Showing posts with label Confirmation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Confirmation. Show all posts

28 July 2024

Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2024:
80, Sunday 28 July 2024, Trinity IX

The miracle of the five loaves and two fish … a modern Ethiopian painting in Mount Saint Joseph’s Abbey, Roscrea (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church and today is the Ninth Sunday after Trinity (Trinity IX). Later this morning, the Bishop of Oxford, Bishop Steven Croft, is presiding at the Parish Eucharist in Saint Mary and Saint Giles, Stony Stratford, and All Saints’ Church, Calverton.

It promises to be a busy day, with confirmations in Stony Stratford, and a ‘Bring-and-Share’ lunch in Stony Stratford later in the day.

Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:

1, today’s Gospel reading;

2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.

Bread in a basket in a restaurant in Paris (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2024)

John 6: 1-21 (NRSVA):

1 After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. 2 A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. 3 Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. 4 Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. 5 When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming towards him, Jesus said to Philip, ‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?’ 6 He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. 7 Philip answered him, ‘Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.’ 8 One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, 9 ‘There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?’ 10 Jesus said, ‘Make the people sit down.’ Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. 11 Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. 12 When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, ‘Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.’ 13 So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. 14 When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, ‘This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.’

15 When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.

16 When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, 17 got into a boat, and started across the lake to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. 18 The lake became rough because a strong wind was blowing. 19 When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the lake and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. 20 But he said to them, ‘It is I; do not be afraid.’ 21 Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land towards which they were going.

‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?’ (John 6: 5) … bread in a bakery in Platanias near Rethymnon in Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

This morning’s reflection:

The stories of the feeding of the 5,000 and of Christ walking on the water are familiar to us from the other gospels. But Saint John presents these stories in a slightly different way. For example, he refers to the Sea of Tiberias. This was the official Roman name for the Sea of Galilee. Saint John is concerned to locate the events precisely, in place and in time.

The setting is at the time of the Passover (verse 4), so we can expect stories that have a Eucharistic context, if we are reading it in the time of the Johannine community, and we can expect Exodus resonances if we are thinking of the significance of the Passover for the first readers: these would include an Exodus of large number of people (see verse 2), crossing water to new freedom (verses 1 and 17), feeding with bread in the wilderness (verses 5 to 14), climbing a mountain (verses 3 and 15) and the giving of new commandments of a covenantal relationship. The 12 baskets represent both the 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 disciples, and Philip and Andrew relate to Jesus as Aaron relates to Moses.

When the people believe Jesus to be ‘the prophet,’ we are invited to recall how God tells Moses that he will raise a prophet like Moses who will speak what God commands (Deuteronomy 18: 18). When Christ says ‘It is I’ (verse 20), the phrase Ἐγώ εἰμι (ego eimi) uses the words God uses to identify himself to Moses in the Greek translation of Exodus 3: 14. It also precedes the first of the seven ‘I AM’ sayings in Saint John’s Gospel (‘I am the bread of life,’ John 6: 35).

The feeding of the 5,000 is the only miracle – apart from the Resurrection – recorded in all four Gospels (see Matthew 14: 13-21; Mark 6: 32-44; Luke 9: 10-17), with only minor variations on the place and the circumstances.

The story of the multiplication of the loaves as Saint John alone tells it has a number of key details, such as a Passover context, that are there to remind us of our feeding at the Eucharist and of Messianic hope for the future.

Christ lifts up his eyes. Earlier in this Gospel, when the disciples came back to Christ at the well in Sychar, they found him talking with the Samaritan woman. He told them to ‘lift up their eyes’ and to see the ‘harvest’ of the seed he had been sowing.

Now in this story, just as at Jacob’s Well, the disciples have failed to buy or produce enough bread for a meal. In this story, Christ responds not by sympathising but by demanding great generosity, so great that it would take six months’ wages to be so generous.

Barley loaves were the food of the poor, and so the boy’s offering symbolises the poverty of the people, while the disciples fail to offer from the riches of the kingdom.

Christ, who has told the woman at Sychar that she shall no longer thirst, is now going to tell the people he feeds, and the disciples too, that he is the bread of life, and that whoever comes to him will never be hungry, whoever believes in him will never be thirsty (see John 6: 35).

The feeding with the fish looks forward too to a later meal by the shores of Tiberias … that breakfast with the disciples when the Risen Christ feeds them with bread and fish. The fish is an early symbol of faith in the Risen Christ: Ichthus (ἰχθύς, ΙΧΘΥC) is the Greek word for fish, and can be read as an acrostic, a word formed from the first letters of words spelling out ἰησοῦς Χριστός, Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σωτήρ (Iēsous Khristos Theou Huios, Sōtēr), ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour.’

Christ asks the disciples to make the people sit down – well, not so much to sit down as to recline. They are asked to recline on the grass as they would at a banquet or at a feast – just as Christ does with the disciples at the Last Supper.

And then, in a Eucharistic sequence, he takes the bread, blesses or gives thanks, breaks it and gives it. John here uses the word εὐχαριστήσας (eucharistisas, verse 11), from the verb εὐχαριστέω (eucharisteo), ‘to give thanks,’ the very word from which we derive the word Eucharist in the liturgy.

Saint John alone tells us that Christ later tells the disciples to gather up the fragments lest they perish. Gathering is an act of reverential economy towards the gifts of God; but gathering also anticipates Christ gathering all to himself (John 6: 39; see also John 17: 12).

Look at the amount that is left over in the outpouring of God’s generosity. There are 12 baskets – one for each tribe of Israel and one for each of the 12 disciples. God’s party, the Eucharist, is a looking forward to the new Israel, not the sort of earthly kingdom that the people now want but the Kingdom of God.

In the next chapter, when the crowds follow Christ to Capernaum, he tells them: ‘I am that bread of life’ (John 7: 48). In this way, the Feeding of the Multitude connects with the feeding of the freed slaves in the wilderness and the coming of freedom, and with the heavenly banquet and the coming of the kingdom.

The earlier food miracle in this Gospel is the Wedding in Cana (John 2: 1-12), when Christ turns the water into wine. Now we have a miracle with bread. The Eucharistic connection of bread and wine is so obvious.

Saint John’s account of the multiplication of the loaves has a number of key details that remind us of the Eucharist.

When Christ asks the disciples to gather up the fragments, he uses the word συνάγω (synago, to gather up) – the same as the word συναγωγή (synagogue) for the assembly of faith, and as the word σύναξις (synaxis) for the gathering or first part of the Liturgy.

Christ puts no questions of belief to the disciples or to the crowd when he feeds them on the mountainside. They did not believe in the Resurrection – it had yet to happen. But he feeds them, and he feeds them indiscriminately. The disciples wanted to send them away, but Christ wants to count them in. Christ invites more people to the banquet than we can fit into our churches.

When we invite people into the Church, we have so much to share – must more that the meagre amount people may think we have in our bags.

This morning, enjoy the feast, enjoy the banquet, enjoy the party. Let us be prepared to be open to more being brought in to enjoy the banquet and the party than our imagination allows us to imagine.

‘There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish’ (John 6: 9) … a variety of fish in Plato’s Fishshop (Ιχθυοπωλειο Πλατων) in the Old Town in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2024)

Today’s Prayers (Sunday 28 July 2024, Trinity IX):

The theme this week in ‘Pray With the World Church,’ the Prayer Diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), is ‘Fighting and Preventing Human Trafficking in Durgapur.’ This theme is introduced today with a reflection by the Revd Davidson Solanki, Regional Manager for Asia and Middle East, USPG:

‘The Church is shining its light and it is very bright.’

The Diocese of Durgapur, Church of North India, is close to the border of Bangladesh. Because of its location and economic climate, many women and men are vulnerable to human trafficking. The Church of North India has witnessed firsthand the devastation that human trafficking has had on communities and feels called to work against it ‘in the light of Christ’.

The Anti-Human Trafficking Programme in Durgapur has been running for over ten years and they not only work alongside local authorities but also with other faith groups, like the Muslim community, to confront the issue in the most effective way possible. USPG has been proud to support this work, which includes the running of Saint Michael’s safe home, where girls who are vulnerable to being trafficked can live safely whilst learning life and work skills so they can be self-reliant moving forward.

The approach that they have taken has now been adopted by the whole diocese as well as by the Church in Bangladesh. The Right Revd Sameer Isaac Khimla, Bishop of Durgapur said, ‘I believe these problems need to be challenged, prevention is the key’. USPG continues to journey alongside the diocese as they undertake this vital, life-saving work.

The USPG Prayer Diary today (Sunday 28 July 2024, Trinity IX) invites us to pray:

Heavenly Father,
we pray for women, children and men who have been tricked or coerced into slavery;
suffering physical, emotional and sexual abuse.
We know that nothing is hidden from you,
and we cry out to you for justice, freedom and mercy.

The Collect:

Almighty God,
who sent your Holy Spirit
to be the life and light of your Church:
open our hearts to the riches of your grace,
that we may bring forth the fruit of the Spirit
in love and joy and peace;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Post Communion Prayer:

Holy Father,
who gathered us here around the table of your Son
to share this meal with the whole household of God:
in that new world where you reveal the fullness of your peace,
gather people of every race and language
to share in the eternal banquet of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Additional Collect:

Gracious Father,
revive your Church in our day,
and make her holy, strong and faithful,
for your glory’s sake
in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Bread on the table in a restaurant in Panormos, near Rethymnon in Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2024)

Yesterday’s reflection

Continued tomorrow

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

18 June 2017

The ministry of Ordinary people
and the meaning of Ordinary Time

Christ and the Twelve Apostles in statues on Saint Peter’s Basilica, Rome (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2017)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 18 June 2017

The First Sunday after Trinity


11.30 a.m.: Morning Prayer, Saint Brendan’s Church, Kilnaughtin, Tarbert, Co Kerry.

Readings: Genesis 18: 1-15; Psalm 116: 1, 10-17; Romans 5: 1-8; Matthew 9: 35 -10: 8 (9-23).

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Today is Father’s Day, today is the beginning of Ordinary Times in the Church Calendar, and later today three of our parishioners are being confirmed in Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale.

I want to say something about some of these ideas this morning. But first of all, I want to say something about the awful events in London in recent days. And then I want to say something that brings these very different concepts, and thread them together in some closing thoughts.

Anything I can say in the wake of the latest tragedy is in danger of being crass, perhaps even being trite, in the face of so much suffering and loss, shock and grief, that are giving rise to a heady mixture of fear, frustration and anger.

There needs to be clear and compassionate leadership from politicians, and there is a clear need for accountability. There are people who suffering and grieving who need closure and compassion. But they do not know who has died, and they are not getting answers they need and their dignity demands.

I feel angry when I think that many of these people may not be getting answers because in a rich borough like Kensington they are on the margins: refugees, immigrants, single parent families, members of ethnic minorities.

What happened in the early hours of Wednesday was not an accident. It was caused by political decisions, by spending decisions, by budgetary decisions. Some people decided that on aesthetic grounds it was more important to make these people less visible because they were judged to be less important than other people who lived in the area, they could be hidden behind cheap cladding.

This was compounded by inadequate sprinklers and fire alarms. This too, for these people, must now seem like a form of terrorism, albeit economic terrorism.

Many more people who have been housed in tower blocks now live in fear. But the same fears must haunt people working in and using public service buildings, hospitals and office blocks.

But none of this is without hope. A tight-knit community has been brought together. Those who might too easily have been dismissed as too rich to care have joined everyone else in the area with abundant generosity.

In the wake of the recent attacks in Manchester and London, there is a sombre national mood in Britain this weekend. But people of faith – in churches, synagogues and mosques – have shown that love and hope are at the heart of our faith systems.

I am inspired by those people who show in such practical ways that hope overcomes fear, that faith expresses our humanity despite the efforts to divide and marginalise, that love triumphs over apparent neglect, that light overcomes darkness.

These are extraordinary times indeed. But we have moved into Ordinary Time, the time in the Church Calendar from Trinity Sunday until the beginning of Advent.

It is as though we are saying we have been busy for the past few months … with Epiphany, Candlemas, Lent, Palm Sunday, Holy Week, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Day, Ascension Day, Pentecost … and now let us have some Ordinary Time.

Ordinary Time is the longest time in the Church year, and has few significant events; it has a kind of ordinariness that other seasons lack. There are no narrative high points, no showy colours or costumes, not even a signature hymn or two. We enter, as the poet TS Eliot says in Burnt Norton, ‘at the still point’:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is …


Burnt Norton, the first of Eliot’s Four Quartets, is a poem of early summer, air and grace. For Eliot, it is in the movement of time that brief moments of eternity are caught. The revelation of God in Christ is at the intersection between eternity and time. Life can be very ordinary. But life and time, in their ordinary ways, are worth celebrating, time after time, in every ordinary life.

The poem After Trinity by John Meade Falkner (1858-1932) seems to convey something that is very Anglican about this time of the year, this Ordinary Time, when Sunday follows Sunday, through the beauty of creation and following the course of the natural year:

We have done with dogma and divinity,
Easter and Whitsun past,
The long, long Sundays after Trinity
Are with us at last;
The passionless Sundays after Trinity,
Neither feast-day nor fast.

Christmas comes with plenty,
Lent spreads out its pall,
But these are five and twenty,
The longest Sundays of all;
The placid Sundays after Trinity,
Wheat-harvest, fruit-harvest, Fall.


Ordinary Time lasts these ‘five and twenty Sundays’ or so, for five or six months – until the beginning of Advent. But as Meade Falkner reminds us, some extra-ordinary things happen in this season of ‘placid Sundays.’ We have the long days of summer, the harvest of wheat and fruit, summer holidays and the longest day of the year. For children, it is summer holiday time – time at the beach, time to travel, time to explore, and in all of those times, time to mature and time to grow.

Ordinary Time allows the Church to celebrate the ordinariness of life as summer moves into autumn and as we anticipate autumn moving into winter.

John Keble (1792-1866) captures some of the beauties of this season in our opening hymn this morning, New every morning (Irish Church Hymnal, No 59):

The trivial round, the common task,
will furnish all we ought to ask,
room to deny ourselves, a road
to bring us daily nearer God.


Do you find yourself being brought nearer to God day-by-day, in a new way each morning, in the ordinary, trivial things of daily life?

My second set of ideas this morning are about the Confirmations we are celebrating in Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale, this afternoon.

There is a popular saying among theologians, especially Anglican theologians, that Confirmation is a rite in search of a theology.

But the meaning of Confirmation is found in our shared baptism, the foundation of every ministry, which is being affirmed and re-affirmed this afternoon by the three people who are being presented to Bishop Kenneth Kearon for confirmation.

One of these is an adult, two are in their teens, and so for these three it is not a mere rite of passage, or something added on because we forgot to do it at their Baptism. It is a clear, adult decision by these three people to own for themselves the promises made at Baptism on their own behalf and to respond to the call of Christ.

Like Bishops, Priest and Deacons, lay people too have a valid and validated ministry in the Church. We were reminded of the ministry of each and every member of the Church in the discussions at the Ministry Day for this diocese in Glenstal Abbey yesterday [17 June 2017].

Our common, shared baptism is the beginning of every ministry in the Church. We are all ordinary people before God, sharing in common that we are created in his image and likeness, joined in our Baptism in the Body of Christ, and at our Confirmation enabled and empowered by the Holy Spirit to say ‘Amen’ to Christ present in the sacrament and ‘Amen’ to Christ present in the body of the Church, in each and every one of us, each and every ordinary one of us.

The Twelve Apostles in two sets of icons in the tiny Church of the Twelve Apostles on the island of Gramvousa off the north-west coast of Crete (Photographs: Patrick Comerford, 2016; click on images for full-screen view)

So, how do we draw these disparate ideas together and make connections with this morning’s Gospel reading?

Our Gospel story begins with Jesus in ordinary, everyday situations, going ‘about all the cities and villages’ [Matthew 9: 35] mixing with ordinary people, people who need hope, people who are sick, sore and sorry, people who are distressed, marginalised and suffering, and he has ‘compassion for them, because they are harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd’ [Matthew 9: 36]. They are ordinary people, indeed, in ordinary places, in ordinary time.

And to answer their plight, to carry out his mission, he chooses 12 disciples, 12 ordinary people, with ordinary backgrounds and careers: Peter, who denies him three times; Andrew his brother, a fisherman; James and John, ‘Mammy’s boys’ who jockey for position, unsure of what the Kingdom of God is about; Philip, who could easily turn away Greek-speaking Gentiles; Matthew, despised as a tax collector; Thomas who doubts him; Judas who betrays him … [see Matthew 10: 2-4].

In our ordinary everyday lives, Christ calls us to follow him, not for our own self-satisfying feeling of being good, but to proclaim the Good News; not for our own advantage and enrichment, but because that is what the suffering world needs.

We are called as ordinary people to do that; our Baptism is our commission to do that; our Confirmation is our ‘Amen’ to that.

And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is Priest-in-Charge in the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes. This sermon was prepared the First Sunday after Trinity, 18 June 2017.

The Twelve Apostles on the High Cross at Moone, Co Kildare (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

Collect:

God,
the strength of all those who put their trust in you:
Mercifully accept our prayers
and, because through the weakness of our mortal nature
we can do no good thing without you, grant us the help of your grace,
that in the keeping of your commandments
we may please you, both in will and deed;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Blessing (at Confirmation)

The God of all grace,
who called you to his eternal glory in Christ Jesus,
establish, strengthen and settle you in the faith;
and the blessing of God almighty,
the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,
be upon you and remain with you always. Amen.

‘The long, long Sundays after Trinity/ Are with us at last;/ The passionless Sundays after Trinity,/ Neither feast-day nor fast’ … Trinity College Cambridge and Trinity Lane in mid-summer rain (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

After Trinity, John Meade Falkner (1858-1932):

We have done with dogma and divinity,
Easter and Whitsun past,
The long, long Sundays after Trinity
Are with us at last;
The passionless Sundays after Trinity,
Neither feast-day nor fast.

Christmas comes with plenty,
Lent spreads out its pall,
But these are five and twenty,
The longest Sundays of all;
The placid Sundays after Trinity,
Wheat-harvest, fruit-harvest, Fall.

Spring with its burst is over,
Summer has had its day,
The scented grasses and clover
Are cut, and dried into hay;
The singing-birds are silent,
And the swallows flown away.

Post pugnam pausa fiet;
Lord, we have made our choice;
In the stillness of autumn quiet,
We have heard the still, small voice.
We have sung Oh where shall Wisdom?
Thick paper, folio, Boyce.

Let it not all be sadness,
Not omnia vanitas,
Stir up a little gladness
To lighten the Tibi cras;
Send us that little summer,
That comes with Martinmas.

When still the cloudlet dapples
The windless cobalt blue,
And the scent of gathered apples
Fills all the store-rooms through,
The gossamer silvers the bramble,
The lawns are gemmed with dew.

An end of tombstone Latinity,
Stir up sober mirth,
Twenty-fifth after Trinity,
Kneel with the listening earth,
Behind the Advent trumpets
They are singing Emmanuel’s birth.

The call of the 12 Apostles and
the ministry of Ordinary people

The Apostles and Evangelists in two sets of icons in the tiny Church of the Twelve Apostles on the island of Gramvousa off the north-west coast of Crete (Photographs: Patrick Comerford, 2016; click on images for full-screen view)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 18 June 2017

The First Sunday after Trinity


9.30 a.m.: Holy Communion, Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton, Co Limerick.

Readings: Genesis 18: 1-15; Psalm 116: 1, 10-17; Romans 5: 1-8; Matthew 9: 35 -10: 8 (9-23).

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

Today is Father’s Day, today is the beginning of Ordinary Times in the Church Calendar, and later today three of our parishioners are being confirmed in Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale.

I want to say something about some of these ideas this morning. But first of all, I want to say something about the awful events in London in recent days. And then I want to say something that brings these very different concepts, and thread them together in some closing thoughts.

Anything I can say in the wake of the latest tragedy is in danger of being crass, perhaps even being trite, in the face of so much suffering and loss, shock and grief, that are giving rise to a heady mixture of fear, frustration and anger.

There needs to be clear and compassionate leadership from politicians, and there is a clear need for accountability. There are people who suffering and grieving who need closure and compassion. But they do not know who has died, and they are not getting answers they need and their dignity demands.

I feel angry when I think that many of these people may not be getting answers because in a rich borough like Kensington they are on the margins: refugees, immigrants, single parent families, members of ethnic minorities.

What happened in the early hours of Wednesday was not an accident. It was caused by political decisions, by spending decisions, by budgetary decisions. Some people decided that on aesthetic grounds it was more important to make these people less visible because they were judged to be less important than other people who lived in the area, they could be hidden behind cheap cladding.

This was compounded by inadequate sprinklers and fire alarms. This too, for these people, must now seem like a form of terrorism, albeit economic terrorism.

Many more people who have been housed in tower blocks now live in fear. But the same fears must haunt people working in and using public service buildings, hospitals and office blocks.

But none of this is without hope. A tight-knit community has been brought together. Those who might too easily have been dismissed as too rich to care have joined everyone else in the area with abundant generosity.

In the wake of the recent attacks in Manchester and London, there is a sombre national mood in Britain this weekend. But people of faith – in churches, synagogues and mosques – have shown that love and hope are at the heart of our faith systems.

I am inspired by those people who show in such practical ways that hope overcomes fear, that faith expresses our humanity despite the efforts to divide and marginalise, that love triumphs over apparent neglect, that light overcomes darkness.

These are extraordinary times indeed. But we have moved into Ordinary Time, the time in the Church Calendar from Trinity Sunday until the beginning of Advent.

It is as though we are saying we have been busy for the past few months … with Epiphany, Candlemas, Lent, Palm Sunday, Holy Week, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Day, Ascension Day, Pentecost … and now let us have some Ordinary Time.

Ordinary Time is the longest time in the Church year, and has few significant events; it has a kind of ordinariness that other seasons lack. There are no narrative high points, no showy colours or costumes, not even a signature hymn or two. We enter, as the poet TS Eliot says in Burnt Norton, ‘at the still point’:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is …


Burnt Norton, the first of Eliot’s Four Quartets, is a poem of early summer, air and grace. For Eliot, it is in the movement of time that brief moments of eternity are caught. The revelation of God in Christ is at the intersection between eternity and time. Life can be very ordinary. But life and time, in their ordinary ways, are worth celebrating, time after time, in every ordinary life.

The poem After Trinity by John Meade Falkner (1858-1932) seems to convey something that is very Anglican about this time of the year, this Ordinary Time, when Sunday follows Sunday, through the beauty of creation and following the course of the natural year:

We have done with dogma and divinity,
Easter and Whitsun past,
The long, long Sundays after Trinity
Are with us at last;
The passionless Sundays after Trinity,
Neither feast-day nor fast.

Christmas comes with plenty,
Lent spreads out its pall,
But these are five and twenty,
The longest Sundays of all;
The placid Sundays after Trinity,
Wheat-harvest, fruit-harvest, Fall.


Ordinary Time lasts these ‘five and twenty Sundays’ or so, for five or six months – until the beginning of Advent. But as Meade Falkner reminds us, some extra-ordinary things happen in this season of ‘placid Sundays.’ We have the long days of summer, the harvest of wheat and fruit, summer holidays and the longest day of the year. For children, it is summer holiday time – time at the beach, time to travel, time to explore, and in all of those times, time to mature and time to grow.

Ordinary Time allows the Church to celebrate the ordinariness of life as summer moves into autumn and as we anticipate autumn moving into winter.

John Keble (1792-1866) captures some of the beauties of this season in our opening hymn this morning, New every morning (Irish Church Hymnal, No 59):

The trivial round, the common task,
will furnish all we ought to ask,
room to deny ourselves, a road
to bring us daily nearer God.


Do you find yourself being brought nearer to God day-by-day, in a new way each morning, in the ordinary, trivial things of daily life?

My second set of ideas this morning are about the Confirmations we are celebrating in Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale, this afternoon.

There is a popular saying among theologians, especially Anglican theologians, that Confirmation is a rite in search of a theology.

But the meaning of Confirmation is found in our shared baptism, the foundation of every ministry, which is being affirmed and re-affirmed this afternoon by the three people who are being presented to Bishop Kenneth Kearon for confirmation.

One of these is an adult, two are in their teens, and so for these three it is not a mere rite of passage, or something added on because we forgot to do it at their Baptism. It is a clear, adult decision by these three people to own for themselves the promises made at Baptism on their own behalf and to respond to the call of Christ.

Like Bishops, Priest and Deacons, lay people too have a valid and validated ministry in the Church. We were reminded of the ministry of each and every member of the Church in the discussions at the Ministry Day for this diocese in Glenstal Abbey yesterday [17 June 2017].

Our common, shared baptism is the beginning of every ministry in the Church. We are all ordinary people before God, sharing in common that we are created in his image and likeness, joined in our Baptism in the Body of Christ, and at our Confirmation enabled and empowered by the Holy Spirit to say ‘Amen’ to Christ present in the sacrament and ‘Amen’ to Christ present in the body of the Church, in each and every one of us, each and every ordinary one of us.

Christ and the Twelve Apostles in statues on Saint Peter’s Basilica, Rome (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2017)

So, how do we draw these disparate ideas together and make connections with this morning’s Gospel reading?

Our Gospel story begins with Jesus in ordinary, everyday situations, going ‘about all the cities and villages’ [Matthew 9: 35] mixing with ordinary people, people who need hope, people who are sick, sore and sorry, people who are distressed, marginalised and suffering, and he has ‘compassion for them, because they are harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd’ [Matthew 9: 36]. They are ordinary people, indeed, in ordinary places, in ordinary time.

And to answer their plight, to carry out his mission, he chooses 12 disciples, 12 ordinary people, with ordinary backgrounds and careers: Peter, who denies him three times; Andrew his brother, a fisherman; James and John, ‘Mammy’s boys’ who jockey for position, unsure of what the Kingdom of God is about; Philip, who could easily turn away Greek-speaking Gentiles; Matthew, despised as a tax collector; Thomas who doubts him; Judas who betrays him … [see Matthew 10: 2-4].

In our ordinary everyday lives, Christ calls us to follow him, not for our own self-satisfying feeling of being good, but to proclaim the Good News; not for our own advantage and enrichment, but because that is what the suffering world needs.

We are called as ordinary people to do that; our Baptism is our commission to do that; our Confirmation is our ‘Amen’ to that.

And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is Priest-in-Charge in the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes. This sermon was prepared the First Sunday after Trinity, 18 June 2017.

The Twelve Apostles on the High Cross at Moone, Co Kildare (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2016)

Collect:

God,
the strength of all those who put their trust in you:
Mercifully accept our prayers
and, because through the weakness of our mortal nature
we can do no good thing without you, grant us the help of your grace,
that in the keeping of your commandments
we may please you, both in will and deed;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Peace (at Confirmation):

God has made us one in Christ.
He has set his seal upon us
and, as a pledge of what is to come,
has given the Spirit to dwell in our hearts.
The peace of the Lord be always with you.
And also with you.

Preface (at Confirmation):

Because by water and the Holy Spirit
you have made us a holy people in Jesus Christ our Lord,
raised to new life in him
and renewed in us the image of your glory

Post-Communion Prayer:

Eternal Father,
we thank you for nourishing us
with these heavenly gifts.
May our communion strengthen us in faith,
build us up in hope,
and make us grow in love;
for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord.

The Blessing (at Confirmation)

The God of all grace,
who called you to his eternal glory in Christ Jesus,
establish, strengthen and settle you in the faith;
and the blessing of God almighty,
the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,
be upon you and remain with you always. Amen.

‘The long, long Sundays after Trinity/ Are with us at last;/ The passionless Sundays after Trinity,/ Neither feast-day nor fast’ … Trinity College Cambridge and Trinity Lane in mid-summer rain (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

After Trinity, John Meade Falkner (1858-1932):

We have done with dogma and divinity,
Easter and Whitsun past,
The long, long Sundays after Trinity
Are with us at last;
The passionless Sundays after Trinity,
Neither feast-day nor fast.

Christmas comes with plenty,
Lent spreads out its pall,
But these are five and twenty,
The longest Sundays of all;
The placid Sundays after Trinity,
Wheat-harvest, fruit-harvest, Fall.

Spring with its burst is over,
Summer has had its day,
The scented grasses and clover
Are cut, and dried into hay;
The singing-birds are silent,
And the swallows flown away.

Post pugnam pausa fiet;
Lord, we have made our choice;
In the stillness of autumn quiet,
We have heard the still, small voice.
We have sung Oh where shall Wisdom?
Thick paper, folio, Boyce.

Let it not all be sadness,
Not omnia vanitas,
Stir up a little gladness
To lighten the Tibi cras;
Send us that little summer,
That comes with Martinmas.

When still the cloudlet dapples
The windless cobalt blue,
And the scent of gathered apples
Fills all the store-rooms through,
The gossamer silvers the bramble,
The lawns are gemmed with dew.

An end of tombstone Latinity,
Stir up sober mirth,
Twenty-fifth after Trinity,
Kneel with the listening earth,
Behind the Advent trumpets
They are singing Emmanuel’s birth.