Christ is king

The earliest kings were no more than small tribal leaders. Some possessed both political and religious functions. The word is derived from the Old English word cyng and is related to the German and Dutch words for king, and not surprisingly comes from the same root as the word kin, for family.

Undoubtedly David, king of Israel, was not unlike those early kings. There were no castles, princesses or other paraphernalia we attribute to modern kingship. David was chosen by the Lord and anointed by Samuel. He eventually becomes king iof Judah and later of a united Israel. He is remembered as a warrior, a poet and a musician. The memory of this king was imprinted on the minds and hearts of Jews. Any Messiah would be a descendent of this king. And while the Jews expected a warrior-king to free them from their various enemies and captors (Assyrians, Greeks, Romans), the acclamation of Jesus of Nazareth as both Messiah (Christ) and king was greeted by derision.

So, if Jesus was a king, what kind of king was he? Where was his kingdom? John (18:36) reports Jesus words: Mine is not a kingdom of this world. The parables, the miracles, the Beatitudes all hint as to what this kingdom would look like and feel like. The scriptures suggest that this kingdom has already been inaugurated (in the words and actions of Jesus) and will be completed when he comes again.

The feast of Christ the King which we celebrate this Sunday was instituted by Pius XI in 1925. It came at a time when monarchies were failing across Europe, when nihilism, Marxism and other philosophies were challenging the Church. Commentators of the time believed that the feast was a reminder that Christians owed their allegiance not to earthly supremacy – as claimed by Benito Mussolini, but to their heavenly, spiritual leader.

The timing of this feast as the last Sunday of the liturgical year invites us to consider the promise of what is to come at the end of time, and we then begin a new year with the Sundays of Advent.

The fact that we are bordering on being a republic, that our monarch lives on the other the side of the world, that she and her descendents live privileged lives and are expected to be exemplary citizens, makes it difficult for us to gain a full appreciation of what the feast has to offer. Our pope, Benedict XVI’s insight into Christ's kingship is that it is not based on "human power" but on loving and serving others. And that is how each of us can acknowledge Christ’s kingship and each of us can actively enter into, bring about and sustain his kingdom – by our love and service for others.

Lest we forget

I loved the way my children would count down the days to their birthdays and Christmas. For if parts of the media have complained bitterly about how early the Christmas juggernaut begins its journey, many are grateful for the warning and do, in fact, begin preparations.

We human beings have a strong sense of optimism, it is a part of the religious drive we experience throughout our lives. Though it is often blurred when times are difficult, we either anticipate or retrospectively see the positive outcomes: death is a release from pain; from a tragedy comes a stronger, more resilient family; from a mishap we learn valuable lessons.

The apocalyptic literature we find in the sacred scriptures is a response to the same dilemmas we face each day when as a single human being or as a single humanity, we face up against the odds: that is, how can God be righteous and yet allow us to suffer? While the earliest prophets expected a messiah to restore Israel to the Hebrews, the continued delay extended that expectation past the immediate future to an afterlife, and for Christians – the anticipation of a parousia, the second coming of Christ. In this coming he would be clearly revealed, and he will then vindicate the righteous and faithful.

These three aspects, preparation, optimism and expectation are to be found in Mark’s account (13:24 – 32) in which Jesus describes the end times, his second coming. In a parable he explains that just as twigs grow supple on the vine and the leaves come out, we know that summer is close. So too, do we have to read the signs around us to recognise his impending coming – though he sternly warns (verse 32): But as for that day or hour, nobody knows it, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son; no one but the Father.

As Remembrance Day passed us yet again, these three words echoed in me: preparation, optimism and expectation. Though totally captured by the excitement of fighting for the Mother Country on the battlefields of Europe, our young men and women left their homes, prepared to give their all in the greatest adventure they could imagine. Their optimism would save Australia, the world, their children’s children, from the tyranny of German aggression. They expected to be home by Christmas, they expected an early victory, they did not expect to die in such numbers. 416,000 young Australians enlisted, 332,000 embarked for war, 215,000 were listed as casualties.

As Australians, as a nation, the deep wounds and the darkness of that ‘Great’ war, gave a renewed sense of who we were as a nation, it was bloody, but it fortified the spirit of this young country, it was terrifying and bleak, but its yield has been nothing less than a brilliant optimism.

Charles and Milan

Milan is a beautiful city. Its people are beautiful. It is the home of Armani and Versace. At its heart is the utterly impressive Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele I, an enormous, glazed arcade of immense proportions, named for the first king of a united Italy and built between 1865 and 1877. This is real window shopping. This retail centre is adjacent to the spiritual centre, the Duomo (Cathedral) of Milan. 500 years in the making, the Duomo is breathtakingly beautiful. After St Peter’s in Rome and the Seville Cathedral, the Duomo is the third largest church in Christendom.

Charles Borromeo was 12 when he was created an abbot; 21 when he completed his doctorate in law; 22 when his uncle Pius VI named him a cardinal; then archbishop of Milan. He founded seminaries, supported decrees of the Council of Trent and was rigorous in the reform of his diocese. His work and generosity to the poor was renowned. Charles brought a new simplicity to the Duomo, removing ornate tombs, banners and ornaments. He died in 1584. 25 years after his death, Charles was canonised. He is now the patron saint of bishops, students for the priesthood, catechists and catechumens. He was interred in a crypt under the Duomo, expressly contrary to his request.

The crypt is an eerie, dimly lit place. You have no doubt you are in the presence of the holy, of the sacred. Lying beneath the majesty of the Duomo, Charles’ tomb is a link between the saintliness we are each called to, and the humanity which drives our urges, hungers and desires.

We are familiar with Mark’s story (12:38 – 44) of the widow’s mite. Clearly Mark is teaching that those who give from their excess are not being generous, but those who give of their entire livelihood are worthy of great honour. Charles came from a family of great wealth and position, and while had titles of his own, he called on his total being as a gift to his Lord and God. Wealth and titles were for him but tools at the service of the poor and ignorant.

The City of Milan is a testament to humanity’s capacity to create beautiful churches, shopping complexes, motorcycles and clothing and should be a must see on your Italian sojourn, yet its rich and deep faith simmers not only in its underbelly, but in the celebration of life that the Milanese enjoy in their bounty.

St Charles Borromeo’s feast day was yesterday.

For all the saints

Paul often referred to his addressees as saints, or the holy ones. He wasn’t writing about those very holier-than-thou canonised variety of saints, but the regular every day faithful who chose to live out Christian lives with conviction. And, they weren’t perfect by any means.

I have known some great saints; people of patience, honesty, trustworthy and trusting, compassionate, kind, gentle and loving. Oh yes, some liked to party. Brother Gabriel Preston, Brother Damian Ryles, my late dad and my mother, Mrs Mary Webb, my father-in-law Jim, his father-in-law Basil O’Halloran, Sister Mary Sarto, great aunt Gwendoline. And yes, they were not or are not perfect.

The people who impact on our lives for the better, are those who challenge us by the way they live their own lives. They may be great teachers, great academics, sports people, financiers, military, clergy, religious, artists, musicians, builders, librarians, homemakers or office workers – they are good at what they do, but they have an enormous capacity to care about others, they want others to dream dreams, reach for the stars, be healthy and know love.

Gwendoline, whom we called Aunty Jimmie, was a nurse. The pictures of her in the 1920s and 30s present a vivacious and attractive young woman. She took to nursing like a duck to water. She did service in New Guinea, and returned to Australia a wiser human being. She never married; she was one of the first graduates of the College of Nursing Australia’s Diploma in Nursing Education, taught, and then retired to nurse her ailing sister. She lived a wonderful, rich and fruitful life, nursing and caring for thousands. Her life affected so many, and none more so than my own. Her humour and concern for others was infective and influenced many young woman to take up careers in nursing. Aunty Jimmy was certainly not what I would call religious, but she was certainly faithful. And a saint.

Matthew (5:1 – 12) sets out his criteria for ‘sainthood’ – the Beatitudes. To whom does the kingdom belong? It belongs to the poor in spirit, the gentle, mourners, those who hunger and thirst for what is right, the merciful, the pure in heart, peacemakers, those persecuted in the cause of right, those who are abused and persecuted on account of their faith. They are indeed saints.

Such saints are within our grasp. We know them, they are not superhuman beings, but they are superb human beings.

This Sunday, is of course, All Saints Day, in recognition of God’s grace so generously bestowed on us through the exemplary lives of our forebears in faith. This is followed by All Souls Day on which we recollect our many loved ones who have gone before us, Brother Gabriel, Sister Mary Sarto, Basil, and Aunty Jimmy, holy ones indeed, each chosen by God, and loved by him – and they will be made perfect by him.

What do you want me to do for you?

In the last twenty years we become somewhat inured to the plight of the poorest of the poor. We are bombarded with images of volcanoes, floods, landslides, earthquakes, tornados, bush fires, hurricanes, tsunamis – not to mention Iraq and Afghanistan. These images bring an immediacy not present where cultural, political and climactic change is slow, but progressive, where entire provinces lose populations to neighbouring provinces and countries, where searing poverty and its sister, hunger, overwhelm remaining populations. Education, health, water supply, women’s rights, freedom of religion, of movement, of occupation, of origin, of political persuasion are critical indicators not only of human rights, but of humanity itself.

We fight so many battles, and many we win. But some battles that we ‘fight’ on African continent or the Indian sub-continent appear unwinnable.

The Gospel this week is unequivocal about its message. Mark (10:46 – 52) records the story of Bartimaeus, a blind beggar. On hearing that Jesus was passing nearby, he called out, ‘Son of David, Jesus, have pity on me.’ Those accompanying Jesus attempted to silence him. Jesus approached him and asked, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Bartimaeus replied, ‘ Master, let me see again’. Jesus responds, ‘Go, your faith has saved you.’

You see, it is we who are passing by who must hear the cry of the poor and the lame, and it is they who cry for pity (that is, sorrow and compassion). And what do they want us to do for them? They want healing, they want wholeness, they want life – and we do have the capacity to provide for many of their needs, and that is why our response must also be unequivocal: we must make a difference.

Last Sunday was also Mission Sunday. The invitation we received through its celebration was for each one of us to commit to action, in prayer, through the gift of money, time or goods to make real the mission given to the Church by Jesus. It’s a tough call. The bottom line is that this is a response that arises from our baptism, no more no less. We are empowered by baptism to hear God’s word with clarity, entrusted to respond with generosity and impelled to proclaim God’s saving power and love.

So whether the ‘voice’ comes from the devastation of Samoa or Indonesia, or the ruin of Sudan or Sri Lanka, we must ask: What do you want me to do for you?

Peacethinker Obama

Like many others, I was surprised by Barack Obama’s Nobel accolade. Should we compare him to other peace prize laureates such as Jimmy Carter, Jose Ramos-Horta, Nelson Mandela, Shimon Peres, Aung San Suu Kyi, Mikhail Gorbachev, the Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu, Mother Teresa, Lech Walesa, Martin Luther King, Albert Schweitzer? In 120 years the prize has been awarded 97 times to individuals and organisations. Many of the laureates had already found great fame, and had been recognised as world class leaders, bureaucrats, emissaries, politicians, churchmen, freedom seekers. Their combined impact on world affairs is immeasurable. But Obama?

In my first real job as a junior clerk, I wondered how I would ever make it up the ladder to success. My bosses seem to have such extraordinary knowledge, could pay such attention to detail, and commanded the respect of staff. Yet, in hindsight, they were ordinary human beings, had lived and worked hard to achieve what I now see as modest success. They had hopes and dreams, visions for a better world, for prosperity, to see their children’s children grow to adulthood. My father was one of these men. So, Nobel laureates are human beings like us: they eat and sleep, go to work, have families, watch their spending, negotiate traffic, watch TV.

I want to say that each of us is a potential laureate: we might never receive recognition for the contributions we make, but I can assure you, that in the right places it will be counted.

The gist of Mark’s Gospel this coming 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (10:35 – 45) is that the ‘Son of Man himself did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as ransom for many. The Christian is not to lord his authority over others, those who want to be great (or successful) must be the servant of others. Here Jesus turns our understanding upside down. Service is the key to success. Not power. This is what makes a great boss, this is what makes a great leader – the capacity, the ability, the drive to serve others: but when the motivation becomes selfish, self-aggrandising and conceited, it is no longer service.

The letter to Hebrews (4:14 – 16) equally reminds us that when service in performed in the name of the Son of God, that we should ‘be confident … in approaching the throne of grace, that we shall have mercy from him and find grace when we are in need of help.’ Great leaders know they are the recipients of great mercy and grace, for they are called to do great things. And you and I are no less worthy recipients, for we have our own parts of God’s kingdom to build.

So Obama? Why not? Much is expected, much will be asked, and divine and human assistance will be fundamental to his success as a peacethinker and as a peacemaker.

Words of wisdom

If I were to distill my mother’s philosophy of life, it would probably be, ‘Live, and love life to the fullest.’ It is more than apparent to me that this is how she has lived her life. Married at 18, mother of 11, widowed at 45. After raising her children she sold up and travelled the world. Now freshly returned from Canada where her grandson married, she takes Tai Chi classes, tends her vegetable garden, helps out at netball, spends time on the internet communicating with her diaspora of descendents. Now 78, she is the wise and most loved mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.

Most of us have a healthy skepticism about those who would present themselves as possessors of wisdom. Indeed, the political and retail industries are adept at the selling of wisdom – beautifully packaged as policies, health, well-being, satisfaction. Then there are the gurus of every persuasion, there’s one for every cause – some well meaning, some necessary, some radical, some conservative, maybe religious, economic or environmental. They all have something to offer, a view into the world in which we live, an understanding of the way that things come together. We certainly take on the views that make sense to us, and we seek to be informed by those who share similar views. Each of us needs this kind of wisdom to get through life. Today we would call these ‘ethics’.

In the Book of Wisdom that comes to us from the 1st or 2nd century BC we catch a glimpse of how wisdom was understood by our ancestors in faith. Wisdom was sought after, highly valued, almost deified. Writes the author: I esteemed her more than sceptres and thrones; compared with her I held riches as nothing. In our Catholic tradition we have attributed this wisdom to the person of Mary. But we can already see that this wisdom is unlike the ethics of today. It is multi-dimensioned and many layered.

Within 150 years of the writing of the Book of Wisdom, Mark (10:17 – 30) tells us the story of the rich young man and his dilemma: he asks Jesus, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ to which Jesus replies that he must keep all the commandments. Mark writes: And he said to him, ‘Master, I have kept all these from my earliest days.’ Jesus looked steadily at him and loved him, and he said, ‘There is one thing you lack. Go and sell everything you own and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me. We know what the young man’s response is.

The wisdom we possess must have a bottom line. If our ethics are fuzzy and full of exceptions to our general rule of life, what will get past the keeper? The bar that Jesus set is obviously very high. Is your bar suitably high? Is your wisdom strong enough and deep enough to enable you to live out the remainder of your life with fidelity to yourself and the Gospel? How would others summarise your philosophy? What wisdom will they see in you – from your actions and your words?