Fr Dean reflects on a day of global proportions with the first conference of the Cardiff More in Common Community Cohesion group

I’m not a cricket fan. Apart from an acrobatic manoeuvre I once made as I dramatically dived across a friend’s lawn to catch a cricket ball in mid air accompanied by an applauding crowd of two (his parents) I can’t really recall a cricket moment I’ve ever really savoured. But I was ten. Does that count?

It’s strange how some people (i.e. me) fall easily into certain sports whilst others seem to be fans of whatever sport comes their way. Unfortunately, cricket never squeezed its way into my repertoire. It never managed to fight its way through football, rise beyond rugby or beat the attraction of athletics all of which seemed to dazzle my attention at the time. Apart from the dive. I remember the dive.

We define our experience of the world with moments. Sometimes they last just a few seconds, often slightly longer. But a moment is often enough to stay in our memory, like a kick, a catch, a dive.

And so we’re at the stadium of Glamorgan Cricket Club for a meeting of the “More in Common Community Cohesion” group. Whilst more than 80 delegates are gathered upstairs overlooking the pitch, groups of children are playing cricket.

It’s a tournament which celebrates Global Cricket, bringing school children together to engage with the sport but also to engage with the thought that maybe some people who share the field are different from them but also that they have even more in common. It’s the strapline which is sewn through this conference and through the work we are trying to do, inspired by the dream of Jo Cox who was murdered in 2016.

“We have more in common than that which divides us.”

Her sister, Kim Leadbeater MP, sends us a video message, wishes she could be with us, reaffirms the message, the vision, the dream.

The conference is the first ‘in person’ meeting of this new group of people. An amalgamation of the ‘South Wales Police Community Cohesion Group’ and the ‘More in Common’ Network inspired by the Jo Cox Foundation, it’s a diverse gathering of organisations from across Cardiff all of whom share the desire to create strong and safe communities for all.

There are representatives from the Police and the Local Authority, from the third sector and community groups. Councillors Julie Sangani and Huw Thomas are also here for part of the day, each with a message to share and words of support.

Amy Sanderson from Aberystwyth University shares some of her research, and how she observes the uniquely wonderful way in which Cardiff does Community work.

Inspector Mark Atwood from South Wales Police acknowledges both the successes and mistakes made by the police over decades but reaffirms their place and commitment to always do better and to do more.

We also hear from Meena and James from the Jo Cox Foundation. They’re sharing the story of the Great Get Together so far, and their plans for the future.

Before lunch there are eight break out sessions, each exploring a different area of community cohesion, from Education to Policing, from countering harmful narratives to Interfaith and sports – of course. The room is filled with a buzz of conversation as each person dives in with experiences, concerns, ideas. The feedback will feed into actions for the next year. We have our feet under the table but we’re ready to move on.

This is the third year our Ministry Area has been involved in the Great Get Together. It was an easy call for us. We were ready to dive in straightaway.

Towards the end of the conference, the school children file into the room, all 75 of them. They share their own experiences of their dive into the world of cricket, a world which spans boundaries and crosses cultures and which, like every sport, has the ability to bring us closer together. And then the final winner is announced.

The trophy is handed to the winning school by two Glamorgan Cricket players. “The Jo Cox Trophy” is inscribed upon it. The children cheer. There is applause. Laughter. Pride.

These moments may just be moments but they contribute towards a momentum, a movement, which celebrates diversity and what we have in common. A dive into a dream to create a community, a city, a country and, yes, a world where we enjoy mutual respect and understanding, with a sense of identity and belonging.

I wonder what these children will remember in years to come. What moments will help to define them, and how will this breaking down of barriers help shape the world to come? They are ten years old. Does it count? Oh I think so.

Anyone for a game of cricket?

As we reintroduce a monthly celebration of the Mass of the Sick, which offers the Sacrament of Healing through prayer, laying on of hands and anointing, we reflect on this gentle and beautiful time of prayer.

Each day, I am presented with open hands, stretched out in front at arms’ length, palms up, ready to receive.

I hold in my own hand something that people want, something that is offered and received. The gift is not mine to give.

Our hands reveal so much away about ourselves although in that brief moment, there is little time or inclination for me to study them.

The defining characteristic at that time, in that place, is that they are open, ready to receive that small piece of bread.

“The body of Christ.”

It is small, fragile.

“Amen.”

I place the gift into their hands.

Two Sundays ago I break it up into smaller pieces, place it into the much smaller hands of a child, three or four years old.

As a young child he is used to having open hands, receiving all he needs. He is too young, too little to do too much for himself.

And so I see everyone’s open hands as childlike, each waiting in turn to receive something which has to be given, too little are we to do too much for ourselves.

He looks at the tiny morsel with intent curiosity.

I gently raise his hands to his mouth, encourage him to eat.

“The Eucharist is so small,” said St Teresa of Calcutta.

He eats.

Then skips away.

“We must be faithful to that smallness of the Eucharist, that simple piece of bread which even a small child can take in.  We have so much that we don’t care about the small things.  If we do not care, we will lose our grip on the Eucharist – on our lives.” (St Teresa)

A sacramental life leans us towards the small things, helps us see the world as gift, to be received not ruined, given not grabbed, each waiting to receive what we need.

It is fragile too.

Sometimes, there are moments when we lose our grip, are stopped in our tracks by the fragility of life, when our bodies don’t do what we want them to do, when our minds seem to be dysfunctional, when our mood is lost in darkness, when grief and loss lie close.

Sickness and sadness, in all its shapes and forms, changes our bodies – whether we are totally weakened and weighed down by some debilitating illness or our head is bowed beneath the burden of worries and the weariness of life.

Perhaps our feet shuffle, the brightness of our eyes are dimmed or we can only force a smile to please others and so hide what’s really going on.

Our life is filled with rubrics, stage directions which help us act out how we feel although hiding our weakness is a skill we try to learn, a lifetime’s work of surviving with the fittest.

“Praying is no easy matter,” wrote Henri Nouwen. “It demands a relationship in which you allow the other to enter into the very centre of your person, to speak there, to touch the sensitive core of your being, and allow the other to see so much that you would rather leave in darkness.”

When someone seeks the gift of healing through the Sacrament of the Sick, prayer matters. It is an invitation to God to stir the darkness, to lean forward into the sensitive core of our being.

The priest’s hand are open, empty, palms down, laid upon a bowed head, a natural response of those who receive the laying on of hands, like an unspoken stage direction for silent prayer.

It’s a gesture which, for a moment, lowers the face, conceals it from others, nurtures a sense of humility which so often befriends us in our sickness.

But it also gives a sense of honour, as we become the focus of the community’s prayer, the gift that others bring.

But soon our head is raised, face up, open and honest as the holy oil is gently pressed upon the forehead, as though lifting our face to feel the warmth of the sun or the rain’s cooling balm.

“Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit,” says the priest.

The hands are opened too, palms up, ready to receive the trace of a cross along the lines and the grains of life.

“May the Lord who frees you from sin, save you and raise you up.”

Another gift.

Small,

Subtle.

And so I see everyone’s open hands as childlike, each waiting in turn to receive something which has to be given, too little are we to do too much for ourselves

Prayer demands of us a childlike trust, an immature openness which has no filter. A need for God to touch the sensitive core of our being which we’d rather leave in darkness.

Perhaps, unlike a little three year old, there’ll be no skipping away. We may have to relearn the art of living for a while, and what it means to ask that we may receive, to seek that we may find, to knock and have the door opened to us.

Beyond the locked door of the upper room, the risen Jesus showed his disciples his own wounds, raised his hands for them to see the marks of pain which saves them. The Resurrection had not rubbed his wounds away. They remind us of the way in which we are saved. (cf John 20:19-32)

“But they also remind us that our own wounds are much more than roadblocks on our way to God,” said Henri Nouwen. “They show us the unique way to follow the suffering Christ. Just as Jesus was identified by his wounds, so are we.”

Jesus even invites Thomas to come closer and touch the wounds, a post mortem of love, so that he may believe what’s possible, that there is peace beyond the pain, life beyond the death, faith beyond the doubt.

Somewhere, within our need for healing, we see or sense Jesus, open handed, marked by love, wounded and glorified. He recognises our pain, sees us in the ways we suffer, breathes his peace upon us.

A sacramental life leans us towards the small things, helps us see the world as gift, to be received not ruined, given not grabbed, each waiting to receive what we need, the consecration of a fragile life with all its pains and passions.

‘If anyone among you is sick, call for the elders, and let them pray over them anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.  The prayer of faith will save the sick person.’  (James 5:14-15).

The Sacrament of the Sick is celebrated at Mass on Tuesday April 16 at 7pm at St Mary’s Church, Butetown and then each month as advertised. Requests for prayer for those who are sick can also be made. The sacrament is also available by request.

OMG! It’s back! Yes our time together for young people has returned for the season of 2024.

Kicking off on Sunday May 19th at 6pm we’ll be celebrating the feast of Pentecost.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, was amongst those who waited and prayed for the coming of the Holy Spirit.

We’ll be exploring what it means to stand alongside Mary, and to look up to her as a model of prayer and discipleship.

With the Walsingham Youth Pilgrimage coming up in August, we’ll take the theme of that pilgrimage and turn to Mary’s Song of Praise.

“Tell out my soul the glories of the Lord,” she sang. It was a song that was woven throughout her life.

How can we, filled with the Holy Spirit, take Mary’s song to heart and make it our own?

What do we want to sing about? What makes us rejoice? What is God doing in the world? What does he want to do with our lives?

We’ll think about these questions, spend some time in prayer and worship, and round up our time together with pizza! Whats not to like?!

Sunday May 19 2024 | 6pm | St Saviour’s Church, Splott

OMG! is an initiative of South Cardiff Ministry Area for young people.

On Monday 8 April we celebrate the moment when Mary received the message she had been chosen to be the Mother of God. It’s a feast we call ‘The Annunciation of the Lord.’  It’s usually celebrated on March 25th but this year was transferred because it fell during Passiontide. As we celebrate Mary’s attentiveness to God, we reflect on what it means to wait on God.

Across the country there’s a shortage in social housing. Politicians make promises but private investment often takes precedence, which means that those with little money have little hope of having their own place to call home and are left on an increasingly growing waiting list.

Mary’s Home

The home of Mary in Nazareth would be almost unrecognisable from those we build in Britain today. Nestled into rock with a brick extension butting out, and shared common facilities, it was a place she called home, a place she shared with others, where she welcomed others.

Perhaps, at times, despite such overcrowded conditions, she could be alone and quite at home there. Maybe it was one of those quieter days when Mary’s alertness to God was deepened, when she experienced a memorable encounter, a time of change.

A day in the life of…

Today, we have Luke’s written witness, an insight into Mary’s life that day, a peek through the keyhole, a glimpse into her heart.

Some time ago, there was a photograph on someone’s Social Media feed, featuring the image of Our Lady of Walsingham in the Roman Catholic Shrine’s Slipper Chapel.  There was a sign next to the image requesting that people do not to touch the image, for the statue was alarmed.

Mary was alarmed.

Meanwhile, back in Nazareth, we know that Mary had questions for the angel. She grappled with the message, her whole life shaken, the angel reassuring her, “Do not be afraid.”  Mary has learned to be at home with God, and to welcome him not just into her home but into the whole of her life, into her heart.

In the Orthodox Tradition of the Annunciation the encounter is more drawn out, given more depth. It begins as she draws water from the well,  So easily could she be distracted, and yet she senses God’s presence even in the midst of everyday jobs. In her arms she carries water. In her heart she carries Christ back to her home.

Rising and resting

Yes, she is alert to God in walking and stillness, in work and play, in rising and resting. Through those moments of attentiveness to God in her work and in her busyness, she herself becomes a home for Christ.

For nine months, the whole of her being becomes aware of the presence of God, kicking and moving and growing within her. And what of our home?

Our house

Maybe our own home is too full, too busy at times, or maybe it feels empty, lonely, too still, too silent.  For some, home may be uncomfortable, full of tension and frayed relationships, filled with memories, too much to take, not homely at all.

“Do not be afraid,” the Angel said to Mary.

And what of the house of the church with its altar shaped heart and a tabernacle full of treasure? In the Eucharist, Christ comes to dwell with us, feeding us and filling our lives with his love.

Perhaps we too are on a Waiting List. Waiting for things to happen, anxious to see things move on, to have things change for us, for others, wanting something different, something new, something to change.

We wait on God, try to learn the art of being attentive to him, being at home with him, as he comes to make his home with us.

You can read the account of the Annunciation in Luke 1:26-28

There are so many challenges placed upon local congregations these days, and statistics seem to take the starring role as we try to find our worth and our way. But how do we grow as a church? And what does this mean anyway? Fr Dean reflects on some things that may be of help. It works for him anyway!

It’s Saturday, and I’m doing one of my Saturday morning jobs. Feeding paper through the photocopier, and wondering how many Mass sheets and bulletins to print.

It’s one of the moments when I momentarily become fixated by numbers. How many people will be at Mass tomorrow? Will it be one of those days when we run out of Mass sheets, and should I print a few extra? Or will there be a sense of disappointment? Will it be one of those weeks when quite a few people and larger families will be away, leaving a space, and an excess of Mass sheets?

I’ve got used to the strange momentum of numbers that sometimes occurs between weeks. And I’ve also, in reality, stopped worrying about numbers. Yes, they’re a great indicator of growth in the church (numbers are referenced a number of times in the growing church of the Acts of the Apostles. Acts 2:41 or 4:5, for example). But taken on their own they don’t tell the full story because, for me, statistics are only of any use when they are accompanied by stories. And it’s the stories that often fascinate me more than the figures and facts.

What does it mean for a church to grow? In recent years, the church has become fascinated by the phrase ‘Church Growth’ – perhaps it distracts them away from the other fascination of talking about ‘Church decline.’ The Diocese of Llandaff has even employed ‘Growth Enablers.’

Perhaps, for some people, growth will mean achieving some kind of sustainability and making our congregations fit for the future. Perhaps, for others, it will mean the ability to pay the bills, and have more income than expenditure, as we look to finance as a measure of faith?

Or maybe it will be about effectiveness and fruitfulness – although what does it mean for a church to be fruitful, to make a difference, and to whom? For some, church growth will be measured in a growth in numbers, or a deepening of lay participation, or the tangible effect of God in the lives of individuals, in the number who have been added to our number, the people whose lives have been turned to Christ?

Each church will have its own answers which they will discover and disseminate in their own ways. Certainly, the constant message (intended or not) that we have failed, or the alternative narratives offered of what is actually means to ‘be’ the church can leave many clergy and congregations despondent, dismayed and disconnected from diocesan decisions. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

In whatever way we want to measure growth, we know that it is God who gives the growth. St Paul is quite clear on this in his letter to the Corinthians. “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth” (1 Cor 3:7). He is also equally clear that we are “God’s fellow workers” (1 Cor 3:9)

Who gives the growth? That question and St Paul’s succinct answer should always be before us. But, in whatever kind of ministry I’ve found myself, there are three aspects to our life together that stand out as the most important and so I offer these simply as observations, which you can take or leave.

Worship

At a Diocesan Clergy gathering recently, one of those presenting a session said that “Some churches think it’s enough just to to say Mass and be faithful”. It was said in a rather critical way, perhaps to challenge us or undermine our priorities or to offer something different, something better.

However, if we had time to unpack that phrase, I’d have to say, “Yes – that’s us, that’s me!” Of course, it’s a gross oversimplification but if worship and faithfulness (in whatever way ‘faithfulness’ expresses itself) is at the heart of our life together then we’re set in a good place, and it’s certainly the first area of life together which contributes to growth.

Why? Because worship is at the heart of our life, and the Eucharist is its source and its summit. It is the beating heart and so cannot be separated from anything else we do. A body with no heart has no blood, no life, no purpose.

And so it’s a good place to start: to spend time and attention on our worship, to invest in our worship, to try to get it right, to make it better, to allow God’s Spirit to flow through and fashion what we do.

Here in South Cardiff, worship takes a liturgical shape. So here’s my own simple litmus test for liturgy.

Here, we never recycle the Paschal Candle. Or should I say, it never returns as another Paschal Candle the following year. That ‘once a year’ event of the Easter Vigil, the most important celebration of the year, surely deserves just a few pounds to see us through the whole year. For me, it’s a very small indication of how important worship is to our whole life. If you can’t invest (time, care and attention and a little money) on our Easter celebrations then what chance does any Sunday have?

However, I’m not in principle talking about money here. If you looked through our end of year accounts you won’t find a huge amount of money under the heading of ‘Maintenance of Worship’. The largest amount that belongs to that heading is hidden somewhere under ‘Maintenance of Buildings’ – sucked into the heating, maintenance and repair bills.

Worship, of course, varies from church to church and from one tradition to another. For those of is us who live and worship within the catholic tradition, the need to connect our liturgical celebrations to the lives and living of those who worship is essential. And it’s worth mentioning that our cultural expressions of worship here will feel very different from other churches in the Anglo-catholic tradition.

The way we worship contributes to our identity as Christians. Here, in these churches, we believe it’s important to have a strong identity. We live alongside others who have strong identities, whether Muslim, Hindu or other. And so our worship is certain and distinctive, confident and unapologetic. It’s built upon the tradition and heritage left to us by past worshippers and, in our time, turned to embrace a new generation.

Worship is nurturing, a means through which people grow and mature as Christians. It doesn’t necessarily need to be explained at every level and with every opportunity. Liturgical formation is as much about experience as it is about catechetics and teaching.

Placing the Eucharist at the heart of our life defines and inspires all that flows from it. It allows us to bring our lives to the Eucharist, and discover them wrapped up in the great Mystery of Christ’s saving work. To celebrate the Mass each Sunday (and, here, each day) is a living out of the gospel imperative to share the good news, and to discover lives that are intertwined, as we encounter God and one another.

Celebrating the Eucharist is not time away from the world. It is intrinsically related to how we try to live faithfully in the world. It calls us back to who we are. It is a commentary on our life, and the staple diet which gives us strength to work and make a difference.

When I was a Curate, someone wanted to explore priesthood with me. They said being a priest must be very peaceful and calming, a life that is free of stress and worry. It’s what attracted them to the possibility of being a priest themselves. Thinking about this years later, we as clergy must have been doing something wrong, and I was still learning. Perhaps as priests we had been skilled at prioritising the concerns of others and hiding away our own personal worries, but he had never glimpsed the struggle. Perhaps his experience of worship had offered, for the most part, time to forget about the struggles, and our worship had become disconnected from the world. There was something missing. Having such a narrow definition and experience of worship alone was not enough. He was looking for some happiness away from the worries of the world. I wanted the struggle.

Hospitality

“We’re quite happy as we are,” she said. She appeared as a kind of spokesperson for everyone else. They were, after all, able to pay their bills, repair the building, enjoy a good social life together. “We don’t really need any others,” she clarified.

That sense of contentment can, years later, take us by surprise. More than thirty years on from that comment, their church still exists but their congregation has been reduced by 80 per cent. Ah, I’m back on the numbers.

Time for a story.

He clutched his 20p coin in his hand. Peered over the Gopak table, looked up to the people serving tea and coffee after Mass, and handed over his 20p as he asked for a biscuit.

He was probably about seven years old, and had learned that hospitality comes at a price. The transaction was almost complete but fortunately for him I took the 20p coin and handed it back. “Biscuits are free,” I said. “Everything is free.”

Hospitality should be free. If you’re a church that has that bowl for donations at coffee time after Mass then please dispose of it. Put the kettle on, and let the tea and coffee flow for free, just like it does when you welcome visitors into your own home.

Neither am I a coffee snob. Whilst it’s great to provide good quality refreshments and a great time, I’m more than happy drinking cheap instant coffee if that is what works. It doesn’t mean we can’t up our game at times, or provide lovely occasions and resources for people (if we can afford it) but we shouldn’t disregard the simple acts of welcome, warmth and hospitality.

At a Foodbank session once, a recently graduated student waited for his bags of food and looked nervous and out of place. “Would you like a coffee whilst you wait,” I asked. “Oh I’d really love a coffee,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a coffee.” And so we drank instant coffee and talked.

We simply need to create a culture that makes people feel comfortable, a means through which friendships can grow, and self-worth be discovered. To work for a welcome that is warm and sincere, not desperate or overbearing, but gentle, considerate and which nurtures a sense of being at home, a sense of belonging.

This sense of welcome and hospitality also has something to say about ‘participation’ and the fulfilling of roles within the church. A certain kind of welcome, nurtured over time, can bring an air and atmosphere of allowing and enabling people to do what they see others doing. This means not allowing individuals to stubbornly cling to a role or responsibility that is alone their own.

A few years ago in one of our churches, a young man came for the 11am Remembrance Sunday prayers which followed the earlier 9.30am Mass. No one had ever seen him before but, after the Setrvice, he had somehow found himself in the kitchen where he was happily washing the dishes alongside a few parishioners.

Whilst the formalising (and licensing) of certain Lay ministries has its benefit, it can also come at a cost if we’re not careful. IN some communities, such licensed and celebrated roles can stifle involvement and obstruct the free flow of allowing others to be involved.

The welcome and hospitality we offer flows through and influences our worship. Our worship should reflect something of the culture of hospitality that has been created, or that we are trying to create.

The welcome is as important as the farewell. The coming in as important as the going out. The encounter at the threshold of the church is more fragile than we may imagine. It is about humility and holiness. Hospitality is about generosity and exchange, giving and receiving, welcoming in and reaching out.

Outreach

In one parish, a local Methodist church closed down and one of the members of that congregation started attending ours. Months later she told me that she had intended to try out many different churches before she decided on which one she would call home. That church was her first Sunday ‘on tour’ and she stayed. She told me that what she liked about us was that we put our faith into action. She could see the outreach and ministry to the local community which was embedded in our life and worship, and took up so much of our concern.

Putting our faith into action and having a healthy and fruitful outreach to the wider community is the final area of life that, for me, not only helps create a healthy church but also attracts and inspires others. If can be where many people see our worth – and discover if this Christian life is worth it at all.

You won’t always find it represented in the church accounts under “Mission at Home” for, so often, the costs are hidden, wrapped up into the lives of those who lay down their lives.

Having a strong Eucharistic view of the world opens our eyes to the presence of God everywhere. Recently, I was challenged by one fellow priest who took exception to the particular kind of ministry I tried to live out. “Why don’t you just become a social worker?” he asked.

I could have replied with the words of a Victorian, Anglo-catholic priest who was challenged in exactly the same way. When he was asked why he was bothered by local sanitation issues and inadequate drains, he responded, “Because I believe in the Incarnation.” My response wasn’t as succinct as that, or as effective but it’s what I wished I’d said.

Evangelism means sharing the good news. When I typed that sentence, the auto correct and my bad typing, came up with “chatting” the good news.

I love that idea. Chatting the good news. The incidental words and time spent in passing, as we naturally participate in one another’s lives, form friendships, reach out and maybe help to make someone’s life a little bit better. It is a way which is less bold but also less confrontational. For me, it’s more engaging and subtle and, dare I say it, even unintentional. And why not? It is, after all, God who gives the growth.

In the Bible, how many times does Jesus change the life of some sick person accompanied by the order not to tell anyone? Sometimes, our actions do not need to be backed up or reaffirmed by bold words or counter claims. It is is simply in the doing, in the reaching out and raising up, that we may be able to accomplish what God is wanting us to do and, there, discover the life of his Kingdom which has love as its only rule.

“You could almost convert me if you carry on like this,” messaged one person I know. We had been engaging on a ‘Just Lent’ as we explored a gospel of social justice, connecting our worship with the needs and injustices experienced by so many different people, challenging us in so many different ways to be dissatisfied with some of the ways and means of our world.

It takes me back to that person exploring priesthood and the lack of struggle he had experienced in our worship, and in our lives as priests.

Having a strong and relevant outreach, putting our faith in to action flows from our worship, and makes our Mass more of what it is called to be: the consecration of all life, or the discovery of the sacredness of all life. It’s about discovering the presence of Christ in our daily lives and in the lives of others.

Living the gospel of social justice means embracing the struggle, and being distracted by the needs of others, allowing it to enrich and unsettle our worship, and to stretch the boundaries of our welcome and hospitality to breaking point. To walk that fine line between watching out for that unpredictable character who has walked into church and disturbed the Mass whilst embracing them as a child of God.

It works for me

All this may sound rather simplistic, and there is so much more that could be unpacked but this trinity of church life remains with me: the importance of Worship, Hospitality and Outreach, and trying to get them right, and trying to ensure they are intrinsically intertwined so that you can’t see where one ends and the other begins.

It’s not intended to be preachy or didactic but, over the last few decades, this outlook has naturally emerged and informed my ministry. It’s provided a useful reference point to what we’re doing. It works for me, anyway.

Anyway, back to the photocopying. I still haven’t decided how many I should print.

In the homily at the Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper, Fr Dean explores the connection between the Eucharist, the crucifixion and our life of service.

Darren McGarvey, also known by the stage name Loki, grew up in Pollock on the south side of Glasgow.  Today, he is a writer, columnist and Rap artist.  He became the first ever Rapper in residence at Police Scotland’s Violence Reduction Unit.

In his book “Poverty Safari: understanding the anger of Britain’s underclass” he provides moving insights into his own experience of growing up in poverty, a life surrounded by anger and violence, drugs and crime, inequality and difficulties.

In one passage, he shares a moment when he was five years old.  His mother was partying downstairs with friends, and so he decided to join them with the plan of being able to stay up a little later and join in the fun.  But his plan turned into a distressing moment of anger and violence.  His mother ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and chased him as he stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom.

“If only I had the sense to run out of the front door instead,” he writes.    “Seconds before, she had appeared to be having so much fun that it had felt safe to wind her up in front of people.  Now I was trapped in my room, pinned against the wall, with a knife to my throat.  I don’t remember what she said to me but I do remember the hate in her eyes.  I remember thinking that I was about to be cut open and that I would probably die.  Just as she lifted the knife to my face, she was pulled from behind and thrown to the other side of the room by my dad, who then restrained her while one of the guests picked me up and bundled me into the back of a car.

“I don’t remember my mother, or anyone else, ever talking about that night again.  Truth be told, I forgot about it myself until many years later, when it came back to me in the form of a flashback.”

Our memories play tricks on us.  Sometimes, for those who have experienced great trauma, their brain tries to protect them from harm, pushes away, into the deep recess of their mind, some painful memory too much to take, too much to process but which somehow emerges later in life.  Sometimes, in other extreme cases, humans are even able to create false memories, construct events and experiences that never happened but which seem as clear as day.

Our minds and memories are complex.

For Darren McGarvey, it was only later, as he began to put his life together and address his own power to bring change, that the pain of the past could be seen more clearly.

This evening, we begin to enter sacramentally into the Mystery of Christ’s pain, death and resurrection.  We do so with a sense of hindsight.  The past is made present, the memories are made clear right in our midst.

In some ritual, liturgical and shared way, we draw closer to the cross of Jesus – to his love, to his life, to his power to save, to the way in which he makes sense of our lives.

This is the night on which Jesus broke bread, the night on which he gave us a new way of remembering and recalling, of sharing in his life, in his death, and in his resurrection.

St Teresa of Calcutta said, “The Eucharist is connected to the Passion (of Jesus).  If Jesus had not established the Eucharist we would have forgotten the crucifixion.  It would have faded into the past and we would have forgotten that Jesus loved us.  To make sure that we do not forget, Jesus gave us the Eucharist, as a memorial of his love.”

This is such a simple thing.  The Eucharist recalls, reminds us of the cross.  It’s what St Paul meant when he wrote, “Every time we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.”

Back to Darren McGarvey, whose words we began with.  “In ‘deprived’ areas, where resources are scarce, gossip is a form of currency, and if you’re unlucky enough to hail from a visibly troubled family, you are presented with a choice: you can let others people talk about it or you can become the author of your own story – which is exactly what I did.”

Now and over the coming days, through word and action, we tell the story of God’s love for the world.  We move through the moments of this Mass tonight until it stands froze, locked in that Gethsemane moment of struggle and prayer.

Tomorrow, we will lean closer to the cross of Christ as we bring our pain to his, and wonder at “Love so amazing, so divine.”

We will wait and watch and gather in darkness on Saturday evening to celebrate the unfolding of God’s Love story which elaborates into a life that doesn’t end, into the remarkable, redeeming presence of Jesus for ever.

In tonight’s gospel story, we hear how the reality of the Eucharist can be expressed and told in our own day, in our own way.  As he leaves the table, clothed with a towel, Jesus acts out that life of service.  It’s a role-play of divine proportions, a scene filled with love.  And the only stage direction is to do for others as he has done for us.

As the Eucharist is connected to the Passion of Jesus, so it’s connected to the pains of everyone.  Flowing from the Eucharist is our service of those who are in need.  The clean pristine cloth of the altar is never far away from the grime of our feet.  The trimmed candles and polished silver are not separate from the dirt of the street.

Everything we do throughout these days is underwritten by the story of God in Christ.  We don’t change the story of God’s love for the world.  We allow it to change us, and so through changed lives, take part in changing the world and transforming the lives of others.

Much of the world and our society, despite growing in secularism, still know some of the story of Jesus.  They are free to take what they want from it.  They can place it alongside all the other stories they know or think they know.  They can file the stories away as fables or store them alongside other sacred stories.

It’s our calling to share the gospel truth, the story of Jesus’ love with its grim and great reality, with all its outtakes and spin offs, with its sequels and extended material, as we become part of the story, live it out, pass it on.

We are invited to allow God, the author of life, to draw us deeper into the story which is his.  To be, as St Teresa said, “a little pencil in the hand of God, who is writing a love letter to the world.”

We can allow others to distort and try to hide the story of God in Christ, or we can take that story, and live it out in our own lives, beginning here at the place where God calls us back to the cross of Jesus, to the love of Jesus.

Without the Eucharist we would forget the cross.  Let us never forget the cross.  Let us never forget the Eucharist.  And let us never forget our calling to be that light in the world, the salt of the earth, the yeast, the leaven, the pencil in the hand of God.

From here, as Christ fulfils our hunger, may we go out and fulfil the hunger of others.

The story is out there.

It’s our calling to fill in the gaps, to stand in those places, to stoop to those feet, to let the memory live, to be faithful to the Eucharist, to be faithful to the Cross, to be faithful to God’s love in action.

“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace; 
where there is hatred, let me sow love; 
where there is injury, pardon; 
where there is doubt, faith; 
where there is despair, hope; 
where there is darkness, light; 
and where there is sadness, joy. 

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console; 
to be understood, as to understand; 
to be loved, as to love; 
for it is in giving that we receive, 
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.”

(Prayer of St Francis of Assisi)