Category: Ordinary Time Year C

In Aotearoa Maori culture, meeting houses (whare nui or whare puni) are symbols of tribal prestige and are often named after, and seen as the embodiment of, a tribal ancestor. The structure itself is seen as an outstretched body, with the roof’s apex at the front of the house representing the ancestor’s head. The main ridge beam represents the backbone, the diagonal bargeboards which lead out from the roof are the arms and the lower ends of the bargeboards divide to represent fingers. Inside, the centre pole ( poutokomanawa) is seen as the heart, the rafters reflects the ancestor’s ribs, and the interior is the ancestor’s chest and stomach. Whare are richly carved, and these carvings will be particular to the local tribe (iwi), and will declare “this is our house”.

At Pukekaraka  in the township of Otaki, an hour north of Wellington city, there lies a meeting house which shares its whenua (land) with the Catholic Church. Things are different at Pukekaraka. There is a meeting house (wharepuni) which has been there since 1905, and there is not a carving in sight! The meeting house follows the same design as wharepuni throughout the country, however the whare is bereft of carvings. The name of the meeting house is “Hine nui o tea o katoa”, and in the name is the reason for no carvings. Translated the name means ‘Mother of all the world’. In other words, no one iwi (tribe) or whanau (family) can lay claim to Mary as “our” ancestor. She (Mary) does not belong to us, we belong to her! What I find of great interest here is that the Marist Maori Mission was established at Otaki in 1841. In 1894 the Sisters of St Joseph had established a school there to teach (and board), local children. The whare was built in 1905. Within 60 years the local people had a sense of Mary belonging to everyone, “ o tea ao katoa”.

Ko Hāta Maria, te Matua Wahine o Te Atua

In Aotearoa – New Zealand, in Māori culture, meeting houses (whare nui or whare puni) are symbols of tribal prestige and are often named after, and seen as the embodiment of, a tribal ancestor. The structure itself is seen as an outstretched body, with the roof’s apex at the front of the house representing the ancestor’s head. The main ridge beam represents the backbone, the diagonal bargeboards which lead out from the roof are the arms and the lower ends of the bargeboards divide to represent fingers. Inside, the centre pole (poutokomanawa) is seen as the heart, the rafters reflect the ancestor’s ribs, and the interior is the ancestor’s chest and stomach. Whare are richly carved, and these carvings will be particular to the local tribe (iwi), and will declare “this is our house.”

At Pukekaraka in the township of Ōtaki, an hour north of Wellington city, there lies a meeting house which shares its whenua (land) with the Catholic Church. Things are different at Pukekaraka. There is a meeting house (wharepuni) which has been there since 1905, and there is not a carving in sight! The meeting house follows the same design as wharepuni throughout the country, however the whare is bereft of carvings. The name of the meeting house is “Hine Nui o te Ao Katoa”, and in the name is the reason for no carvings. Translated the name means ‘Mother of All the World’. In other words, no one iwi (tribe) or whanau (family) can lay claim to Mary as “our” ancestor. She (Mary) does not belong to us, we belong to her! What I find of great interest here is that the Marist Māori Mission was established at Ōtaki in 1841. In 1894 the Sisters of St Joseph had established a school there to teach (and board), local children. The whare was built in 1905. Within 60 years the local people had a sense of Mary belonging to everyone, ‘o te ao katoa’.

On the 15th of August, 2021, at the initiative of the New Zealand Bishops’ Conference, the country of Aotearoa/New Zealand was rededicated to Our Lady Assumed into Heaven. The country was originally dedicated by Bishop Jean Baptiste Pompallier when he celebrated the first Mass on the whenua known as Aotearoa on 13th January 1838.  Mary, the mother of Jesus, was never a Roman Catholic, we have however laid claim to her and made her ours! This rededication is not a rededication of Catholic New Zealand; that was not Bishop Pompallier’s intention, nor is it the intention of our present Bishops. This is a rededicating of our land and its people to the care of Mary, the Mother of God. Pukekaraka is the birthplace of the Church of Wellington so it is fitting Ko Hāta Maria, Te Matua Wahine o Te Atua  [Mary, Mother of God] began her journey (Te Ara a Maria) at Pukekaraka.

This Sunday, August 14th, our Church is invited to celebrate the Feast of the Assumption. This celebration will coincide with a Mass of Dedication of St Mary of the Angels Wellington as the National Shrine to Mary, Mother of God, Assumed into Heaven.  This concludes the year-long hīkoi (journey) of the specially commissioned artwork throughout the country’s six dioceses.

During these chilly winter days, many of us, before we venture outside, will put on what is known as a ‘topcoat’ or an ‘overcoat’.

On most occasions, this garment is worn over or on top of the clothes I am already wearing, thus providing an extra layer for warmth and protection from the cold and/or the rain.

A phrase used by St Paul with a degree of frequency is the phrase, “clothe yourself in Christ.” The phrase occurs in St Paul’s Letter to the Romans, again in his Letter to the Philippians, in 2Corinthians, and today’s second reading from the letter to the Church at Colossae.

Few of us would consider taking an item of clothing off before we put our outdoor coat on – hence the name “overcoat”. The result is certainly improved warmth. However, it can also mean an increased bulkiness and a somewhat increased weight for our shoulders to carry.

St. Paul’s admonition to put on Christ, I suggest, is not as an overcoat on top of everything else; rather, as he says to us in today’s Second Reading, to the Church community at Colossae, “ you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves in the new self.” (Col. 3: 9 – 10).

Maybe, we are being invited to become snake-like. Snakes shed their skin as much as four times a year. Put simply; snakes shed their skin because it doesn’t fit anymore or because it’s old or worn out. While the snake’s body continues to grow, its skin does not.  The snake will rub its head on something abrasive—like a rock—to tear open the outer layer. It then works on the tear, crawling through tight quarters, sliding out of the skin, leaving the old skin inside out, much like a child peeling off a sock.

There may be a metaphor here as we journey in our life in Christ – to put on Christ, we may need to take something off. There may be a protective layer which is beyond its use by date and prevents the “life of Christ” from being worn!

This is not easy because it has been a ‘protective layer’, and I surmise we are all after protection. To remove our “old self”, as St Paul describes the process, again, we might learn from the snake – it needs to crawl through tight spaces, rub up against something abrasive, and in doing so, the skin is peeled away. A thought, rather than running away from abrasive moments and tight spots, we welcome them as clearing spaces for the old. The intriguing element of the snake shedding its skin is that the new skin is present under the old. That abrasive moment or tight spot may well be the growing and revealing spot. The “life of Christ” is already present. Unfortunately, I am clothed too much to know!

The Irish author and poet John O’Donohue wrote, “The greatest privilege of a human life is to become a midwife to the birth of the soul.”

In our First Reading this Sunday we continue with our reading from the Book Of Genesis. I would like to take you back to our Frist Reading from last Sunday from which this Sunday’s follows on.

In the story (Gen. 18: 1 – 8), “The Lord” appears to Abraham as “three men.” Abraham and Sarah seem to see the Holy One in the presence of these three, and they bow before them and call them “my lord” (18:2-3

Their first instinct is one of invitation and hospitality—to create a space of food and drink for their guests. Here we have humanity feeding God; it will take a long time to turn that around in the human imagination. “Surely, we ourselves are not invited to this divine table,” the hosts presume.

This story inspired a piece of devotional religious art by iconographer Andrei Rublev in the fifteenth century: The Hospitality of Abraham, as it was originally named, or simply The Trinity as it has come to known. As icons do, this painting attempts to point beyond itself, inviting a sense of both the beyond and the communion that exists in our midst

The icon shows the Holy One in the form of Three, eating and drinking, in infinite hospitality and utter enjoyment between themselves. They are eating because Abraham and Sarah have provided food for them. They all share from a common bowl provided for them. Notice the hand of one of the figures points toward the open and fourth place at the table. Is this hand inviting, offering, and clearing space? I think so! And if so, for what, and for whom?

There is room at this table for a fourth! The hospitality begun by Abraham and Sarah is continued by the three gathered around the table, “Come, sit and eat with us!” That may well be at the heart of our Eucharistic liturgy, “Come, sit, and eat with us!” Is there space at our table for another?

Icons are often referred to as windows, as an opening.    If you look on the front of the table, there appears to be a little rectangular hole which you can hardly notice. Art historians say that there was perhaps once a mirror glued onto the front of the table!  If so, then maybe Rublev had in mind the words of St. Paul: “All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image (icon).” (2 Cor. 3:18). Those who looked at the icon when it was first written would have seen themselves reflected in the icon.  They would not just be looking at an icon, or looking beyond it as through a window, but they would see themselves being invited to join those already gathered around the table.

Andrei Rublev wrote The Hospitality of Abraham in 1411 for the abbot of the Trinity Monastery in Russia. The icon is currently held in the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow.