needs to be precisely that because that is what our God is, a humble, healing and merciful God. I would add, when we are talking of God, "forgiving" as well - as today’s Gospel stories were emphasising.

We don’t think often of God as humble. In fact, our language is usually the very opposite. In our formal prayers we habitually use words like Lord, and Majesty, and honour and glory and so on. They are words that come from another age – from the courts of the Middle Ages, the courts of the insecure, honour-obsessed kings of the time. It is only insecure persons who are touchy about issues of relative honour, etc.. Those who are free, liberated, who know they are loved, could not care less. God is totally free. There are no prickly complications in God. God simply is. [And, if we wish to explicitate it a little more, God is loving.] God is love. There is nothing more to say about God, really.

I find it fascinating to think about the titles we use of leaders in the Church, and how ridiculous they are, starting from the Pope downwards: Your Holiness, Your Eminence, Your Excellency, Your Grace, Your Lordship, Monsignor, even Father. What are we up to!

Certainly, the change facing us as a would-be humble Church is much more challenging than changing titles. We need to pin down what we really do want. That is part of our task for Sunday-week’s discussion and discernment.

We often think of God as Judge. But God judges in order to heal. God’s judging has nothing to do with punishing. God judges like the doctor judges when I go to the clinic. I tell him/her the symptoms; he/she judges what the cause might be, and prescribes the needed treatment accordingly. God already knows what the problem is with us that leads us into all sorts of hurtful, damaging behaviour – what we call sin. We are insecure. And we are insecure because we do not realise that we are loved. So much of what Jesus said and did was precisely to convince us that really God loves us, and cannot do otherwise. What our world needs is more loving, not more prisons.

Can we as Church mirror our healing God? What do you think? and how can it be done – in Penshurst? And if we succeed, will it take care of the invitation also to be merciful?


 

Homily 6 - 2022

My heart tends to drop when I hear today’s Gospel Reading. I have probably preached on these three parables more times than you have listened to them, but I expect that you too may have the feeling that there is not much left that you have not already heard or thought about before.

As I reflect, I am beginning to think that just explaining the cultural background and sharing what I thought Jesus was meaning may perhaps have quite missed the point that Jesus himself was hoping to get across by means of his parables. The audiences of his time would have had no need for the cultural background to be explained. They might, however, still have scratched their heads trying to work out what he was trying to convey — because his parables sought quite deliberately to catch his audience’s attention; but then he gave the stories a curious twist that puzzled them. His hope was that people would continue to think about the stories and especially their unexpectedly surprising endings.

He left them wondering. Sadly, probably all the homilies you have heard [at least from me] were aimed to stop you wondering.

Jesus, I believe, knew that he could not talk to and listen to the individual and different life experiences of all his listeners. Yet he wanted his message to speak to the uniqueness of their lives. He also knew that each one had a different capacity to make sense of the truth that he wanted to convey. I don’t think that he worried whether they all understood exactly what he said or applied what he was saying in the same way, so long as they took in his message in a way that meant something to them, and led to some meaningful improvement in their sense of God or particular lifestyle. Jesus left the details to the work of the Holy Spirit.

How might all this apply to us? I am coming to think that I have not made the most of Jesus’ parables over my life. I have kept my concerns too general. For each of us, his message was not for us in general; his message is all for me in all my individuality — in the here-and-now-ness of my life.

Take for example today’s first parable. What do we call it for a start? Who is it about? Is it about the shepherd or about the sheep? Was the shepherd smart? or was the sheep smart? Or were both smart? or neither? Do I feel spontaneously like identifying with either?

As I look back over the past couple of days, or the past week, could the story highlight anything that has been going on in my life? Would Jesus like to get any message through to me, the here-and-now me? If I were to ponder the story in a few more weeks or months time, and look back over a quite different week, seeking deliberately to ask the Holy Spirit to help me see, I might find Jesus using the story to throw a quite different and unconnected light on what might be going on in my life then.

I do think that that may have been how Jesus hoped his parables would work. If nothing else, the regular practice could help me to come to know Jesus better, to recognise more clearly his interest in my life and his relevance to me. He could become more a real person in my life. Since we are all different from each other, they give him the chance to get through to each of us personally. The messages each of us may hear may be quite different one from the other. But that is appropriate. As long as I can hear him speak to me! That is how he wants it to be.