Category: Ordinary Time Year A

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Feast of the Body and Blood of Christ

Have you noticed how we use the word “Amen” like a liturgical full stop?

Many of our prayers, both liturgical and personal, end with the words “through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

Quite frequently, there is then a physical shift — for example, in our Eucharistic celebration, the community sits at the conclusion of the Opening Prayer, and activity relocates to the ambo (the lectern, for the uninitiated).

We conclude our Prayers of the Faithful with a communal Amen, and activity relocates to the altar.

A liturgical doxology will often conclude with the words “Through Him, and with Him … Amen.”

During the Rite of Communion, people approach the minister of Bread and/or Cup and the following exchange takes place:

“Body of Christ.” — “Amen.” “Blood of Christ.” — “Amen.”

Technically, “Amen” means “So be it.” (Beyoncé has a track on her album Cowboy Carter titled “Amen”.)

Amen has become a liturgical full stop.

I was once in ministry in a parish where one elderly woman had done away with the full stop — at least during the Rite of Communion.

She was a Māori kuia — an elderly woman of standing in her community.

At the Rite of Communion, she would approach the Minister of Communion and, to the invocation “Body of Christ,” respond: “Nau mai.” (Pronounced “naw my.”)

To the invocation “Blood of Christ,” she would respond in kind: “Nau mai.”

In Māori culture, nau mai is a form of greeting and welcome — about as far from a full stop as you could possibly get.

Does the Body of Christ, which we call the Church, resemble a full stop or a welcome?

Body of Christ — Nau mai.

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Trinity Sunday

Anyone who has seen the film Zorba the Greek will remember this scene. It happens toward the end.

“Teach me to dance,” says Basil, broken by failure. Basil is a young, reserved English writer who has set out to Crete to claim a small inheritance.

Zorba, smiling, opens his arms to the sea. “Dance?” he replies, his eyes shining. “C’mon, my boy.”

As the zither plucks that familiar tune, Zorba snaps his fingers and begins slowly to dance. Basil joins him, and soon they are whirling and kicking sand.

By the fourth century, Eastern theologians had found a metaphor to describe how God’s energy works: perichoresis. We can loosely translate the word as “circling around” — and it is the root of our own word “choreography.”

These theologians — including Gregory of Nyssa, Basil of Caesarea, and Gregory Nazianzen — had turned to a word from Greek theatre. Perichoresis means circle dance.

Modern Greeks still use the same word for their ancient folk dance.

In perichoresis, the dancers join hands and move in a circle, stepping faster and faster as the music speeds up. Watching from the sidelines, bystanders can no longer see individual dancers — only the moving energy of the whole circle.

Searching for a metaphor to describe God’s nature and activity, the Eastern theologians looked at perichoresis and said, “That’s what the Trinity is like.”

This was the word they used to describe the foundational quality of God’s character: relationship and communion.

In the beginning is relationship. In the beginning is movement. In the beginning is dance.

As we celebrate the feast of Trinity Sunday, maybe our simple chorus to our Triune God is, as it was on the beach for Basil, “Teach me to dance!”

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6th Sunday of Ordinary Time

The township of Pukekohe lies some 45km south of Auckland city in Aotearoa, New Zealand.

In the township, there is a store called Pik n Mix. It’s an online lolly store with over 400 different types of loose lollies.

Yes, you read right – 400!

When purchasing, you need to make a choice. Is it the size, the colour, or the taste that influences your choice of lolly?

What you choose and pay for then becomes your responsibility.

This simple act of choosing mirrors a deeper spiritual truth.

In our First Reading today (Ecclesiasticus 15:16–21), the author invites us to make a choice.

“God has set fire and water before you; put out your hand to whichever you prefer. People have life and death before them; whichever a person likes better will be given to them.”

God summons us to a radical way of living. We are called to be more than just moral: God invites us to be virtuous.

We become virtuous by habitually choosing to do good.

Naturally, we are not perfect. However, God calls us to reflect on how we live and to understand what has gone right and what has gone wrong for us.

Such reflection can lead us to insight that will help us to live better and be virtuous in the future.

Therefore, by reflecting on our experiences in the light of our faith, we grow in wisdom.

The author of today’s first reading, Sirach, affirms that God knows every human action. St. Paul reminds us that God has many riches for those who love him.

Jesus, in Matthew’s Gospel, says that he has come not to abolish but to fulfil the Law and the Prophets.

What we see clearly in the readings today is that there are repercussions – good or bad – for all our actions.

Our challenge is to avoid opportunities that do harm and to choose those that lead us to God.

Sirach, the Psalmist, Paul and Jesus embraced this way of life. They are examples of how we can become virtuous and wise.

If we take to heart their messages from the readings this Sunday, we too, like them, will be true beacons of virtue – people of faith, hope and love.

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5th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Before the publication of Dan Brown’s novel “The Da Vinci Code,” few knew the intricate details of the artwork on which the book is based. The novel centres on a painting by the Italian Renaissance artist Leonardo da Vinci known as “The Last Supper.”

The painting is massive, measuring about 15 feet high by 28 feet wide. It remains in its original location on the wall of the dining room of the former Dominican convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie—exactly the place for which it was commissioned.

While the novel remains an engaging read, many have questioned its historical accuracy. Church leaders have criticized claims in the book regarding a Jesus-Mary Magdalene bloodline as blasphemous.

However, Leonardo’s intent was not to portray the institution of the Eucharist, nor to provide a charming tableau of fellowship. Instead, he chose to illustrate the dramatic moment described in John 13:21-30, when the Lord prophesies the betrayal of Judas.

Leonardo captures the shock and bewilderment among the Apostles in the moments after Jesus says, “Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.”

As Matthew writes: “And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, ‘Surely not I, Lord?’” (26:17-30). Mark records the same question, while Luke writes that they began to ask which of them would do such a thing.

Yet it was John’s report that fired Leonardo’s imagination. This provides the context for a detail frequently missed by viewers.

To the left, a figure sits in front of the disciple who is pointing. This is almost certainly Judas. He holds a money bag, signifying his role as treasurer for the 12.

Subtly placed near his arm is a salt container that Judas has knocked over, spilling its contents. In the Book of Leviticus, salt is seen as a symbol of the covenant.

Judas spilling the salt symbolizes that his covenant relationship with Jesus has ended. Because the salt is lost, a haunting question remains: Has the gift been wasted?

As Matthew 5:13 warns: “You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is good for nothing.”