Rest a while

In November 1995 John Barlow was convicted and sentenced to a non-parole prison term of 14 years at a third trial after two previous juries were unable to convict him.

I attended some of the court sessions, and one of my observations was that those giving witness appeared as much on trial as the person being held.

On occasions, individuals would be thoroughly examined by both the prosecuting attorney and defence attorney.

Being in the witness box was not a comfortable place to be!

Pope Francis’ message for World Mission Sunday this year reflects on the theme: “You shall be my witnesses” (Acts 1:8).

Does he desire us to be “uncomfortable” Christians?

Almost 50 years ago, St Paul VI wrote,

“Above all the Gospel must be proclaimed by witness.

“Take a Christian or a handful of Christians who, in the midst of their own community, show a capacity for understanding and acceptance, their sharing of life and destiny with other people, their solidarity with the efforts of all for whatever is noble and good.

“Let us suppose that, in addition, they radiate in an altogether simple and unaffected way their faith in values that go beyond current values, and their hope in something that is not seen and that one would not dare to imagine.

“Through this wordless witness, these Christians stir up irresistible questions in the hearts of those who see how they live:

• • • • Why are they like this?
      • Why do they live in this way?
      • What or who is it that inspires them?
      • Why are they in our midst?

“Such a witness is already a silent proclamation of the Good News and a very powerful and effective one.” – (Evangelization in the Modern World, Pope Paul VI, 1975; No. 21)

Giving witness to Christ today requires precisely that we build communities that are wide enough to hold our differences.

What we need is

not a new technique,

but a new sanctity;

not a cooler dress,

but a more inclusive embrace;

not some updating of the gospel to make it more acceptable to the world,

but a more courageous radiating of its wide compassion;

not some new secret that catches peoples’ curiosity,

but a way of following Christ that can hold more of the tensions of our world in proper balance so that everyone, irrespective of temperament and ideology, will find themselves better understood and embraced by what we hold most dear.

 

Nasruddin had been working in the fields all day long.

He was tired and sweaty, and his clothes and shoes were covered with mud and stains.

The wealthiest man in town had invited everyone in the village to come to his home that evening for a huge feast.

Nasruddin knew he would be late if he went home to change his clothes before heading into town.

He decided arriving in dirty clothes was better than being late.

As he walked to the wealthy man’s home, Nasruddin imagined the delicious foods he would soon be eating; his stomach began to rumble.

When Nasruddin arrived, the wealthy man opened the door and looked Nasruddin up and down scornfully, from his worn, ragged clothes down to his muddy shoes.

“You can’t come in dressed like that,” the wealthy man exclaimed and shut the door.

Nasruddin hurried home and changed into his finest clothing, including a beautiful coat.

He returned to the wealthy man’s home and to the feast. This time, the host welcomed him with a huge smile.

“Come in, come in,” greeted the host.

As Nasruddin entered, people waved and called to him from all corners of the room as they invited him to sit near them and offered him food.

Nasruddin sat down quietly.

He picked up a plump fig and carefully placed it into a coat pocket.

Next, he took a handful of nuts and put them into the pocket.

Food went into the coat pockets, and when they were filled, Nasruddin began stuffing food into the coat sleeves.

Soon, everyone in the room stared at Nasruddin, wondering what he was doing.

The host hurried over.

“Nasruddin, whatever are you doing?

Why are you feeding your coat in this manner?”

“Well,” replied Nasruddin, “I was not welcome when I first came to this feast in my old farming clothes.

“You shut the door in my face.

“But when I changed into this coat, suddenly, I was greeted warmly.

“So, I realized I was not welcome at this party, but my clothing. And so, I am feeding my coat.”

“Jesus said, “Listen to another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a watchtower.

So begins our story from the Gospel of St. Matthew (21: 33 – 43)

In Tuscany, Italy, where St Catherine of Siena was born, there are miles and miles of vineyards, but they are not divided: all are one vast plantation of vines.

The neighbours know, apparently, where one ends and another begins. This is how it has been for centuries.

St Catherine (14th century) used this as an image of how we should be with others: we are ourselves, yes, we have our own space, but we are not divided from others.

This seems the right arrangement, a perfect image of harmony.

“Each one of you,” she wrote, “has your own vineyard. But everyone is joined to your neighbours’ vineyards without any dividing lines. They are so joined together that you cannot do good or evil for yourself without doing the same for your neighbours.”

To the Jews of old, the vine symbolised their own race and very identity.

God took them from the land of slavery and transplanted them in new soil: “You brought a vine out of Egypt; to plant it you drove out the nations” (Psalm 79, responsorial psalm of today’s Mass).

Some of the detail is lost in countries where the vine does not grow.

The vine is a most vigorous plant and needs severe pruning. It displays a great abundance of leaves, but only some of the branches are fruit-bearing. The ones that produce only leaves need to be cut back, otherwise, they rob life-giving sap from the others.

The wood of the vine is perfectly useless, not even good for firewood. So, it is usually just put in a heap and burnt. We get the point of what Jesus once said: “Anyone who does not remain in me is like a branch that has been thrown away – they wither; these branches are collected and thrown on the fire” (John 15:6).
In spiritual writing, we hear a lot about growth but very little about pruning.

The aspects of our life that are not fruit-bearing are for pruning so that we might bear fruit. Leaves are the plant thinking of itself; fruit is the plant thinking beyond itself: thinking of the next generation. We are to think beyond our own interests.

The sap in us is the life of Christ. It is for fruit-bearing; we are not to turn it into stuff that is not even fit to make a fire.

The Swedish word smörgåsbord consists of the words  smörgås , (“sandwich”) and bord (“table”).

In Sweden, smörgåsbord refers to a buffet consisting mainly of traditional dishes.

In English, the word smorgasbord refers loosely to any buffet with a variety of dishes and is not necessarily used to reference traditional Swedish cuisine.

The buffet concept is popular in many countries. Buffets are, for example commonly served at larger private gatherings like weddings and anniversary celebrations.

The buffet consists of many types of food, each on the same table.

Hot and cold food sit together as do spicy and mild.

Sweet and savoury food share the same table; open sandwiches sit alongside closed pastries.

The ’Fisherman’s Table restaurant’ north of the city of Wellington has a buffet table of salads, ‘All-you-can-eat’ from the salad boat they advertise. (Fortunately, the diner does not require sea legs to approach such a ‘boat’!.)

While the diner can pick and choose from the selection offered what they wish to eat, they cannot choose what is set on the table!

The choice of what is set on the table is the prerogative of the host/hostess.

Today’s Gospel (Mtt. 21: 28 – 32) has these quite “smörgåsbord” like words of Jesus, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.” (21: 31).

Perhaps it is fortuitous that this Sunday is a day of celebration for Venerable Suzanne Aubert – if there was ever a woman who knew the meaning of the word “smorgasbord” it was indeed this truly venerable little woman from St-Symphorien-de-Lay near Lyon in France.