Spiritual reflection

11 May 2008

Fr Terry writes:

There is some irony in the fact that the word spiritual is used more and more at a time when religion faces so much hostility in our culture. People will proudly say that they are spiritual; often, on the other hand, we hear it said: "I'm not very religious" with the word religious spoken on a dying fall.

I am not sure that the two can be easily separated. But still, let us stay with the moment with this mysterious word spiritual. We use it so often. But what does it mean? I take it to refer to that place in each human person where they are most truly themselves. There is in each of us a place, or more accurately a dynamism, where we rise above ourselves. This is where love is recognised and returned. This is where the voice of duty speaks. This is where conscience holds us accountable. This is where we can be inspired by ideals which take us beyond the usual confines of our thinking. This is where prayers are shaped. This is our spiritual centre, our soul.

The feast of Pentecost celebrates the coming of the Holy Spirit, God's promise and gift to each of us who are baptised in Christ and who are open to the sacraments. It is a gift that grows and unfolds across a lifetime. But this gift would only be possible if we were made in the image of God, as we are. We have within us that which reflects the nature of God himself our spirit. Our spirit takes us beyond ourselves, to set out afresh. And because we have this potential within us, the Holy Spirit is able to move within our human spirit. This is sometimes dramatic. More often it is a subtle process, in which we are drawn towards the good and the wise within the many choices we face in life.

Look at the words of the ancient sequence which we use in the Mass today. (It is a translation based on the beloved hymn, Veni Sancte Spiritus). In this hymn we hail the Holy Spirit as that activity and presence of God which heals, consoles, gives grace, strengthens, works with our heart and our will, and guides our steps. Sometimes we might want the Holy Spirit to speak more loudly, to work more assertively. But you who are parents know how subtle the process of guidance of children has to be. So, too, the work of the Spirit on our spirit. We are free to make mistakes; but also to learn from them. The Spirit helps us to grow through life and to become more open to God's guidance. It is a constant shaping of us, working delicately with our freedom.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

4 May 2008

Fr Terry writes:

Should a Christian be ambitious? Can a Christian be ambitious? We are deeply suspicious of ambition. We link ambition with unpleasant characteristics such as selfishness, ruthlessness, egoism. Often we think it is not right to be ambitious. And yet, when we think further about it, we realise that ambition is important. I find myself uneasy, as I am sure you do, when young people at school or college show no ambition. If you were am employer you would want your new employee to show some ambition. In lots of ways we need to have hopes, dreams, aspirations, aims, goals. It is quite natural to want to get ahead in life. It encourages us to develop our gifts, to nourish our talents and to enhance our skills. Without ambition surely the world would never progress.

But what about the negative features that can so easily accompany a sense of ambition? How can we guard against these? Well, think for a moment of the Ascension. The Ascension reminds us that earth and heaven are closely linked. The Ascension of Jesus takes us literally upwards, to view, for a moment, the earth from the perspective of the Lord. The ascending Lord Jesus symbolises how his presence is now to be found everywhere, at all times and at all places.

We are to strive, we are to dream, we are to reach out to what lies ahead. Without these things the earthly kingdom will never be built. But we are to view our ambition from the standpoint of eternity. What is important in what we are trying to achieve? What will last and what will fade? What price is being paid, and by whom, for our achievements? If we view our ambition from the standpoint of eternity - which is to say, from the viewpoint of the Ascended Christ - then we will more likely to be able to move ahead in life without losing our souls. Yes, let Christian people be ambitious. But let them always strive to see their life, their career, their aspirations from the viewpoint of Christ, so that they may have perspective on what they to. This is the Ascension: Christ in our life, encouraging us, inspiring us, but always giving us the perspective of eternity and of God's love on what we hope to achieve and dream of doing. With this perspective our ambitious will always be guided by the greatest ambition of all, to grow in faith, hope and love. Without these things there is no true achievement. As St Paul tells us, Be ambitious for the higher gifts, (1 Cor. 12.31).

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

27 April 2008

Fr Terry writes:

Would you like an advocate? In today's gospel (John 14.15-21) Jesus promises an advocate to his followers. The word advocate today has legal connotations, but it is also used for those who speak up for others. We speak of advocacy as helping those who cannot speak for themselves. Most of us have had a feeling of inarticulacy at some time or another. We have wanted to speak up for ourselves, and have found that the right words just don,t come. An advocate who would step forward and make a case on our behalf sounds like a good idea!

We can think of the Holy Spirit as our Advocate in two ways. First of all, we need someone to plead for us before God. This is not an argument about our merits. Any presentation of our case along those lines would be bound to fail. No, when pleading for us before God, the Holy Spirit presents the same case always: the love of Christ for us. In fact, the Holy Spirit is the love of Christ that joins the Son with the Father. We are caught up in that love, for Christ is in us and we are in Christ. So you could say that the Spirit clothes us in the love of Christ and brings us before God, as a new creation.

The Spirit is also our advocate before the world. We live in a difficult time for the Church. Its frailties are always on public view. What can we say when asked why we believe in Christ, why we belong to the Church? At such challenging moments we have to trust in the presence of God within us. The Spirit, the advocate, will be stirred up within us as we make our reply. This does not mean that we will be given powerful words. It does not require flashy presentations. It means, simply, that we will have the inspiration of grace within us to help us as we speak. Honest words spoken hesitantly by a man or woman of faith can often have greater impact than the grandest words spoken by clergy. Anyway, in this age of spin, many people are sceptical about smooth presentations. They are more likely to find it genuine if you speak from the heart, about what your faith means, about who Christ is for you, and why the Catholic faith is something that sustains you. Trust the moment. Trust the advocate, the Holy Spirit, for he will speak through you and for you.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

20 April 2008

Fr Terry writes:

In today's opening prayer we ask God, 'Give us true freedom.' Freedom. A word that occurs time and again in the songs, literature, propaganda and dreams of our age. People fight for it, they plan to achieve it, they celebrate it. And yet, here we are, praying for true freedom. It is as if freedom is still ahead of us: never quite within our grasp. We are free in so many ways, and yet we still yearn for a fuller, richer, freedom. Is this a sign of failure? Or is it a sign of health? I would say the latter. To know that you are still yearning for freedom means that you are honest about yourself. You know that there are areas in your life where you need to grow. The work of the Spirit in you is not yet complete.

Take the example of love, which is an essential part of freedom. You cannot know true freedom unless you find that love springs up freely within your heart. As a parish priest I see a great deal of love. I see love between spouses and within families. I see the network of friendship that is woven between many people, and the quiet strength that comes from it. I witness loving support given to neighbours in times of difficulty or distress. And yet I also know that these same loving, caring people often yearn to love more deeply, more generously. All of us could say the same, surely? We want to be people of love but find a harsh word coming from our lips. We want to be people of generosity then find that we calculate things to our advantage.

Sometimes fear holds us back, sometimes it is patterns of behaviour that we have settled into. Sometimes we are tired and this limits the compassion or empathy that we can produce. Sometimes there is a lack of vision on our part. Whatever it is, true freedom is already ours: God sets us free by giving us his love, by forgiving us our sins and by inspiring us with grace. And yet, at the same time, true freedom is always ahead of us. And so we pray with all honesty today: 'Give us true freedom.' God is not finished with us yet. We are a work in progress. That is why we are at Mass, so that the divine artist can continue his work and give us what we most truly need.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

13 April 2008

Father Paul O'Reilly SJ writes:

"I am the gate of the sheepfold."

For once, I think I really know exactly what Jesus is talking about. My family is from the hill-country of Ireland ­ good sheep-farming country. And my great uncle William was a good shepherd. Every day until the day he died at the age of 92, the first thing he had to do was to go and check the sheep and make sure that nothing had happened to them during the night. So every morning, before dawn, he would get up, walk the three miles up the mountain and sometimes I would go with him. And when he got to the place he would sit on the hill-side and wait for the dawn. And, as the light came up, he would see his sheep shine out from the darkness like stars coming out at night.

At the time, it seemed to me strange that he never counted them. His sheep had names, not numbers. And as they came into view, he would call each one very softly by its name. And when he saw that they were all well and nothing bad had happened to them during the night, and they were all feeding well, then he was content. He could go back down the mountain and have his own breakfast.

We asked him why he did this. He said that our family had been shepherds as far back as there were records; that his own grandfather had lived through the Famine; during the Famine, it was the Sheep that had saved us. So he knew that, so long as his sheep were well, his family would never starve. And so, the first thing he had to do every morning was to make sure that his sheep were all right. And he could not eat himself until he was sure of this. He simply could not bear to think that he might be sitting at home while one of his sheep was in trouble on the mountain.

I think that is exactly what Jesus means when he describes Himself as the Good Shepherd.

And I rather like to think of Jesus doing that - watching out to make sure each and every one of his sheep are doing all right, keeping them all in view, and calling each one by name.

My family still has sheep on those hills - I hope we always will.
And I rather like to hope that I have carried on, in my own life, the tradition that my great uncle William left to me.

And I also rather like to hope that in any generation the Lord will call more shepherds to continue the work that Jesus left to His disciples.

And ­ perhaps rather pushing my luck ­ I rather like to hope that there may be someone reading this today that God is calling to pastoral service with the Body of Christ in the World.

Fr Paul is Director of Mount Street Jesuit Centre in London

6 April 2008

Father Terry writes:

What does it mean to say that we recognise Jesus in the breaking of the bread? First, we remember that bread was divided up so that it could be shared. At the breaking of the bread that we share Jesus. In any church in London we are a diverse people, a diversity mirrored, I should think, in many cities across the world. Yet although we are different in character, ethnicity, and outlook, we have a deep and hidden unity in Christ. It has been the glue of our culture and our world but we often take it for granted. The world often forgets this. We who meet to break bread renew each Sunday our shared faith in Christ.

Second, the bread was given for life. It was nourishment. We who belong to the Catholic Church know that in the Mass we find ourselves spiritually nourished. We draw close to him who is the source of life and love. Somehow, coming to the Eucharistic table gives us hope, encouragement, faith; it challenges us to love. We are fed by Christ and through Christ. Third, we remember that at any Eucharist we meet as people who are blessed but also as people who know their own struggles. We are stronger together, if there is mutual concern and support. As we share the bread from heaven we know that the blessing must not stop there. The same Christ who is among us is the same Christ who washed his disciples' feet. To share the body and blood of Christ at the Mass is to be challenged to live as he lived, to help others and to love them as he did. Here too we recognise Christ in the breaking of the bread, in the challenge it offers us to be those who give help. And yes, in the humility it sometimes requires to accept help when we need it. The Eucharist reminds us to care for our neighbour.

Finally, let us return to the dimension which is so often overlooked, the mystical one. We tend to shy away from the language of mystery today. This is a pity, because not everything in life can be reduced to formulas, equations and explanations. There is a mystical element to the Eucharist because it transcends time. At every Mass, time and eternity come together. The timeless love of God is among us. Christ, in fact, is among us, and the stream of grace that he began at the Last Supper is not a past action but something which is constantly renewed among us here and now. We recognise him at the Eucharist not as a figure from the past but as one who lives for ever and who promises us eternal life.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

30 March 2008

Father Terry writes:

In the resurrection appearances of Jesus there was a movement in and a movement out. Take the gospel today (John 20.1-31). The movement in is Christ himself. He comes into a locked room. He comes, less obviously, into their hearts as well, for we read that the disciples were filled with joy when they realised that he was among them. It makes me wonder whether our hearts are not sometimes locked rooms. So many things can make us put up the shutters. We can draw into ourselves for many reasons such as past hurts, present anxieties, illness, or bereavement ­ and in the case of the disciples, grief accompanied by disappointed hopes and a sense of failure.

The movement out is of the disciples. After the greeting of peace, Jesus tells them that just as he was sent by the Father, so he is sending them out into the world, to continue his mission. Just as he was sent by the Father, they are sent by Christ. To do what? To bring the message of God's love. And the sign of this is the assurance that through the forgiveness of sins the Church can help many to find spiritual refreshment, encouragement and peace. Will help, them, in fact, to begin again.

But what about that locked room? What about their own fears and hurts? There is a wonderful balance in the story, because immediately we go on to hear about the cynicism of Thomas. Or perhaps not cynicism, just honesty. He cannot believe, and says so. The doors of his heart are locked. What helps him is that he continues to meet with the others for the breaking of the bread and the prayers, and through this he too meets Christ.

That little company of disciples was not perfect. The story of Thomas shows that hurts can run deep, but through their meeting together they found strength. Through the Eucharist the mystery of Christ entered deeper into their hearts. And above all, they knew that Christ himself was among them. This gave them the confidence to carry Christ with them into the world ­ some of them by preaching, all of them by example. If we persevere in the Church, if we come to the bread from heaven, then we too till meet the risen Christ, and find, to our astonishment, that we too are sent out into the world.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

EASTER SUNDAY 2008

Father Terry writes:

I once mentioned to a farmer's wife how the Resurrection was a challenge to our faith. Christian teaching about resurrection teaches us that death becomes new life in which we are completely transformed, including our bodies. What that could mean was beyond our understanding. She listened and then chuckled. No, she said, she did not find it hard to believe at all. Every spring she and her husband ploughed bare fields and scattered seed. Who could believe that these tiny things would become a field of waving corn? And so, she said, she had no trouble in believing in a wonderful transformation of the body in which we would live in a new and eternal way in God's presence, through the work of Christ. If humble corn seed could change in that way, surely God could do even greater things with us who were made in his image.

She was right, of course, and I found it a very helpful analogy. And as I thought about it I realised that we could take it even further. That same field of corn would be harvested and turned into flour and become many loaves of bread. It would nourish many people. What started off as tiny seed would become life for a multitude of people. It is for me an image of how Christ's resurrection is already a living reality among us. He who was dead and lay in the earth was raised to life and becomes hope, encouragement, and inspiration for many people here and now, all over the world. He is our nourishment and our life. And one day, in his mercy, that promise of life will be fulfilled for eternity in the light of God's presence and the company of the saints.

There is a truth here that is both public and hidden at the same time. It is public because it is too significant to be kept secret. In both gospels we find Mary of Magdala running from the tomb to tell the news that Christ is risen (Matt. 28.8; John 20.2). From now on this will be a public, shared knowledge: the knowledge that God can touch anyone who believes in Christ and asks for life. And yet, what it means is partly hidden. Hidden, because this wonderful reality will be like a seed growing, slowly , invisibly, in the depths of each of us. As we read in Colossians today the life you have is hidden with Christ in God, (Col. 3.3). Only when we enter eternity will we know what the risen Christ has been working through the power of his resurrection. The fallen is lifted up, the old made new and the flawed is brought to perfection.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

16 March 2008

Father Terry writes:

After the first significant victory for the Allies in World War II, Churchill said: "This is not the beginning of the end. But it is the end of the beginning." He meant that from that point onwards the tide would turn. I always think of that when we come to Palm Sunday. This is the event that marks the end of what Jesus has begun, his earthly ministry. Because of the adulation that greets his entry into Jerusalem, the authorities will be alarmed, and they will begin decisive action against him.

Jesus, who knew what was in anyone's heart, understood this perfectly well. We get no hint of him being impressed by the acclaim of the crowds. And we, who know the whole story, know that from this point onwards everything will accelerate towards that poignant last supper with his companions, betrayal and execution. It is the end of the beginning: the whole life of Jesus is the beginning of God reaching out to us, through being among us, as one of us. But and only God could do this, the apparent defeat of what he does in Christ will be no defeat at all. Rather, through it, the door will be open to God for ever for all who come to know him in Christ.

Palm Sunday also always makes me think about the fickleness of popularity. One day Jesus is being hailed by the crowds: probably some of them were the same people who within a few days would be calling for his execution. It seems to be like that with the popularity of the Church. There are always times when it seems to be fashionable to be a Catholic. Then, a short while later, we are back to a phase when people sneer at the Church. In truth it does not matter much either way. What counts is our faithfulness to what Christ calls us to do and to be. It is the will of God that has called the Church into being. We are faithful when we help one another to grow in faith, to be those who cherish the sacraments, to be people who know the Bible and who seek to love God and neighbour. We are a supernatural society in the sense that it is God who makes us and shapes us. For this reason today's popularity and tomorrow's unpopularity should make no difference to us. To seek popularity is to have an opinion, and your opinions can change from one day to the next. To believe in God is to have your foundation deep in love, a love which never changes and which allows you to build for life and for eternity.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

9 March 2008

Father Terry writes:

Death can be almost unbearably cruel. Over the last week I have read some terrible newspaper reports of murders. There has been a terrible sense of loved ones cruelly snatched away. As has sometimes been remarked, it is the families of those who are killed who are left living a life sentence. But what about those who die full of years? A friend of mine told me this week that his mother, in her 90s, nearly died a year ago, and now, confined to a nursing home, she wishes that she had died last year. These stories remind us that death can take different forms. It can be cruel and senseless. Or, it can come at the end of a full life, welcomed almost but in that case we should reminder that the process of physical and mental decay beforehand is itself a dying. In this sense even the natural progress of old age can bring suffering.

Death, dying, decay: this human vulnerability in all its remorselessness is what Jesus Christ has come to confront. The story of Lazarus and his restoration to life is a hint, a pointer forward, to the resurrection of Christ himself (John 11.1-45). But it is also a reminder that Christ is on our side. He goes to Bethany to meet Mary and Martha in the rawness of their grief, and to show that God is with his people in their suffering. Jesus weeps and is greatly distressed at what this family is going through (vv. 33-35).

'I am the resurrection and the life', says Jesus (v 25). Those who have lost loved ones before their time can know that they are safe in his keeping. Those who themselves face the rocky road of aging can stretch out their hand to that of Christ, and know that although the body will take its toll, our soul, the very core of our being, is safe in the hands of he who overcomes death. We can hope this for many. For those who share the life of Christ by faith and baptism it is a promise, and God's promises always hold true.

There is death in our world in a broader sense as well. I think of wicked dictators like Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe, plundering his own people and reducing them to penury and in the process, literally reducing the average lifespan. This too is death. To such dictators Jesus speaks the same word he spoke outside that cave, only this time he is speaking not of an individual held in death but a whole people: 'Unbind them and let them go free.'

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

2 March 2008

Father Terry writes:

Now let me see. I can have hair transplants to cover my baldness, and dental veneers to make my teeth white and straight. Liposuction can take care of the spare tire tummy and botox can whisk away the wrinkles. Ah yes. But will I be a different person? We live in an age of appearances when an enormous amount of thought goes into making a good impression. How little thought we give to our soul, to that place where we are present to ourselves and present to God. As we are reminded in the first reading today, the people of the world look on outward appearances, but God looks inwardly at the heart (1 Sam. 16.7). And doesn't this influence our outward appearance, the face we present to the world? We have all had the experience of meeting people of great prayerfulness or wisdom or compassion, and noticing a loveliness in them which transcends physical beauty.

The obsession with the outward and external is seen in the responses to the man born blind. If he is blind, so they said, it must have been his fault or that of his parents. And so the poor man has an added burden to carry, namely public judgement of him. Jesus, however, does not judge on externals. He refuses to allocate blame.

It is tempting for us at this point to allocate blame ourselves, to point the finger at those who had seen the blind man healed and yet could not accept that here was a work of God. It points, perhaps, to their hard-heartedness. And yet, I have a kind of sympathy with them. Everything they were seeing confounded their experience. It was literally beyond their ken. It just did not fit into what they knew about the world, about reality.

It makes me think how difficult it is to convince people of the reality of God. Here was a miracle performed before their eyes and yet even then they could not believe in Christ. This attitude is still among us today. No doubt God still performs miracles, but there are those who will explain it all away. No doubt God sends saints, but more and more the world judges them harshly. I suspect that there is no way to convince, people to believe if they do not want to believe. Faith involves trust, trust in God. You will never be able to prove, God like a mathematical proof or a scientific demonstration. Reason will take us only so far. We have to step out in trust for faith to grow.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

24 February 2008

Father Terry writes:

The physical elements of our Catholic spirituality are so simple. A bowl of water. A little bread. Some wine. With these we weave a rich discipline of prayer, community and Christian living. This is not our achievement, however. Rather, it is the work of Christ, living within us, and the Holy Spirit, breathing through these simple elements. This is why we surround these simple things with the most glorious setting that we can imagine. Generations have done this, because here we have the mystery of God present in our lives through the sacraments. In that encounter at the well of Sychar we have a promise that has been wonderfully and mysteriously fulfilled. Jesus has indeed become a spring of living water, flowing within us, constantly renewing and refreshing us in so many ways, but above all in the sacraments.

In that encounter at the well in Sychar we find elements which echo in many conversion stories. First of all, notice that Jesus asks the woman for a drink. Many people have found their hearts opening a little to God when someone has asked them for help. 'I was thirsty and you gave me drink'. In our own day and age, when there is so much suspicion of religion, it is often the Church,s ministry of practical caring which encourages people to think again about the gospel. Second, we see that Jesus sets aside division based on ethnic rivalry and gender suspicion. Conversion to Christ invites us, in his own words, to worship in spirit and in truth, and if we are in Christ, then there is no more Jew or Greek, male or female, slave or free, but instead, a process of growing into unity.

Then there is the discreet allusion to the chaos of her personal life. It is done so gently and even perhaps with a touch of humour: You spoke the truth there, he says to her. A conversion that began with social action but left our personal lives untouched would be incomplete. Yet Jesus does not invoke guilt, rather he reminds her that if we are open to God then we can bring to him the whole of life and ask for guidance and healing. We have the promise of his help, like a spring of fresh water within us, welling up to eternal life. Finally, we hear that the Samaritan woman hurries off to tell the people about this extraordinary encounter. This too is an element of conversion, as we share our faith. In our sceptical and cynical culture it is a difficult thing to do. Sometimes we have to wait to be given the word and the moment.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

17 February 2008

Father Terry writes:

Eternity is usually hidden from us. But imagine if the curtain were drawn back and we glimpsed eternity, what would our reaction be? I would guess that we would feel a real mixture of emotions: fear, awe, wonder, joy. In the Transfiguration (Matthew 17.1-9) the three disciples with Jesus show all these emotions, because, when the light starts shining from his face, it is clear to them that the veil has been lifted and they are standing before eternity. They are overwhelmed and confused. Peter even starts gabbling about putting up tents. Seconds later they are on their knees in confusion.

Their fear and confusion is understandable. From the perspective of this life, it is almost impossible to make sense of eternity. Moreover, eternity shines with the glory of God's love, and it is that love that they see reflected on the face of Jesus. I would say that it shone from within him and also shone upon him, for he and the Father share between them perfect love. Indeed, Jesus is love, and his promise is that those who share his life will be drawn into that love to share it themselves (John 17.21-23).

Peter's reaction is understandable. The moment is so special that he wants to stay with it. He wants, as it were, to capture the moment and to be at home with Jesus, in the company of Moses and Elijah. But no. The moment fades, and when they lift their eyes they see only Jesus (Matt. 17.8). I find this such a moving picture. They have glimpsed the glory of love and they have wanted to stay with the glory of love. But instead they find themselves back in everyday life with Jesus.

This is the reality of our lives too. Occasionally we are given a special moment when we glimpse something of God's glory and love. During Mass we may feel uplifted. We may have a sense of prayer answered. In a moment of silence in a holy place we may feel that living presence of God which is beyond words. These are blessings. Like Peter we are tempted to pitch camp and stay there. Instead we have to return to our everyday lives, but when we do so we are not alone. We lift our eyes, and find that Jesus is there with us. With him we return to the world, strengthened by what we have been given and live. In the pressures and demands of everyday life, we have to live the love that we have glimpsed.


Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

10 February 2008

Father Terry writes:

You could say that the story of human nature is summarised in the account of creation that we read at Mass today (Gen. 2.7-9, 3.1-7). We impoverish the text if we read it as literal history. This is a story that is profoundly true, but it is true as metaphor. It tells us deep truths about human nature in symbolic or pictorial language.

It begins with the human race at home in nature. Made from the earth, living in harmony in a fruitful environment. But into this picture there creeps the voice of self-justification. Ah we all know that voice, do we not? In this case, first there is the temptation symbolised by the snake, then there is the way the command of God is doubted and queried. Finally, the woman decides that the forbidden fruit was desirable for the knowledge that it could give. God is defied, the fruit is eaten.

To be human is inevitably to be questioning. Great philosophers have pointed this out. We advance in science, for example, by asking fresh questions with every achievement. Our human mind goes restlessly forward. But this wonderful faculty is so often abused. Knowledge is power, and power is open to abuse. And so science can lead to medicine and healing, but it can also lead to weapons of mass destruction. Technology can create machines that free us from drudgery, but it can also create terrible pollution that destroys the planet around us. In the creation story today we are reminded of how our questioning, seeking mind, too often rules God out of the picture, and justifies every human extravagance, every human endeavour, without reference to the overall good of humankind.

Then we read St Paul, and we are further reminded that sin is contagious (Rom. 5.12-19). Bad people create bad situations that draw others in to share their deadliness. But the opposite is also true: goodness, love, holiness are contagious too. We can be inspired and uplifted and challenged by others. Above all others, this is the work of Christ. With a special dimension: as both God and man, he was able to undo the effect of sin and open a new and permanent way to God for all who would accept it. As we read about him resisting temptation in the wilderness (Matt. 4.1-11) he gives us insight into what spiritual strength can be and why we will need it. I would summarise all his temptations in one phrase: The end justifies the means.


Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

3 February 2008

Father Terry writes:

Experts in the Bible sometimes draw parallels between Jesus on the hillside near Lake Galilee, and Moses a thousand years before him on Mt Sinai. Moses gives the people the Law, summarised by the Ten Commandments. Jesus gives his people the Sermon the Mount, summarised by the Beatitudes. This is not the only parallel between Jesus and the history of the ancient People of God. Just as there were 12 tribes of Israel, so there were 12 disciples. It gives us a picture of Jesus leading a movement, creating a people who would answer his challenge to be light, to be leaven, to be salt for the world.

Jesus intends those who answer his call to be a creative presence for love, found among all races and classes and nations. This people is to help others see for themselves how much God loves them. They are to challenge the world to live by God's standards of justice and integrity. Today we call this people the Church. It is a wonderful privilege, to be part of the people who share this calling and who through faith and baptism, are the body of Christ.

On the other hand, we know our frailties only too well. Who are we, we wonder, to hold ourselves up as paragons of virtue? Which brings us back to the Beatitudes that we hear today in the gospel (Mt 5.1-12). They are quite deliberate challenges by Jesus, running against the spirit of his times and even more so, I would think, against the spirit of our times, which worship power and self-aggrandizement. But this is exactly where we find our hope. Read the Beatitudes again and you will find that it is the ordinary, struggling people who can find God in the very middle of their lives. Jesus gives us hope and strength by helping us see our vocation in terms of communion with God.

The poor in spirit are blessed because they seek to live in such a way that the material things of life do not control them. This spirit of detachment, of seeing things in true proportion, is a lifetime,s journey in which we strive to see all things in relation to God. Those who are gentle are blessed, because a peaceable spirit creates a peaceable world and creates new opportunities for human flourishing. Even those who mourn will find a blessing. For those who mourn shall find a blessing, because in their grief a hand will hold theirs to comfort them, a hand that bears the mark of a nail. Those who long for what is right and good will find fulfilment, because like the peacemakers, they will be creating new opportunities and opening doors to others. Those who cling to Christ in the face of scepticism and mocking, shall have a great reward. What strikes me about this list is that it is never an achievement. Rather, Jesus is calling us to engage with life in all its reality. We are blessed not in having achieved these things but by entering into life, by doing what we can, by wanting to see more clearly the right thing to do. And yes, it is a struggle, but if we have the courage to enter it, we are promised a blessing.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

27 January 2008

Father Terry writes:

Jesus showed cool, calm, courage. Our gospel today (Matt. 4.12-23) opens with the news that John the Baptist has been arrested. A moment, you might think, for Jesus to keep his head down, in case the nervous authorities arrest him too. But no: this is the very moment that Jesus chooses to launch his public ministry. Jesus makes Capernaum his headquarters and goes around the whole of Galilee, teaching in the synagogues, healing the sick, calling for repentance and announcing the kingdom of God. Jesus is not to be intimidated.

The call to repentance, to changing your way of life, is central to everything Jesus does. Repentance has a thoroughly old-fashioned ring about it. Today people talk more about taking responsibility for their lives. They may look for counselling. If they are celebrities they may go into rehab. These things are right and good, and yet I find myself wondering whether they are quite enough. To bring the light of God's love to shine into our lives is to depend more on his power and less on our own. Or rather, it is to ask that his grace, his power, may help us in our weakness. It is to rely on a strength far greater than our own, and as part of this, to recognise where we have failed. This is repentance.

One of the reasons that there is less heard about repentance today is because it is associated with guilt. The Catholic Church is often accused by celebrities of having made them feel guilty. Well, I remember what one of the best-selling authors of our time wrote. The psychiatrist M Scott Peck writes in Further Along the Road Less Travelled that the jails often house people who seem unable to feel guilt. He points out that guilt is not necessarily bad. It helps us to acquire a code of right conduct. It helps us see where our actions can hurt others. Jesus in calling us to repentance is calling on us to take responsibility for our actions, to seek to live by the standards of love.

That is not all that Jesus said, however. We notice in the gospel today that Jesus, in beginning his public ministry, proclaimed that the kingdom of God was close at hand. He called his followers to work with him for the kingdom. What begins as repentance in the heart becomes something alive and active in society. The yearning in the heart for a new beginning does not stop there but becomes a spirit of co-operation with others of good will, working to make the world a better place for all who are suffering. Personal repentance and a transformed community go hand in hand.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

20 January 2008

Father Terry writes:

Despite the success of recent best-selling books championing the cause of atheism, I have met comparatively few atheists. Most people who do not accept Christianity still say something like: 'I believe in a force for good', or 'I believe in a higher power'. Well, I am glad that they have at least that amount of faith, for even this can be built upon. Still it is not quite enough, because for God to be God there has to be a purpose and a direction behind the universe behind, in fact, the whole of life. A force for good for a higher power is not quite the same as the living God. Why?

Have a look at today's scripture readings and you find the answer. In the first reading from Isaiah (49.3,5-6) we have to understand that we are with the people of God in exile in Babylon, some 500 years before Jesus. It is a depressing time. The prophet, however, brings new hope. His message to them is more than that he himself has been called by God. His message is also that they, the whole people, are being called by God, and will have a mission for the whole world. In the gospel (John 1.29-34) John the Baptiser hails Jesus in remarkable words. Jesus is going to ;take away the sin of the world', he is 'filled with the Spirit and is the Messiah - the Chosen One of God'.

These passages tell us that the world is not abandoned by God. God is at work within history, helping to heal human hurts. Where humankind loses the way, God is there to give new hope and to instill a new vision. God gives his people purpose. Above all, God draws us into a relationship with him. This desire of God matters so much that God comes among us in Christ, so that we may relate not to a force, not to a higher power, but to one who loves, who reaches out to us and who forgives. This is the work that the Church is called to continue. As the people of God today this is our calling, like those spoken to by Isaiah.

There is always much that we do not understand. History seems a tale of human failure, of the triumph of power and sometimes even of brutality. There is change and chance at work. These things are true, and yet they are not the whole truth. Within history there is the hidden presence of God, who called the world into being and who gave it a purpose and destiny that nothing can remove. This is a message of hope, and it underlies the scriptures we hear today.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

13 January 2008

Gerald Darring writes:

The baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist was an embarrassment to the early church. John, after all, was the precursor to Jesus: why should Jesus be baptized by him.

And Jesus was sinless: how could he be "washed" of any sinfulness? Only Mark presents the event in a simple and straightforward way. Matthew and Luke soften its impact in their versions, and John leaves it out completely.

The scholarly consensus is that the baptism actually took place and was preserved by the early church in spite of its misgivings.

One way to understand the baptism of the Lord would be to see it as a link between the exodus passage through water to the promised land and the sacramental passage through the water of baptism to salvation in Jesus Christ.

Jesus acted out the same passage through water that has been undertaken by others since the beginning of salvation history.

The world must be washed of all that makes it unclean: alienation from God and from each other; attacks against life and against the author of life; the oppression of God's children and the destruction of God's creation.

The world must pass through the same waters of salvation that Jews and Christians have passed through.

"The Church, now sojourning on earth as an exile, is necessary for salvation. For Christ, made present to us in his Body, which is the Church, is the one Mediator and the unique Way of salvation.

In explicit terms he himself affirmed the necessity of faith and baptism and thereby affirmed also the necessity of the Church, for through baptism as through a door men enter the Church." Vatican II, Constitution on the Church (1964) 14

Fr Terry Tastard is on holiday this week. Gerald Darring is the developer and webmaster of the Theology Library. His reflection was first published on the Center for Liturgy of St Louis (Jesuit) University http://www.liturgy.slu.edu/BaptismLordA011308/main.html

6 January 2008

Father Terry writes:

An actor once told me that one of the most difficult things he had to learn was to act with the eyes. For a moment I wondered what he meant, then I understood. You can read so much in a person's eyes. Delight. Disappointment. Jealousy. Gratitude. Hostility. Good will. And, of course, love. And yet if you and I were to ask what precisely we saw in a person,s eyes, we would be talking about minute changes if we could describe them at all, because sometimes it would be difficult to put into words exactly what we saw. The changes are so slight, yet so significant. No wonder the eyes are described as the window of the soul. Here as it were we are close to the mystery of what it is to be human, how we are able, however imperfectly, to understand each other, to go beyond surface appearances. It is about an intuitive understanding of the inner meaning of each person.

The Solemnity of the Epiphany invites us also to go beyond surface appearances. Or rather, it invites us to read the subtle signs of the presence of God. The gospel today (Matt. 2.1-12) has three wise men on a journey. Note the difference between them and King Herod. The King has all the apparatus of the state. He has soldiers and informers. Yet he cannot see and cannot understand. If he was to go with that stable with the wise men, he would see nothing other than a birth in poverty to a family without significance. The wise men look and they see very differently. They see the promises of God fulfilled. They see almighty God in a weak and helpless infant. They see majesty where there is humility. And they fall to their knees. The have seen the inner meaning and they know the truth. It is a moment of illumination, when outwardly nothing changes, but inwardly God floods their hearts.

What makes the difference? Partly, it is hope. Herod, like all dictators, lives in fear. Hope by contrast is open to change, open to learning, open to new beginnings. Herod could have none of that. Partly it is that the wise men have been seeking the truth. There is a paradox here: you are more likely to be found by the truth if you are looking for it. I sometimes wonder what people mean when they say 'I am not very religious'. To me it sounds like they have no curiosity about the world, no interest in discovery, no courage to set out on a journey. Without this, will they recognise the moment when God comes to meet them? Will they ever go beyond the surface and read the deep truth?


Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

Christmas 2007

Father Terry writes:

Christmas is ordinary and it is extraordinary.

Take the ordinary first. We have a birth, across the stableyard in the back rooms of an inn. We have shepherds whom everybody probably suspected had been on the poteen. We have a baby laid in a manger. We know the scene so well. Take away the momentary glimpse the shepherds had of the heavenly chorus, and it is a very ordinary, very human scene. And that is part of its power, because what we have here at the crib is a demonstration of tender human love. The love of Mary for her child. The protective guardianship of Joseph over them both. The vulnerability of the baby, which, like all babies, moves us deeply. The oldest-known image of Mary depicts her nursing the Infant Jesus it is the catacomb of Priscilla in Rome and dates from about the 2nd century. There is a tradition of icons known as Galaktothrophusa which again show Jesus at the breast. This tender human love is itself a beautiful and moving scene.

In the middle of the ordinary, there is the extraordinary. Because this birth means that God has stepped across time and space to become God with us, God among us, in and through Christ. And our hearts, already moved by the human love in the scene, are moved even more by the realisation that the Christ child is nothing less than God dependent on us. The very phrase makes me hesitate: can almighty God depend on us? Surely God is too great for that. But consider that child again, and remember what Christina Rossetti wrote in the words of the famous carol,

Enough for him whom cherubim

Worship night and day

A breastful of milk

And a mangerful of hay.

Yes, in the incarnation, God enters into the world as a human child, and will depend upon the warmth and nourishment he receives from those around him. What tremendous humility. It is an extraordinary revelation of God's love for us, that he does this, that he comes right into the heart of human life to share it with us, with all the weakness and dependency of an infant. Only true love could do this, only true greatness could do this.

God within our humanity. Never less than God, yet somehow among us in this way that we call the incarnation. From now on, all human life has been dignified by what this revelation of the extraordinary in the ordinary. We know it instinctively. People deep down grasp this fact, even people who never read a word of theology, even people who own up to doubt and uncertainty in their faith. The truth revealed at Bethlehem is that from this point onwards, our relationships with others can all reflect something of what God did for us that day. That is why so many people make a special effort to help the homeless. That is why people travel long distances to be reunited with their families. That is why those who are divided in anger will often make a special effort to be reconciled.

At Bethlehem human love and divine love are brought together. And so, deep down, we long for our lives to be more loving. We long for our own way of living to reflect more of God's love, God's mercy, God's integrity. Most confessions could, I think, be summed up in that deep desire that in ordinary life, in the family and in the workplace, we could be, quite simply, more loving. That the extraordinary grace of God could flow more freely in the ordinary tension of our everyday living.

The extraordinary in the ordinary. I was struck by something in the newspaper this morning (Christmas Eve), a comment made by one of the British troops in Helmand province in Afghanistan. He said that they had thought of challenging the Taleban opposite them to a football match. But, he concluded rather sadly, the troops thought that the Taleban would not get the point. The point being not only the reference to Christmas itself, but to that extraordinary Christmas 1914 when German and British troops on the Western front laid down their arms and played football in no man's land.

The extraordinary in the ordinary. There again you have it. Even there, in the heat and dust of Aghanistan, battle-hardened troops feel the tug of that event in Bethlehem, and feel the challenge to do something which breaks, for a moment, the otherwise implacable hostility of war.

Soon, the curtain will drop across that stable in Bethlehem. The family around the manger will know fear of what a dictator can do to them, temporary exile and a long journey back to Nazareth. It will be ordinary life in a confused and troubled world. And yet, nothing will ever be the same again, because the memory of that scene will never fade from the world,s consciousness. Always, the incarnation will make us want new ways of living our ordinary lives. And that longing, that desire, is the extraordinary work of God.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

23 December 2007

Father Terry writes:

'He took his wife to his home', is how today's gospel ends (Mt. 1.18-24) and what a wealth of meaning is found in these few short words. By taking Mary to his home, Joseph took under his roof the child she was carrying. He took into his home the Christ Child, the Messiah, the Son of God. Yes, he had the assurance of the angelic message mediated through a dream, but he must have been bewildered by what was happening. How could what was happening fit within conventional understanding? Yet reaching deep within himself, Joseph found the resources to stand alongside Mary. Perhaps it was a sense of duty as well as some inner intuition. The gospel today hints at reluctance, because it takes the dream to overcome his doubts. By staying with a difficult situation, Joseph found himself guardian to Mary and the holy child. It makes me think of the ancient Celtic saying: 'The lark says in her song, Often, often, often, goes Christ in the stranger's guise'. It is a reminder to us of how often we are called to stay with a situation in which things are not clear to us, but where we have to go forward in a spirit of trust and faith. Sometimes this is the only way that the purposes of God can be revealed to us.

The birth of Jesus is to be the fulfilment of a prophecy made some 700 years earlier. We hear that prophecy in the first reading today (Isaiah 7.10-14) where Isaiah prophesies that as a sign from God, a maiden will bear a son, whom she will call Emmanuel, a name which means 'God is with us' (verse 6). There is one intriguing difference between the original passage in Isaiah and the way that Matthew cites it. In the original passage, we are told that it is the maiden who will call her son Emmanuel. However, in the gospel we hear that 'they will call him Emmanuel'. They tells us that many will discover through Christ that God is with us. This is not a private revelation, meant for a few only. It is something that will involve the whole world, as untold numbers come to see in Christ the human face of God.

You and I are privileged to be among those people who look at Christ and see God in him reaching out to us. When the gospel says they will call him Emmanuel, we are part of that group. Hold fast to this, because it means that the fulfilment of the prophecy is not a past event but a present reality. Wherever people turn to Christ and find God in him and through him, then the prophecy is fulfilled. We believe that God is with us,. To say this is not to believe that God blesses every short-sighted human action or indulges us. Rather, it says that there is a deep tide in history, in which God constantly reaches out to every human being who turns to him. It says that we can never forfeit the love of God, for God is with us. It says that God comes to each and every human being. No matter how humble our place in life, we can be like St Joseph: we are able to take Jesus and Mary to our own home.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

16 December 2007

Father Terry writes:

One of the sad ironies of the events surrounding Jesus was that no matter what he did, people remained sceptical. Supposing, for example, they wanted dramatic proof that he was the Messiah. Well, lepers are healed, the deaf begin to hear (and speak) and paralytics regain the full use of their limbs. Isn't that dramatic enough? Yet many were not convinced.

Nor did it make much difference to the sceptics if Jesus gave what we might call everyday proof. He spoke in words of wisdom and encouragement. He preached love, forgiveness and reconciliation. He brought hope to the poor, not least the wonderful news that God had no favourites but regarded all people with equal love, rich or poor, slave or free, Jew or Greek. Even so, the sceptics would not be moved.

In the gospel (Matthew 11.2-11) today John the Baptist sits in his prison cell and wonders: Did he get it all wrong? Had he given his life for nothing? It is a very human moment. The reply that Jesus gives quotes the words we hear first in Isaiah 35.5-6, words that were taken by the Jewish people to apply to the coming Messiah. It is a way of saying, very clearly, Yes, but without allowing the eavesdropping prison guards to carry tales to the authorities.

And yet, we might ask, in all honesty, has the world been changed? We are back exactly where we began. If you look with the eyes of faith you will see that in every generation Jesus Christ has called forth men and women to preach, to teach, to heal, to bring good news to the poor. Imagine the world without Christian schools and hospitals, missions and dispensaries. More than that, Jesus has called people together in every city and country to break bread together and to read his word, and to discover that he is alive in their midst. Christ touches their lives and our lives, and gives hope. Of course, the sceptics will look and will see nothing. But then as we hear today from the Letter of James, You too have to be patient; do not lose heart.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

9 December 2007

Father Terry writes:

Almost everything about John the Baptist in today's gospel (Matthew 3.1-12) emphasises his separation from the world. He does not wear ordinary clothes, preferring a rough coat spun out of camel-hair. Nor does he eat ordinary food. He prefers food that grows wild, as it were, such as locusts and wild honey. This is not someone who walked the ordinary paths of life with ordinary people. Rather, we are to see him as extraordinary.

Even so, it would be a mistake if we see John the Baptiser as someone who hated the world. He was in fact a great encourager of ordinary people. You can sense his sympathy for those who are bowed down, bullied, or oppressed. His separation from the world is not contempt for the world, but rather an attempt to make it clear that he rejects the values of society and calls on all who hear him to live by a higher standard. His whole life is a challenge for the world to do better. It is even a love for the world, for it is to this world that the Messiah he expects will come, it is to this people that the new beginning promised by God will be given.

Hence his message of repentance. Repentance means turning yourself around, it means a fresh start. So John the Baptist believe that this world is one in which men and women can make a new beginning. He preaches, in fact, because he has faith in the hearts of those who hear him. He believes that some of them will be able to hear him and to respond from the depths of their being. Their hearts can be awakened. Even his harsh words for the Pharisees and Sadducees still contain this hope: Produce the appropriate fruit, (3.8).

John the Baptist's message is one which rejects falsehood and self-deception. It is present in every age. It was present in his times and it is found in ours also. Rather, the coming of the Messiah, who is just around the corner, prompts John to proclaim that new times are here. Things will change. The new way which is opening up will be a way of peace and reconciliation, of honesty and integrity. What, we may wonder, would help us to live by this standard? In the first reading today we hear that the coming Messiah does not judge by appearances, (11.3) but by the standards of true justice. God looks into our heart. Indeed, the disciples felt that Christ did exactly this.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

2 December 2007

Father Terry writes:

Jesus says something in the gospel today that rings a little ironically in today's rushed Western world. He tells his followers to stay awake. Now, I read only the other day that in Britain something like one-third of the population is not getting enough sleep. Work makes more and more demands on people. Parents of small children, of course, often have broken sleep. And top of that we worry about this and about that and nothing makes sleep difficult like worry. So you might think that we would have no difficulty in doing what Jesus asks us to do, that is, to stay awake! Yet the other side of lack of sleep is tiredness (not to mention irritability). So perhaps we do, after all, have something to think about here, especially if we consider that probably Jesus is telling us to be alert. You can, after all, be awake and not notice anything. What Jesus is actually telling us is: Be alert.

Be alert so that you know where and how to change. The world is changing all the time. The needs of our society are not the same needs as in our parent time. How to serve God, how to witness to our faith in the present world requires a certain amount of creativity. To give just one example, the internet has turned out to be one of the biggest avenues for evangelism in our times. To give another very different example, with extended families largely a thing of the past, parishes have to find new ways to create community and meet the needs of their members.

Be alert, strangely enough, for the exact opposite reason, so that you know where you should not change. In our fast-moving world there is tremendous pressure on Christians to conform to the latest thinking. Of course, we don't want to be stuck in a rut but nor do we want to be chameleons, changing what we believe according to the shifting tides of fashion. In fact, sometimes we need to find the peace and security of knowing that we belong to a truth that has been handed down from many generations before us, a truth that yet comes into our hands fresh and new. The truth that God loves us, comes to us in Christ and binds us together with many others in the Church, through which he nourishes us in the sacraments.

Be alert, finally, so that you catch glimpses of God at work in our world. And having found where God is at work, join in what he is doing.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

25 November 2007

Father Terry writes:

Every time the solemnity of Christ the King arrives we might expect a gospel reading about glory. In this respect we are given a bit of a shock, for today we find that the gospel reading (Luke 23.35-43) shows us Jesus hanging on the cross and being jeered at. The message is that this is kingship of a different kind.

Those who hold high office impress us most when they are close to the people. Christ the King shows us God, no less, entering into the life of ordinary people. In Christ we see, as it were, our own human life, touched and dignified by the divine presence among us. God in Christ is found among the sick. He is seen listening to beggars. He is at Sabbath worship in the synagogue. He walks enormous distances to meet the people of the land. He chooses followers from fishermen and tax collectors. Sometimes we feel that we are far from God, but Christ the King shows us that God is never far from us. He uses his sovereignty not to cut himself off from people but to draw close to them.

As we know, it does not end there. This is a king who goes to the cross. A cross, not a throne, is the sign of his kingly ministry. On the cross we see in Christ the humbling of all arrogance, conceit and self-centredness. If God in Christ empties himself and hangs on the cross, then we realise that there should be no place in life for ruthless self-promotion.

There is judgement here too. Traditionally in Israel and Judah the king was the one who made sure that justice was done. He was the guarantor of justice and integrity. There are many in our world who do rule, and their rule is a reign of terror. The cruel and corrupt rulers of the world are tried by the spirit of Christ's kingship and they are found wanting. Do they show the mercy of Christ? Do they walk alongside the ordinary people of the land? Do they touch the wounds of others to bring them healing, or are they more likely to inflict wounds? Christ in his kingship challenges all rulers who live corrupt and selfish lives. He finds them wanting and calls on them to replace their house of selfishness with what our preface today calls a kingdom of truth and life, a kingdom of holiness and grace, a kingdom of justice, love and peace.,

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

18 November 2007

Father Terry writes:

Five years ago, the then US Secretary for Defense in an interview with journalists spoke about the unpredictable factors in Iraq. There were, he said several known unknown factors, and finally there were the unknown unknowns,. Well, yes. Harold Macmillan, the former prime minister, was once asked by a journalist what the most difficult aspect of his job was. Events, dear boy, events, he replied.

We live in an unpredictable world. It is true for us personally, and it is even truer for ourselves as a nation, and, for that matter, truer still when it comes to international affairs. This can be a truly frightening thought, and in the gospel today (Luke 21.5-19) Jesus tackles this subject. Reading his words we may reflect on how little the world has changed in 2000 years. There will be, he says, news and rumours about wars and revolutions. People will try to read some hidden meaning into these things, and into natural calamities such as famine or earthquakes. There will be persecution of the Church.

Jesus gives us wisdom for these huge events which can so unsettle us.

Take care not to be deceived (v 8) In troubling times many will try and tell you that this or that is a sign from God. In uncertain times especially, false prophets arise who use fear to seek power. Jesus reminds us gently that these people are, quite simply, not him. Such people are not God, not sent from God, but often simply poor confused souls. Especially where leaders try to combine religious and political power we need to be on our guard.

The end is not so soon (v 9) There are some terrible events in our world. Certainly, we need to pause and take stock. But life goes on and has to go on. Those who follow God do not take refuge in talk about the end of the world but always seek a way forward, and a way to help others in affliction.

Do not be frightened (v 9) It is natural to be frightened, and fear has its place in life. But to stay there is unnatural. Sometimes we have to combat fear, resist it and overcome it. This is easy to say (I know!) but we have the reassurance of Jesus himself, and his eternal presence with and among his people. He is always near.

Your endurance will win you your lives (v 1) Endurance does not sound romantic, in fact it sounds a little grim. But there can be a beauty in stoicism, or at the very least a dignity. We sometimes forget that the Beatitudes end with the saying that we are blessed when people persecute us because of our faith (Matt. 5.11-12). Rejoice and be glad, says Jesus: for in such times your reward will be great in heaven.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

11 November 2007 - Remembrance Sunday

Father Terry writes:

In the month of November, Catholics traditionally remember their departed loved ones, a season of remembrance that kicks in with All Souls on 2nd November. Then, on Remembrance Sunday, we remember with much of the Western world the loss of life in war, in particular the members of our armed forces.

At first glance today's gospel (Luke 20.27-38) sounds maddeningly inappropriate. It is an arcane discussion about what the scholars tell us was levirate marriage, that is, marrying your deceased brother's widow. In an age long before the welfare state it meant that she did not starve. But to us the whole discussion seems little short of bizarre, until Jesus turns the tables. He changes the whole basis of discussion. In the tired business jargon of yesterday, he makes everybody think outside the box: God is God not of the dead but of the living: for to him all are in fact alive, (v 38).

We have two great sources of hope for eternal life. One is the resurrection of Christ. His promise is that for all those who are joined to him in faith and baptism, death is defeated. The passage to death is the passage to eternal life in Christ. Our second hope is quite simply the love and mercy of God. These two sources of our hope, joined to what Jesus says in the gospel today, allow us to see our departed loved ones in a different light: the light, in fact of eternity itself, and the shining love of Christ.

Think of it this way. We who live here and now live to God. Those who are departed this life live to God. So, when we pray, or rejoice, or give thanks to God, we are present to him who is present to them. They rejoice in the greater light, we in the lesser light of this world, but all of us are alive to the same wonderful eternal reality. All of us worshipping the creator, the redeemer, the sanctifier. The Vatican II document Lumen Gentium has a wonderful phrase about this: The union of the wayfarers with the brethren who sleep in the peace of Christ is in no way interrupted, but on the contrary, according to the constant faith of the Church, this union is reinforced by an exchange of spiritual goods, (para 49). So to pray, to confess, to worship, to share in the sacraments, as it draws us deeper into Christ, also joins us more closely to all others who are in Christ and share his life.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

4 November 2007

Father Terry writes:

The story of Zacchaeus climbing the tree because he wants to catch a glimpse of Jesus, is an example of the gentle humour of the gospels (Luke 19.1-10). Zacchaeus, we are meant to understand, is an important man and well-known in the community. He is rich, powerful, and much disliked because of his work as a tax-gatherer on behalf of the Roman administration. It seems that he has also been putting extra fees on top of what he was allowed to charge. He would be the kind of man who would be touchy, who would stand upon his dignity. Yet when he hears that Jesus is coming he scrambles up a tree like the local youths, agog to see Jesus. He sets his dignity aside.

Why? Was Zacchaeus just what the Americans call a rubber-necker, that is, someone who wanted to gawk at a famous person? Or did his scramble up the tree show something different? I believe that it shows a sense of urgency. He is driven by a quest that he hardly understands.

Clearly, Zacchaeus was lonely. He was tired of the way that his ill-gotten gains isolated him. Deep within him he was wanting a way back into the social life of Jericho and its people. When Jesus comes, Zacchaeus suddenly realises that this is his chance. He can make amends, and do so in public. It can be a turning point, but only if the Son of God recognises that he has changed.

Jesus understands this too, in his wonderful intuitive way. This is why at the end of the story we hear Jesus say: 'Today salvation has come to this house, because this man too is a son of Abraham.' Note that phrase, a son of Abraham. This is a way of saying to the crowds that Zacchaeus too is a good Jew. He belongs. Salvation not only saves the soul of Zacchaeus but breaks the long loneliness that he has endured. He has a place among his people where he can be spiritually at home among them. He can share the life and faith of the whole community.

There is a message here for us and for every parish. Our church has to be a community. We are certainly called to save souls, but as part of this we are here to create a spiritual home for those who seek. This calls on us to make inquirers or new members welcome; it asks us to create opportunities for hospitality. If we do that then we will find that each of us is blessed by the shared presence of others. If we can make others feel they belong, then we will find that we belong too.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

28 October 2007

Father Terry writes:

The Lord is no respecter of personages, we read today from Ecclesiasticus (35.12-14, 16-19; this book is also known as Sirach and the verse numbering is different in different translations). God treats all people equally because he sees through them all and looks into the heart. How refreshing. And yet, at the same time a little frightening. It is refreshing because we do not have to make a good impression to God. It would be a waste of time! It is a little frightening because it means that we have no control over how God sees us. We love to have some sense of controlling our image. This is why people pay extra for good clothes, or seek out new fashions, or have teeth whitening, or know all about the latest trends. What would impress God? A loving heart, surely, kindness and compassion to others, and faith springing up to help us meet the challenges and difficulties of everyday life.

The gospel reading (Luke 18.9-14) drives the message home. The parable that Jesus tells is itself interesting. To me it sounds only partly like a parable, because Jesus seems to be drawing on something he has seen and heard himself, just like the occasion when he was near the Temple treasury and saw the widow putting in her mite (Mark 12.43). This time he hears the bombastic prayer of the Pharisee, compared with the humble prayer of the tax collector who worked with the Roman authorities.

The Pharisee's prayer was concerned with good impressions. His good standing with God was something that he had earned through his good behaviour. Perhaps we should put in a good word for the man. Perhaps all those things he said about himself were true! And yet, there is something sad about having to prove yourself in that way. It seems to me that the Pharisee typifies something that can be found in nearly all of us. What I mean is this: whenever people are at their most obnoxious in terms of pride, or hubris, or arrogance, it nearly always springs from insecurity. The insecurity may be so deeply hidden that the person is unaware of it. But the insecurity makes the person want to impress, impress, impress. It is a kind of drivenness. Which of us could say that we have never been there? Part of the problem here is that such people cannot find peace until they let go of the need to prove themselves.

God accepts us. He knows our strengths and our weaknesses, our truth and our evasion, our gifts and our shortcomings. God comes to work with us as we are, wherever we are. That surely is part of the meaning of the incarnation, Christ among us, exposed to our world, buffeted by its insecure, driven people, and yet still the love of God for us shines through him. And Jesus, who set everything royal and divine aside for us (Philippians 2.1-11) invites us to let go of our drivenness, and find the inner freedom and peace that comes from knowing that God loves us.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

21 October 2007

Father Terry writes:

I am always a bit disconcerted when God is dragged into war. It seems that for centuries people have been justifying war by saying that God is on their side. I believe that in the last war, the belt of a German soldier carried the words on the buckle: Gott mit uns - God with us. Moses with his arms being held up so that he can continue interceding for his people is a beautiful image of prayer, but it ends badly for his people,s enemies. Perhaps, though, we can return to the thought of God with us. It does not mean that God blesses everything we do. It does mean there is no time or no place where we are without God. To remember this might mean that we exercise all our powers with more discretion and compassion. We remember too that people who go to defend us put their lives on the line. Who would not want spiritual advice, prayer and consolation at such a moment? Hence the importance of military chaplaincy.

Yet to leave it there would bowdlerise the story. Reading about Moses I find myself reflecting that a people with a strong sense of God are a people with a stronger sense of identity. I do not want God used or rather abused for racism, nationalism or tribalism. However I do wish that in the West today there was a greater sense of how Christ has shaped our history and our self-understanding. I wish that as well as grand services hallowing our great national or civic moments, we had a people who were more ready to turn to God in prayer at any moment of the day. For our own lives we seek the mercy, grace and guidance of God. If we do not bring our own lives in prayer to God, how can God give us anything? We will be unaware of the giver and of his gifts.

We should be aware, too, of the fierce conflicts in our world, not least of the conflict between good and evil, love and hate. We are like Moses on the hilltop, able to pray and pray yet more, only this time instead of being on the hill above we are in front of our television sets, watching the events of the world unfold. And there is much to pray for. The parable of the widow and the unjust judge (Luke 18.1-8) is also challenging. At first glance it can make prayer seem uncomfortably like nagging God. But I think of a friend of mine who complains about his teenage children coming all the time to ask him for money. Actually, I know that he is glad it happens. At a time when they are stretching their wings and making their own decisions, it gives him a chance to talk to them, to understand the pressures on them, and to know them a little bit better even as he shows them once more that he loves them.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

14 October 2007

Father Terry writes:

Our truncated first reading (2 Kings 5.14-17) robs us of most of the story of Naaman. A powerful, high-placed Syrian, he contracted leprosy and was distraught. To find healing he had to discover humility twice over. First, a chattering Hebrew slave girl in his wife's apartment who tells her about Elisha's wonder-working powers. The great Naaman has to trust the word of a slave. Then when he goes on a long journey to seek Elisha, the prophet simply sends word that he should bathe in the Jordan. In today,s parlance, we would say that Naaman was expecting something considerably more high-tech. He wheels his horse around and rides away in a fury. Again, it is his servants who come to his rescue, pleading with him to give it a go. He does and he is healed.

How often in our lives are we reluctant to try the more obvious and humble way? This is still so even in the world of health. People with blood pressure or breathing difficulties want a pill: they do not want to be told to lose weight or give up smoking. Similarly, we live in a world where like Naaman people want to be flattered rather than to be told the truth. Egos are massaged, expectations are managed.

One of the reason lepers feature so prominently in biblical stories is because their condition brought terrible isolation. This was the equivalent of infection control 3000 years ago. Part of the healing was that they were restored to society. Hence that curious detail in the gospel (Luke 17.11-19) where Jesus tells the lepers to show themselves to the priest. In this case priests acted as sanitary officers, certifying that the cure had taken place and there was no risk to the community. Hidden in this little detail there is a challenge to us. Miracles of this kind are rare. Are there ways that we can help? Are there people who feel isolated and who need the healing fellowship of the community?

One of the most terrifying depictions of the crucifixion is the Isenheim altarpiece painted by Mathis Grünewald between 1512 and 1516 for the chapel of a leper house in Germany. In the painting the body of Christ bears not only terrible wounds, but also spots, as if he were in solidarity with the inmates. One account of this painting says this: 'They were invited to see in Christ's body a reflection of themselves and their sufferings, to realize that outward disfigurement does not imply inward lack of grace.' Food for thought.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

7 October 2007

Father Terry writes:

In the gospel today we have Jesus encouraging his disciples to do their duty (Luke 17.10). Duty. Goodness, what a dull word it sounds. Doing your duty, is hardly something to set the pulse racing. Plodding along like an ox. And yet, as always, when we look at the words of Jesus we see a broader horizon opening up.

We have duties because we have hearts that are linked to others. That is the meaning behind the seemingly dull idea of doing your duty. In family life there are many chores to be done. There is a lot of routine. It can be boring. But it is done, and often cheerfully, because you love the people that you do it for. A life free of duty might be a life free of the bonds of love. And who would want that? Sometimes these links to others that give us duties give us our identity. It must have been electrifying in 1805 when Nelson signalled to the British fleet on the eve of battle, England expects that every man will do his duty., This was more than a stentorian command. It was a reminder of belonging.

In professional life or in work situations, people have duties. Sometimes, of course, these can be exploited, and we would never want that. Yet we could also say that doing your duty in your employment is something which is part of being responsible, of living up to standards, of holding yourself accountable. Sober stuff, but without it there is no maturity. Accepting the importance of doing your duty is part of the transition from adolescence to adulthood.

Jesus, in speaking of his followers doing their duty, is giving them a model which is rich in meaning. The servanthood image is one that does not have much appeal today. Yet in our duties we are inevitably the servants of others, out of love, out of professional or work obligations, or even out of citizenship or membership of a community. Christian life is not something lived apart from these things, as if it was a separate realm. Christian living is surely something which runs through family life, or work, or participating in the community. Jesus calls us as Christians to a way of life in which we embrace our duties because we know that in being at the service of others without fuss we are able to bring the spirit of Christ into the very heart of the world. We ask Christ to be with us and alongside us as we do our duty, so that he may bless what we do and make it fruitful.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

30 September 2007

Father Terry writes:

The story of Lazarus (Luke 16.19-31) has two elements that we are rather dubious about in the West today: judgement and hell. Traditionally, of course, they were part of the four last things that were considered in Advent. Aware of how people have been damaged by religious fear, we are now very cautious about these things. Plus, our belief in God as a God of love trumps these elements. Still, here we have Jesus telling a parable in which judgement and hell play a key role.

Perhaps how we respond depends on where we read the story. If we read the story in a shanty town, or a refugee camp, or a slum, then we might feel differently about the story than if we read it in a situation of security and relative prosperity. Read from the eyes of the poor, the story has elements of justice. Abraham speaks for the poor in the parable when he tells the rich man: In your life good things came your way and bad things came to Lazarus. Now the roles are reversed., Seen this way it is not so much a story about hell as a story about fairness. The man who was indifferent to suffering is now suffering in his turn. The man who lived in poverty is now with Abraham, who was the founding patriarch of the Jewish people. So he has moved from outside the gate, to the heart of his people.

There is, though a further element of pathos in the story. Perhaps the fundamental sin of the rich man is that he has lacked compassion. Now at last in his suffering he shows a concern for others, in this case for his brothers. He wants them warned not to behave as he has behaved. The parable is therefore also about the recovery of feeling, and the importance of this.

Details of the readings haunt us. In the gospel you have Lazarus longing to eat the kitchen garbage. We know that in the Third World there are thousands of people living off garbage dumps. We know, too, that we throw out and waste far too much and should live more simply. In the reading from Amos (6.1, 4-7) the resonances with our world are again striking: wine by the bowlful, uproarious partying, beds inlaid with ivory. The link with the gospel is more than just the social gulf: the point is that people who live in luxury have become unfeeling. It is this indifference that we must avoid. So if the readings leave us shifting uneasily in our seats, then they have worked. And there is still hope.


Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

Father Terry writes:

23 September 2007

What is known as the Parable of the Unjust Steward (Luke 16) is really the parable of the manager who cooked the books. As such it has always seemed puzzling. Surely Jesus is not approving embezzlement?

We need to remember, of course, that Jesus admired initiative. And the message is really quite simple. Jesus points out how people will go to great lengths to secure their material welfare. Why, then, will they not go to great lengths to secure their spiritual welfare? Or, to put the same question differently, if people act vigorously to protect themselves in this life, why will they not act vigorously to ensure their place in eternity? So the parable does not endorse creative accountancy: rather, it raises questions about the values we live by.

Money is one of the areas we are most touchy about. We are very sensitive about this. How would you respond if someone asked you how much you earn? Somehow, more than we think of our self-image is tied up with issues revolving around money. Someone I know was given the task of selling home office shredding machines.
He found it quite easy. He simply asked people what they did with their old bank statements, credit card invoices and cheque book stubs once it was no longer necessary to keep them for tax purposes. Would you (he asked innocently) put them in the bin with the other rubbish or would you rather shred them? No prizes for guessing the answer.

Jesus takes this human preoccupation with money and does not rubbish it. Rather, in the gospel today he asks us what we do with money. Do we use it creatively and caringly, for the good of others as well as the good of ourselves?

Notice the moving phrase that Jesus uses about money given for charitable purposes: 'Use money, tainted as it is, to win you friends, and thus make sure that when it fails you, they will welcome you into the tents of eternity' (Luke 16.9; cf 18.22). By this Jesus means the poor. The poor you have helped will welcome you at the doors of eternity, grateful for your compassion.

The contrast, of course, is with the manipulative behaviour on a vast scale witnessed by Amos (8.4-7). This passage about wheeling and dealing seems eerily relevant to today's global economy where bigger and bigger deals can so easily lose sight of the workers and of the poor. The trouble is, all of us feel powerless in the face of such forces. The onus is on managers and executives to consider the little people as well as themselves.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

Father Terry writes:

16 September 2007

The golden calf (Exodus 32,7-11, 13-14) is not only a story about an ancient past, it is a story about us all. Imagine, if you will, this lovingly-created idol, glistening in the torch-light of the Israelites. It was made at a time of fear, when they felt lost and directionless on their long journey through the desert.

Outwardly, our own age seems so confident. We celebrate two centuries of enormous achievements in health, education, agriculture, science, technology. Yet these enormous advances simply highlight the remaining problem of the human spirit. How strange that in a world where there is more than enough food for all, children go to bed hungry night after night. How amazing that after all the wars of the past, there is still warfare and fear of strangers. How disconcerting that at this time of individual fulfilment, marriage and family life are given so little respect.

Perhaps, like the ancient Israelites, many people in the West have felt afraid, insecure, and have turned to idols to comfort them. Idols, I would suggest, that carry names like luxury, nationalism or tribalism, or celebrity. Luxury: It is good to provide for yourself and to relax in recreation. But it can spin out of control into selfish indulgence that ignores the needs of others. Nationalism: It is good to love your country and to feel that you have roots. But sometimes national pride can be inflated and especially when this is allied to power, it can become dangerous. Might is right, becomes the hidden creed. Celebrity: Many have commented that in our times celebrities can become famous without actually achieving anything. Others aspire to emulate them. In what sense are these idols? Idols were adored and gained power over people. Ancient Israel knew that only God should be worshipped. An idol, moreover, drained life, while giving nothing in return. God, by contrast, is a generously life-giving God.

In all three of our readings today we hear of one way that God gives life. In Exodus, idolatry is forgiven. In 1 Timothy 1.12-17, St Paul writes that he was forgiven blasphemy, and that love came into his heart when he accepted Christ Jesus. In the gospel (Luke 15.1-32) we hear wonderful and moving parables from Jesus about God loving those who stray and yearning to bring them back. Each of these readings celebrates a generous, merciful God, who never gives up on those he loves.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

Father Terry writes:

9 September 2007

Today's difficult gospel, with its language of hating, seems so untypical of Jesus. What does he mean? I think that the clue is where we hear Jesus say that a would-be disciple must hate his own self (Luke 14.26).

The very violence of the language Jesus uses is meant to make us stop and think. Why should we hate ourselves? Because, perhaps, of all the weaknesses that we know only too well. But would Jesus want us to stop there? I am sure that Jesus does not want us to wallow in guilt and self-misery. God's forgiveness is central to his preaching. Repentance is enough for God to set us free and for us to have the courage to set out again. So I think that when Jesus says that we should be prepared to hate our own self, it is an invitation to look frankly at the reality of our lives: our timidities, our mediocrities, our self-satisfaction. But we are not meant to stop there. Rather, to see who we really are is a jolt that invites us to do what Jesus invites us to do, to take up our cross and follow him. It means setting out afresh, aiming for nothing less than love of God and love of neighbour.

Scripture scholars tell us that the word hate used in this passage really reflects an Hebrew phrase, which means to love less. Ah yes, to love ourselves less is to hate our tendency to be wrapped up in ourselves. It means yearning to be more generous, more sincere, more concerned for others. Can you get satisfaction in life from simply accumulating more and more possessions and experiences? Or is satisfaction something which asks some kind of renunciation, so that others may be able to flourish?

So far so good. But what about hating your own family? Again, the violence of the language makes us sit up and think. The very first words of our gospel today are that great crowds accompanied Jesus. He is warning them that to walk alongside him will be costly and, as the rest of the reading makes clear, they should be prepared to count the cost. Yet I think that these same words challenge us today by asking us where true fulfilment is to be found.

Certainly for many it will be found in the love of family and the challenge of career. But Jesus reminds us that important though these things are, if they are taken in isolation then they risk losing their meaning. The family that lives for itself alone dies a little. The couple who live for themselves alone will wither spiritually. Always, our loves and our commitments have to be seen as part of the great love of God for us and for our world. A Christian home does not shut itself against the world but rather wonders how their life as a family can be open to God and his kingdom. How, in fact, as a family they can be disciples and follow Christ.


Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

Father Terry writes:

2 September 2007

Fr Terry says that the jet lag must have addled his brain more than he thought. He apologises for an earlier post on this site which meditated on the wrong set of readings.

In today's fast food culture, meals are no longer as important as they were. Today I read that family meals are increasingly a thing of the past. However, it seems to me that it is always the strongest families that seem able to sit together at table. in the seemingly ordinary conversations there, to listen to each other. In such simple ways the world is built up.

Meals played an important part in the life of who Jesus was and what Jesus did. He left his disciples a sacred meal, in which they would be drawn deep into the nourishing life of God. And in his own daily living, he used meals as a means of showing the values of the kingdom of God. Jesus did exactly what he tells us today: we know from the complaints made against him that he ate and drank with sinners, and with people of low social standing. He practised what he preached.

In what he says in the gospel today (Luke 14.7-14) Jesus is issuing a challenge to us all. At the most simple level, it is a challenge to be caring. Food, after all, is necessary for life. If we share our meals then we helping to feed the hungry. So when you give donations for charities working with the victims of famine or poverty, for example, you are beginning to fulfil what Jesus asks you to do.

The real challenge, however, is what Jesus is saying to us here about social exclusion. The open table that he is recommending is one in which those who count little in the eyes of the world will be as welcome as everybody else. Every society seems to create its hierarchies, its social classes, its snobberies even. Which of us could say that we are free of these things? As for those whom Jesus mentions as being among those to be invited, we see not only the poor but those who live with disabilities. Those who hear Jesus, then and now, are called to re-examine their attitudes to those who have handicaps.

Perhaps in today's world, especially in big cities, the open table is not quite so easy to achieve. But Jesus invites us to an attitude of hospitality, of making welcome, those who might get overlooked or neglected. He is calling us to a new way of life, one that reflects the values of the Kingdom of God.


Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

29 July 2007

Father Terry writes:

Recently I went to see the film La Vie en Rose which is about the life of the legendary French singer Edith Piaf, whose early life was marked by great suffering. She had a great devotion to St Thérèse of Lisieux, whose intercession she had sought when threatened with blindness as a child. In the film Piaf is interviewed by a journalist who asks her: "Do you pray?" "Yes, comes the reply - because I believe in love".

I found the reply very moving and thought-provoking. First of all, it reminds us that we pray because we love other people. We are aware of people we love who suffer in so many ways. We long for them to be in a better place. And so we pray, we lift them up to God and ask that he may be their guardian, their guide, their healer. This is partly why Christians are so persistent in prayer. You do not stop loving others easily, nor, therefore, do you stop praying for them.

This theme of persistence is found in our readings today. In the first reading (Genesis 18.20-32) Abraham intercedes for Sodom. There is, of course, a touch of humour in the story. Yes, that's right: humour. There is plenty of gentle humour in the scriptures if you bear in mind that scriptural humour is wry and dry. Take this picture of Abraham bargaining with God. It is what the Americans call salami tactics, with Abraham winning one more concession out of God, then another, then another and the humour lies in our understanding that of course God knew all along what Abraham was doing. You cannot hoodwink God! But underlying this the message is a serious one: Abraham is dismayed at Sodom's hell-bent self-destructive mode, and keeps on praying. And yes, this is a kind of love, a compassion, that drives him to this.

We also pray because we believe that the world was brought into being by a loving creator who loves us still. This faith underlies the Lord's Prayer which we hear of in today's gospel (Luke 11.1-13). It is in the very nature of love to be nourishing, to be forgiving, to be merciful. This is the picture of God that emerges from the prayer, one who is infinitely loving, patient, forgiving, concerned for our well-being. This is love, and we pray because we believe that love is the foundation of the universe. The God who brought the creation into being holds it in being still. To this eternal love we lift up our world in prayer, because we believe in love.

Father Terry will take a break from his weekly Spiritual Reflection for the month of August. Normal service will be resumed in September. He is parish priest (ie pastor) of Holy Trinity, Brook Green, in the Hammersmith area of London.

22 July 2007

Father Terry writes:

Hospitality is one of the great gifts of humankind. To be able to welcome one another into our homes, to be guests at the table of another, to share in conviviality - this simple human action speaks volumes about what it means to be human. In the ancient world hospitality was especially important. Your family and your clan owed you nurture and protection. Beyond that, you were at the mercy of others, and to venture beyond your social network meant a great deal of trust - and vulnerability. And now, perhaps, in our world of bigger and bigger cities, hospitality is important again. Across the world more and more people live in cities, big impersonal places. Hospitality now means to create community, places of welcome. Everybody is capable of hospitality, but it seems to me that people of faith have more opportunities for hospitality than others, because in our communities of faith we bring together people of truly varied backgrounds. The hospitality that we offer, or receive, seems to me to be one aspect of our Christian spirituality.

In our first reading today (Genesis 18.1-10) and in our gospel (Luke 10.38-42) we find ourselves brought face to face with the importance of hospitality. First we hear how Abraham receives visitors with great grace and kindness. They arrive 'during the hottest part of the day' - a reminder of the scorching Middle East sun and of how important it is to be welcomed by being offered shelter from the sun, water and refreshment. The story implies that because Abraham has been so spontaneously generous, God will be generous to him and give him the heir for which he has longed.

In the gospel we catch a privileged moment. Jesus is probably at Bethany, and a circle of disciples are around him listening to his teaching. The detail that Mary of Bethany 'sat down at the Lord's feet' is significant, because it implies that she was taking her place among the disciples listening to his teaching. Someone, however, has to do the housework, someone has to prepare the food that is part of the hospitality, and Martha complains that Mary is leaving her to toil on her own. Now be honest: aren't your sympathies with Martha? Mine always are. Yet the point that Jesus makes is one that challenges us. All hospitality begins by being truly present to the one we welcome. I think that nearly all of us will at some time or another have had the experience of being offered food by someone who is so resentful or so distracted that the food seems to stick in our throat. And in that circumstance the hospitality is no hospitality at all. Jesus invites us to the difficult task of opening doors to others, making the world a welcome place which begins by opening the doors of our hearts. If this makes you feel daunted, them remember that spirituality is often both something simple and yet something that we have to work at over our lifetime. Like hospitality.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

15 July 2007

Father Terry writes:

When God wanted to reveal himself to the world, he began by calling a particular people to be those who would be the first to receive his revelation. This Chosen People, the Jews, were led from slavery and given the Law, the Torah, as a standard to live by. This underlies our first reading from Deuteronomy, in which Moses reminds the people that the Law should be in their hearts and on their lips (30.14).

One of the questions the Jewish people frequently debated among themselves (and still do) is what it means to live by the Law. This is the background to the story that we know so well, the parable Jesus gave us of the good Samaritan (Luke 10.25-37). We know that Jews despised Samaritans, and that Jesus was challenging the lawyer to see that goodness can be found beyond the chosen people. We might also reflect that Samaritans in their turn rejected Jews, and that not long before Jesus told this parable he was turned away from a Samaritan village because he was a Jew (Luke 9.52-53). Remembering this, we can see that Jesus is challenging not only the lawyer but his own disciples. Those who follow him need to examine their hearts regularly so that they can strive to be free from prejudice. They are to recognise goodness at work wherever it is to be found, and to realise that no group has a monopoly on holiness and virtue.

If you doubt the lingering effects of prejudice, consider the story itself. After Jesus has told the story, he asks the lawyer: "Which of these three proved himself to be a neighbour?" The obvious answer would be "The Samaritan," But the lawyer cannot bring himself to say the word Samaritan. Instead, he says it in a roundabout way: "The one who took pity on him."

Christians believe that through Christ the original Chosen People has been greatly enlarged to include the Church (1 Peter 2.9-10). All who are in Christ are taken into God's purposes and are witnesses, like the Jews, to the love of God who reaches out to us. But what does it mean for us to be a chosen people? It cannot mean that we follow the Law, the Torah, or at least not in the same way as the Jewish people. Perhaps we could think of ourselves as a chosen people through being challenged by God to be a choosing people. We choose to follow the way of Christ, to seek to live the way he challenges us to live, as for example, by the parable of the good Samaritan. This is the law we seek to have in our hearts and on our lips, the example of Christ, strengthening us by the sacraments and by the gift of his grace. And yet, always, if you follow Christ, you come back to this mystery, that long before we were for God, God was for us. Our hearts should be deeply thankful and humbled by the divine mercy. "You did not choose me but I chose you - to go out and bear fruit that will last" (John 15.16).

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

8 July 2007

Father Terry writes:

The gospel today (Luke 10.1-9) is full of details which tell us much about how Jesus saw his ministry. The same details are important for us and the church today. Note first of all that he sends his disciples out in pairs. All of us need support, companionship, encouragement. Moreover, two minds conferring and consulting can usually see more clearly and decide more effectively than one.

These disciples in pairs were the advance party to all the places he himself was to visit. They were to prepare the way for Jesus. Sometimes we might imagine that the preaching and teaching ministry of Jesus was unplanned, but here we see foresight and organisation. The message of Jesus is spread by the inspiration of God's grace, speaking through the words and lives of those who depend on Christ. So yes, we need to be open to the moment, open to the prompting of the Spirit. But Jesus sending the pairs ahead of him shows that there is also a need for careful preparation and planning.

The disciples are told that the harvest is rich but labourers are few. The way people talk about our vocational crisis might make you think that it was something entirely new. Actually, many times in the life of the Church there have been too many opportunities and too few workers. And certainly, we need more priests and religious now. But we also need more people from the pews to step forward and take up their share in the life of their parish. We need to take courage then and as we read in the gospel today ask the Lord to send labourers.

The disciples are told salute no one on the road. This means that there was to be a sense of urgency and purpose about their work. No time for gossiping or idling time away. They were people with a mission, sent by Christ. They were to carry no purse, and therefore would have to depend upon the generosity of the people of faith among whom they ministered. But they were also told do not move from house to house. Perhaps we even see something of the experience of the early Christians here. Once the message of Christ became popular, the evangelists would have been taken up by the better off people and invited to come and live in their more comfortable houses. Jesus anticipates this, and tells them to be at home among the poorer people who are the first to receive them and the first to open their hearts to God speaking to them in Christ.

The message was to be: The Kingdom of God is very near. God is not distant, hard to please, but here and now for everyone who opens their hearts to him. And once they have come to know God, they are to join others in continuing the work begun by the disciples.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

1 July 2007

Father Terry writes:

There are all kinds of expressions that we use to indicate a fundamental and irrevocable choice. We say of people that they burned their bridges (or their boats). They nailed their colours to the mast, or crossed the Rubicon. These and other expressions underline that there are times in life when there will be no going back. This may be a resolute commitment, even if it combines courage and fear.

In our first reading (1 Kings 19.16, 19-21) and our gospel (Luke 9.51-62) we hear of such moments. Elijah was a prophet in the kingdom of Israel in the ninth century BC. He sought a successor, and he called Elisha. It was not easy being a prophet: you had to speak the truth. Sometimes you had to speak the truth to people in power. Sometimes you had to contradict popular opinion. It was a lonely vocation. Elisha hesitates for a moment; Elijah presses him for a decision. Notice what Elisha then does. He slaughters the oxen that pull his plough, then burns his plough. He has literally destroyed his means of livelihood. It was a dramatic statement of his intention to follow the call of Elijah to succeed him, and to strive to live as a prophet servant of God.

In the gospel, the theme of resolute commitment begins with Jesus resolutely taking the road for Jerusalem. He is moving away from his native Galilee to the big city: a place of intrigue, of power and of the mob. The message of God must be preached here too. Jesus knows this is a dangerous step, and in fact this is a hinge moment in the gospel according to Luke. The focus shifts from Galilee towards Jerusalem and therefore to the end. Three stories follow each telling us of the need for there to be some steel in Christian discipleship.

I do not think that you need to be a stentorian character to follow Jesus. In fact, the qualities of a discipleship would surely include gentler characteristics such as compassion, mercy, peace-making and goodwill. Yet we also remember that Jesus as he taught and healed often had no time even to eat. We remember that spies dogged his footsteps and reported back to Herod. We know that there were public confrontations with his critics. We know above all that he shouldered his cross and saw it through to the end. Pondering the scripture this weekend, we ask God therefore that we may indeed have the gentleness of a disciple and the strength.

Fr Terry Tastard is Parish Priest of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Brook Green, London W6.

24 June 2007

Father Terry writes:

It is no accident that the Church many centuries ago placed the feast of the birth of John the Baptist so near Midsummer's Day. We mark the summer solstice on June 21st; we remember the birth of John the Baptist on June 24th. From now on, in the northern hemisphere, the light will decline slowly, imperceptibly at first. We remember that John the Baptist said of Jesus: He must increase, I must decrease, (John 3.30). The natural light fades, but in Christ we have the light of the nations. This radiance will never fade.

In the gospel on this solemnity we hear words spoken about John the Baptist that are actually spoken about many children. It is a question that parents often quietly ask themselves when they gaze on their babies: What will this child turn out to be?, (Luke 1.66). We look on a baby and wonder what kind of person she or he will grow up to be and also what kind of world they will inherit from us.

When it comes to passing on teachings to children, perhaps the life of John the Baptist should make us question conventional ideas of success. As this child John grew up, he moved to the margins literally and figuratively. To live in the Judean desert as he did was to place yourself on the margins of the world. It reflected how he was profoundly uncomfortable in the society of his day.

He saw the wretchedness of the people under military occupation. He saw the greed and exploitation of petty officials who used their posts for personal gain rather than to serv