Towards the end of a long life the eminent biologist Sir Alistair Hardy began to research spiritual phenomena. As a scientist, Sir Alistair wanted to bring his own discipline to the analysis of religious experience. St Joseph of Cupertino must have been high on his list. The 17th century Franciscan would levitate at the most embarrassing moments, so much so that his brethren banned him from eating or praying with them for 35 years.
When one hears of dreams and vision and states of union with God, for most of us anyway, it is a far cry from our own Christian lives. How good it would be if we could be sure, that some of our questions would find an answer, that we could see clearly – but for most of us faith is just that – unilluminated by any special gifts. I do not think that I have ever had any particular spiritual experience, except perhaps once when I was a child. I had just received HC and was kneeling on a marble step – the coldness of the marble impinged on my consciousness, and I put down a hand to touch the stone. As I did so, I was filled with a sense that the God I had just received in HC was as physically real to as the marble I was touching. The cold stone earthing the Eucharistic Presence. Without my realising it, God was introducing a sacramental understanding into my early consciousness, for although he is Spirit, the Creator chooses to reveal himself within the fabric of his own Creation: he who has made the world, makes himself intelligible through it.
Without this notion of physicality, we cannot make sense of the Incarnation and Christmas. It is the same notion which the prophet Baruch, and Jesus himself, use when they want to express the truth about the Day of Judgment and the completion of the Kingdom. The images offered in these two passages from Scripture are rooted, earthy. Jerusalem, the holy city which has suffered so much, and has had to mourn so often, will be dressed up and crowned. The city will find vindication as those driven into exile discover their way home. The hills will be flattened, the valleys filled in.
For the people of the Old Covenant – and we have to remember that the humanity of Jesus was formed within the tradition of that Covenant – there was the certainty that judgment would come and that Israel would be restored. For Baruch, writing some six hundred years before the birth of Jesus, salvation is bound up with the integrity of one nation. By the time of St Luke’s Gospel, the realisation has grown that God’s visitation, given through Israel, is not for the benefit of a single people, but for every nation, for all people. “And all mankind shall see the salvation of God”.
It is far from fashionable today to see God's hand at work in the circumstances of history, making moral demands of his creation. The idea of Natural Law is all but dead. But when St Luke wants to begin his narrative he does so by anchoring it in a particular time. We are left in no doubt as to the context in which the Baptist begins his mission. We are told where and when and how. John is rooted and the basic images of his preaching are strongly physical. The Lord is coming as he has promised – everyone must make the paths straight. The whole universe is going to be changed by what is about to take place. “A voice cries in the wilderness”.
For St Paul writing to the Philippians, there is this same earthing in the reality of the moment. He looks forward to the final Day of Christ, when all will be brought to perfection, but he is clear that the way in which we prepare for judgement is by the way we treat one another on a day-to-day basis. St Paul is often portrayed as something of a cold fish, but in our second reading he brims over with affection. He says he misses those who have laboured with him in spreading the Gospel message – he writes that he is filled with joy when he thinks about them – and he prays that “your love for each other may increase more and more and never stop improving your knowledge and deepening your perception so that you can always recognise what is best”. True religion is to be gauged more by the way we act than the correctness of our expression. On the day of judgement, we shall be justified by faith which has shown its authenticity in terms of our works. “By their fruits, you will know them”.
And so we find ourselves at the 2nd Sunday in Advent. Baruch proclaims “Peace through integrity, honour through devotedness”. In the short term we are preparing to celebrate the physicality of the Incarnation. In three weeks time we shall wonder again at the God who assumes flesh – who comes among us as an embryo, a foetus, in the fullness of our own being. A God who is warm to the touch, who can be embraced and talked with. In the longer term it is that same God who will one day confront each of us in his glorified humanity – the ultimate challenge to who we are and what we have become. “The night is far spent the day is at hand”. These Advent days are a gift of grace, the chance to get some fresh perspective on our lives, to retrieve some order, as we come nearer and nearer to our ultimate encounter with God. Let us make these the acceptable days, preparing a straight path for the coming of our God. That he is coming is certain. In the day of his coming may he find us a holy people characterised by our concern, our love, for one another. “Love will come to perfection in us when we can face the day of judgement without fear, because even in this world we have become as he is”.
Towards the end of a long life the eminent biologist Sir Alistair Hardy began to research spiritual phenomena. As a scientist, Sir Alistair wanted to bring his own discipline to the analysis of religious experience. St Joseph of Cupertino must have been high on his list. The 17th century Franciscan would levitate at the most embarrassing moments, so much so that his brethren banned him from eating or praying with them for 35 years.
When one hears of dreams and vision and states of union with God, for most of us anyway, it is a far cry from our own Christian lives. How good it would be if we could be sure, that some of our questions would find an answer, that we could see clearly – but for most of us faith is just that – unilluminated by any special gifts. I do not think that I have ever had any particular spiritual experience, except perhaps once when I was a child. I had just received HC and was kneeling on a marble step – the coldness of the marble impinged on my consciousness, and I put down a hand to touch the stone. As I did so, I was filled with a sense that the God I had just received in HC was as physically real to as the marble I was touching. The cold stone earthing the Eucharistic Presence. Without my realising it, God was introducing a sacramental understanding into my early consciousness, for although he is Spirit, the Creator chooses to reveal himself within the fabric of his own Creation: he who has made the world, makes himself intelligible through it.
Without this notion of physicality, we cannot make sense of the Incarnation and Christmas. It is the same notion which the prophet Baruch, and Jesus himself, use when they want to express the truth about the Day of Judgment and the completion of the Kingdom. The images offered in these two passages from Scripture are rooted, earthy. Jerusalem, the holy city which has suffered so much, and has had to mourn so often, will be dressed up and crowned. The city will find vindication as those driven into exile discover their way home. The hills will be flattened, the valleys filled in.
For the people of the Old Covenant – and we have to remember that the humanity of Jesus was formed within the tradition of that Covenant – there was the certainty that judgment would come and that Israel would be restored. For Baruch, writing some six hundred years before the birth of Jesus, salvation is bound up with the integrity of one nation. By the time of St Luke’s Gospel, the realisation has grown that God’s visitation, given through Israel, is not for the benefit of a single people, but for every nation, for all people. “And all mankind shall see the salvation of God”.
It is far from fashionable today to see God's hand at work in the circumstances of history, making moral demands of his creation. The idea of Natural Law is all but dead. But when St Luke wants to begin his narrative he does so by anchoring it in a particular time. We are left in no doubt as to the context in which the Baptist begins his mission. We are told where and when and how. John is rooted and the basic images of his preaching are strongly physical. The Lord is coming as he has promised – everyone must make the paths straight. The whole universe is going to be changed by what is about to take place. “A voice cries in the wilderness”.
For St Paul writing to the Philippians, there is this same earthing in the reality of the moment. He looks forward to the final Day of Christ, when all will be brought to perfection, but he is clear that the way in which we prepare for judgement is by the way we treat one another on a day-to-day basis. St Paul is often portrayed as something of a cold fish, but in our second reading he brims over with affection. He says he misses those who have laboured with him in spreading the Gospel message – he writes that he is filled with joy when he thinks about them – and he prays that “your love for each other may increase more and more and never stop improving your knowledge and deepening your perception so that you can always recognise what is best”. True religion is to be gauged more by the way we act than the correctness of our expression. On the day of judgement, we shall be justified by faith which has shown its authenticity in terms of our works. “By their fruits, you will know them”.
And so we find ourselves at the 2nd Sunday in Advent. Baruch proclaims “Peace through integrity, honour through devotedness”. In the short term we are preparing to celebrate the physicality of the Incarnation. In three weeks time we shall wonder again at the God who assumes flesh – who comes among us as an embryo, a foetus, in the fullness of our own being. A God who is warm to the touch, who can be embraced and talked with. In the longer term it is that same God who will one day confront each of us in his glorified humanity – the ultimate challenge to who we are and what we have become. “The night is far spent the day is at hand”. These Advent days are a gift of grace, the chance to get some fresh perspective on our lives, to retrieve some order, as we come nearer and nearer to our ultimate encounter with God. Let us make these the acceptable days, preparing a straight path for the coming of our God. That he is coming is certain. In the day of his coming may he find us a holy people characterised by our concern, our love, for one another. “Love will come to perfection in us when we can face the day of judgement without fear, because even in this world we have become as he is”.
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