Bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos … the Gospel reading today continues the readings from the ‘Bread of Life’ discourse in Saint John’s Gospel (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Patrick Comerford
We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and today is the Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Trinity XI).
I am back in Stony Stratford after returning yesterday from an overnight family visit to Dublin. Later this morning, I hope to take part in the Parish Eucharist in Saint Mary and Saint Giles Church,reading one of the lessons. But, 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.
‘I am the bread of life … This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
John 6: 35, 41-51 (NRSVA):
35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.
41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’
Saint Teresa of Ávila (1515-1582) speaks of the ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ … her image at her convent church, the Convent of San José or Las Teresas, in Seville (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
This morning’s reflection:
Many people feel a deep experience of being driven into the ‘spiritual wilderness’ at different stages of their lives. During that time in the ‘spiritual wilderness,’ it is difficult to know that we are travelling through a place of pilgrimage rather than a place of abandonment, and that we are being refreshed and nourished there by God.
Two of the great Carmelite spiritual writers in Spain, Saint Teresa of Ávila (1515-1582) and Saint John of the Cross (1542-1591), write about the ‘Dark Night of the Soul.’
One of the themes running through this morning’s readings is the feeling of abandonment and exile, and how in the very moment we feel most distanced from God we find we are fed and nourished by him and are in his very presence.
In the first reading (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33), David and Absalom feel abandoned by each other, father and son. Yet David shows in the most appalling outcome to this rift that he has never lost his love for rebellious Absalom.
In Psalm 130, the psalmist cries ‘out of the depths’ to God, asking God to ‘hear my voice,’ and realises that God’s love is steadfast and everlasting.
In the Epistle reading (Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2), Saint Paul reminds us – no matter how we feel – to put away all anger and bitterness and to be kind to one another.
In the Gospel reading, the crowds who follow Christ into the wilderness are fed and then find that he is the ‘Bread of Life.’ They are being told that when we feel abandoned by family, friends and neighbours, God has not abandoned us; when we feel alone and as if we are in desert places, God never abandons us.
One of the reasons many people say they are turned off the ‘Old Testament’ is the amount of violence they find in it.
People who seem to have no problems passively watching news reports of starvation, war and oppression without feeling the need to respond, have real problems when it comes to Bible stories of wars, murders and battles.
We have them all here this morning in the first reading. It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister, mercenaries, pitched battles, slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.
Trying to find religious meaning in all of this is difficult with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace.
So difficult that it is not surprising some people find it difficult to reconcile what they see as the ‘God of the Old Testament’ with the loving God that Jesus addresses not just as Father, but simply and directly as Abba.
Yet, as we wade through the horror and gore, we catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.
David has never been a perfect father, a perfect husband, never a perfect king. All these failings are seen in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).
In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice. Yet, we know, justice delayed is justice denied.
Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, Absalom returns to the court of his father. But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état and marches on Jerusalem.
David escapes across the Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct decision about what should happen to Absalom.
David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.
Absalom’s militia are no match for David’s army. It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter of perhaps tens of thousands, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom.
As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by the ‘head,’ perhaps by his long hair, and is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).
In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14).
In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the decision of whether to kill Absalom.
He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed. But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.
So, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).
David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.
The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or daughter, at any age, is a cry that pierces the soul. And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, is a truly authentic passage of reportage in the Bible:
‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’
These truly are the words of a distressed father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child. No matter how wayward, how rebellious or how violent that child may be, the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench totally.
This reading was chosen by Archbishop John McDowell for a devotional reflection at the General Synod some years ago. And, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.
David’s heartbreaking grief in the first reading is echoed in the opening words of our Psalm, the Psalm known as De Profundis: ‘Out of the depths have I cried to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice’ (Psalm 130: 1).
Yet, in this Psalm, David’s cry for deliverance ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing ‘love,’ freedom from grievous sin.
Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children: think of the parable of the Prodigal Son.
God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.
God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.
Of course, we can all cite exceptions to what I say. We know only too well there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, and that Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.
God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.
David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)
Today’s Prayers (Sunday 11 August 2024, Trinity XI):
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 ‘Whom Shall I Send?’ This theme is introduced today with a programme update from the Revd Davidson Solanki, Regional Manager Asia and Middle East, USPG:
In our last edition of the prayer diary we wrote about the Episcopal Province of Jerusalem and the Middle East’s new programme that they have launched in accompaniment with USPG ‘Whom Shall I Send’. And despite the continuing conflict that is taking place in the Middle East we are comforted that we can commence the second year of training this August.
The training programme has been created to equip lay and ordained young people called to serve in local parishes. The current cohort will continue to support parish priests and participate in practical workshops to deepen their understanding and sensitivity to the complexities of the area where they will commence their ministries.
Prayer for peace in the Holy Land
O God of all justice and peace, we cry out to you amid the pain and trauma of violence and fear which prevails in the Holy Land.
Be with those who need you in these days of suffering; we pray for people of all faiths – Jews, Muslims, Christians and all people of the land.
While we pray to you, O Lord, for an end to violence and the establishment of peace, we also call for you to bring justice and equity to the people. Guide us into your Kingdom where all people are treated with dignity and honour as your children.
Amen
The USPG Prayer Diary today (Sunday 11 August 2024, Trinity XI) invites us to pray reflecting on these words:
And now we give you thanks
because in choosing the blessed Virgin Mary
to be the mother of your Son
you have exalted the humble and meek.
Your angel hailed her as most highly favoured;
with all generations we call her blessed and with her we rejoice and magnify your holy name.
The Collect:
O God, you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
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.
The Post Communion Prayer:
Lord of all mercy,
we your faithful people have celebrated that one true sacrifice
which takes away our sins and brings pardon and peace:
by our communion
keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel
and preserve us from all sin;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Additional Collect:
God of glory,
the end of our searching,
help us to lay aside
all that prevents us from seeking your kingdom,
and to give all that we have
to gain the pearl beyond all price,
through our Saviour Jesus Christ.
‘By our communion keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel’ (Post Communion Prayer) … preparing bread for the Eucharist (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
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
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Showing posts with label Ouranoupolis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ouranoupolis. Show all posts
08 August 2021
Sunday intercessions on
8 August 2021, Trinity X
‘This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 50) … bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday liturgy in Ouranoupoli, near Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Let us pray:
‘Out of the depths have I cried to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice’ (Psalm 130: 1)
Heavenly Father,
we pray for the nations of the world,
and for all who hunger for mercy, peace and justice.
We pray for the people of Greece and Turkey,
suffering in devastating fires …
for all nations suffering because of
climate change, famine, poverty, violence, racism and oppression.
We pray for Ireland, north and south,
We give thanks for all who are responding
to the pandemic crisis …
Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy.
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35):
Lord Jesus Christ,
we pray for the Church,
that we may be faithful in the ministry of word and sacrament,
and in response to the spiritual and physical hunger of the world.
We pray for our Bishop, Kenneth, as he prepares to retire,
we pray for our neighbouring churches and parishes,
and people of faith everywhere,
that we may be blessed in our variety and diversity.
In the Anglican Cycle of Prayer,
we pray this week for the Church of South India,
and the Moderator, Bishop Dharmaraj Rasalam,
Bishop of South Kerala.
In the Church of Ireland this month,
we pray for the Diocese of Dublin and Glendalough
and Archbishop Michael Jackson.
In the Diocesan Cycle of Prayer,
we pray for The Kilmoremoy Union of parishes in the Diocese of Killala,
Archdeacon Stephen McWhirter, the Revd Karen Duignan,
and the people of Saint Anne’s Church, Easkey, Saint Michael’s Church, Ballina,
and Kilglass and Killanley (Castleconnor) churches.
We pray too for our own parishes and people …
and we pray for ourselves …
Christ have mercy,
Christ have mercy.
‘Wait for the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy’ (Psalm 130: 6):
Holy Spirit,
we pray for one another …
We pray for those we love and those who love us …
we pray for our families, friends and neighbours …
we pray for all on holidays …
and we pray for those we promised to pray for …
We prayer for those preparing for baptism, for marriage, and for ordination.
We pray for those who feel rejected and discouraged …
we pray for all in need and those who seek healing …
We pray for families where children, partners and those who are vulnerable
suffer violence, abuse or neglect …
We pray for all who are sick or isolated,
at home, in hospital …
Ruby … Ann … Daphne … Sylvia …
Ajay … Adam … Pat … Trixie …
We pray for all who grieve and mourn at this time …
for all who are broken-hearted,
including the Killick, Gilliard and Blennerhassett families …
We remember and give thanks for those who have died …
giving thanks for the lives of Gill Killick … Arthur Gilliard …
Yvonne Blennerhassett …
May their memories be a blessing …
Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy.
The Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel) in its Prayer Diary this morning, the Tenth Sunday after Trinity, invites us to pray:
‘I wait for the Lord,
My soul waits, and in His word I hope’.
Loving God, grant us patience and forgiveness.
May we share our hope with the world.
Merciful Father …
‘I am the bread of life’ (John 6: 35-48) … a variety of bread on a market stall in Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Let us pray:
‘Out of the depths have I cried to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice’ (Psalm 130: 1)
Heavenly Father,
we pray for the nations of the world,
and for all who hunger for mercy, peace and justice.
We pray for the people of Greece and Turkey,
suffering in devastating fires …
for all nations suffering because of
climate change, famine, poverty, violence, racism and oppression.
We pray for Ireland, north and south,
We give thanks for all who are responding
to the pandemic crisis …
Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy.
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35):
Lord Jesus Christ,
we pray for the Church,
that we may be faithful in the ministry of word and sacrament,
and in response to the spiritual and physical hunger of the world.
We pray for our Bishop, Kenneth, as he prepares to retire,
we pray for our neighbouring churches and parishes,
and people of faith everywhere,
that we may be blessed in our variety and diversity.
In the Anglican Cycle of Prayer,
we pray this week for the Church of South India,
and the Moderator, Bishop Dharmaraj Rasalam,
Bishop of South Kerala.
In the Church of Ireland this month,
we pray for the Diocese of Dublin and Glendalough
and Archbishop Michael Jackson.
In the Diocesan Cycle of Prayer,
we pray for The Kilmoremoy Union of parishes in the Diocese of Killala,
Archdeacon Stephen McWhirter, the Revd Karen Duignan,
and the people of Saint Anne’s Church, Easkey, Saint Michael’s Church, Ballina,
and Kilglass and Killanley (Castleconnor) churches.
We pray too for our own parishes and people …
and we pray for ourselves …
Christ have mercy,
Christ have mercy.
‘Wait for the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy’ (Psalm 130: 6):
Holy Spirit,
we pray for one another …
We pray for those we love and those who love us …
we pray for our families, friends and neighbours …
we pray for all on holidays …
and we pray for those we promised to pray for …
We prayer for those preparing for baptism, for marriage, and for ordination.
We pray for those who feel rejected and discouraged …
we pray for all in need and those who seek healing …
We pray for families where children, partners and those who are vulnerable
suffer violence, abuse or neglect …
We pray for all who are sick or isolated,
at home, in hospital …
Ruby … Ann … Daphne … Sylvia …
Ajay … Adam … Pat … Trixie …
We pray for all who grieve and mourn at this time …
for all who are broken-hearted,
including the Killick, Gilliard and Blennerhassett families …
We remember and give thanks for those who have died …
giving thanks for the lives of Gill Killick … Arthur Gilliard …
Yvonne Blennerhassett …
May their memories be a blessing …
Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy.
The Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel) in its Prayer Diary this morning, the Tenth Sunday after Trinity, invites us to pray:
‘I wait for the Lord,
My soul waits, and in His word I hope’.
Loving God, grant us patience and forgiveness.
May we share our hope with the world.
Merciful Father …
‘I am the bread of life’ (John 6: 35-48) … a variety of bread on a market stall in Cambridge (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
02 September 2018
A pilgrim visits the monasteries on
Mount Athos, the Holy Mountain
The peaks of Mount Athos reach their highest point at 2,033 metres (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018; click on images for full-screen view)
Patrick Comerford
On the shores of the Chalkidiki peninsula in north-east Greece, a 14th century Byzantine castle stands above a small sandy beach at Ouranoupolis. The castle is uninhabited today, but over an 800-year history it has housed visiting Byzantine emperors, Orthodox monks and Anatolian refugees.
The castle was built in the early 14th century as part of a farm owned by the monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos. Decades later, Byzantine emperors exempted the tower and the farm from taxes, and monks from Vatopedi continued to live in the tower as they farmed the surrounding countryside until 1922.
There are 20 monasteries on Mount Athos, known to Greeks as the Holy Mountain (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The Greek government confiscated the tower and the monastic land around it in 1922 to settle Greek-speaking refugees who had been expelled from Ataturk’s Turkey. The first boatload of refugees came from Caesarea, and refugees continued to arrive each year up to 1928.
The village was known as Prosforion until 1946, when the name was changed to Ouranoupolis, inspired by the unexplored site of an ancient town nearby founded in the reign of Alexander the Great.
Ouranoupolis remained cut off from the rest of Greece until a harsh winter forced the villagers to cut the first road out in 1959. No longer isolated from the rest of mainland Greece, Ouranoupolis was poised to take advantage of the beginning of tourism in the 1970s after the fall of the colonels’ regime.
‘City of the Heavens’
Fishing boats beached on the shore at Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The name Ouranoupolis means ‘City of the Heavens.’ But for most of the summer Ouranoupolis remains a haven from noisy and boisterous tourism, coming to life in the early morning as coaches arrive bringing people to catch the early morning ferries to Mount Athos, and coming back to life again when the ferries return and the cafés and restaurants do a brisk and busy trade.
I had last visited Mount Athos when I spent Easter Week in 2004 in Vatopedi, the monastery that once owned the tower and lands in Ouranoupolis. I returned to Mount Athos earlier this year while I was staying in Thessaloniki.
The Castle at Ouranoupolis was once inhabited by monks from Vatopedi (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Mount Athos is known to Greeks as the Holy Mountain (Aghion Oros) and it forms its own autonomous Athonite State within the boundaries of Greece. With 20 monasteries and 12 sketes or smaller monastic houses under the direct jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, Mount Athos has been the spiritual and intellectual centre of Orthodoxy for centuries.
Many of the monasteries are known for their opposition to ecumenism, and Esphigmenou, the northern-most monastery, is particularly outspoken. In an escalating conflict, the monks have defied eviction orders by both church and state, and even Orthodox visitors find anything but a warm welcome at Esphigmenou, where monks have draped a banner from the battlements declaring: ‘Orthodoxy or Death.’
A pilgrims’ journey
The offices of Mount Athos in Thessaloniki … visitors need a special permit or visa (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Mount Athos is a Unesco-listed world heritage site. The monasteries and their schools of icon-writing and painting have influenced art and architecture throughout the Orthodox world, from Greece and Cyprus to Romania and Russia. Over 2,000 monks live ascetic lives in the monasteries and sketes, in secluded isolation from the rest of the world.
It was a two-hour, 140 km bus journey from Thessaloniki to Ouranoupolis. There we caught one of the many morning boats that sail along the west coast of Mount Athos as far as the southern tip, where the peaks of this mysterious and miraculous peninsula reach their highest point at 2,033 metres.
Ferries leave for Mount Athos each morning and return in the afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Only men may visit Mount Athos, all visitors need a special permit or diamoneterion, priests need a special invitation from the Ecumenical Patriarch, and the Holy Mountain is forbidden to women and children. On our four-hour boat trip, there were women and children on board, and no-one had a visitor’s permit. Although we could not disembark at any of the monastic piers or visit any of the monasteries, for many this was the closest they were ever going to get to the monasteries, and the journey took on the atmosphere of a pilgrimage.
Monasteries by the shore
Docheiariou has been known as a Serb monastery (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
As we travelled along the coast, we passed a succession of bays and small harbours leading to inland monasteries that were not within sight. The port of Zographou leads inland to Zographou or Saint George the Zograf Monastery, founded by three Bulgarian monks from Ohrid in the late 9th or early 10th century.
This is still seen as a Bulgarian monastery and today it has about 15 monks. The monastery is named after a 13th or 14th century icon of Saint George, said to have mysteriously painted itself on the prepared board. A sceptical bishop is said to have tried to test the icon by touching it, but part of his finger stuck to the icon and had to be severed.
Docheiariou was the first monastery we saw on the coast on out journey. With its tall, 18th century defensive tower, it looks like a fortified castle. It was founded in the 10th century and is dedicated to the Archangels Michael and Gabriel. Since the late 15th century, this has been a Serb monastery, and today it is home to about 30 monks.
Xenophontos frequently suffered from pirate raids (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The second monastery was Xenophontos, founded in the 10th or 11th century by Saint Xenophon. As a monastery on the seashore, Xenophontos frequently suffered from pirate raids. The monastery fell into financial ruin but was re-established in the 18th century. The bell tower was built in 1864. Today the community has 30 monks.
Introducing the ‘Jesus Prayer’
The domes of Saint Panteleimon are a reminder of Russian influences (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Saint Panteleimon, also known as the Rousikon or Russian monastery, is mid-way along the west coast. This is the most eye-catching monastery on Mount Athos and the largest of the 20 monasteries. The expansive, grand multi-storey buildings, many of them abandoned, the green copper onion domes and the resounding bells testify to its rich and expansive past.
For centuries, Russian and Greek monks lived together in harmony in Panteleimon. The benefactors included Byzantine emperors, Serbian princes, wealthy Romanians, Greek merchant families in Constantinople and Russian tsars.
After a long absence, Russian monks began returning in the 19th century, and they monks numbered 1,000 in 1895. But in 1913, 800 monks were sent back to Russia, and the Russian Revolution in 1917 brought to an end the flow of Russian monks for most of the 20th century.
Two monks of the monastery – Saint Silouan the Athonite (1866-1938) and Archimandrite Sophrony Sakharov (1896-1993) – were influential in introducing the practice of the Jesus Prayer to Western spirituality.
In 2005, President Vladimir Putin became the first Russian leader to visit the monastery. Today, there are about 70 Russian and Ukrainian monks at Saint Panteleimon.
Xeropotamou, a classic example of Athonite architecture, stands on a conspicuous site 200 metres above sea level. This is one of the oldest Athonite monasteries, although its early history remains obscure and the exact date of its foundation and the identity of its founder are obscured in tradition and myth. One tradition says it was founded by the Empress Pulcheria in the fifth century.
The monastery flourished until the 13th century, and like the other monasteries it has had its periods of decline, including catastrophic fires and the burden of great debts.
Today, the monastery owns the port of Daphne and its treasures include two pieces of the True Cross. The monastery now has about 25 monks.
Daphne is a small settlement between Xeropotamou and Simonopetra with fewer than 40 residents. It serves as the port and entry point to Mount Athos, with daily ferries to and from Ouranoupolis.
Daring precipice
Simonopetra stands on the edge of a rocky range (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The Monastery of Simonos Petra venerates Saint Mary Magdalene as one of its ‘co-founders,’ despite the prohibition on women visiting the mountain. Known more simply as Simonopetra, this is the most daring construction on Mount Athos, at a height of 330 metres on the end of a rocky mountain range. It was founded around 1257, but was destroyed by fires in 1570, 1622 and again in 1891.
Decades of decline were reversed in 1973, when a new 20-member brotherhood from the Meteora on the Greek mainland moved to the monastery, which now has a community of 50 monks.
Gregoriou is built on a sea-washed rock with balconies overlooking the gulf below, Patrick Comerford, Mount Athos, 2018 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The Monastery of Gregoriou is built on a sea-washed rock with balconies overlooking the gulf below. It was founded in the 14th century by Gregory, a Syrian monk from Mount Sinai. The monastery has about 70 monks today.
Dionysiou has a gilded sanctuary screen and frescoes depicting scenes from the Book of Revelation (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Dionysiou or ‘Nea Petra,’ on the south-west tip of Mount Athos, stands on a narrow and steep rocky mass rising to a height of 80 metres above the sea. It is named after the founder, Saint Dionysius from Korysos near Kastoria.
Saint Niphon, Patriarch of Constantinople, was a monk of Dionysiou in the 15th century. The monastery’s wall paintings or frescoes, dating from around 1546, are the work of Tzortzis, an influential member of the Cretan School of Iconography. The gilded sanctuary screen and the wall-paintings of the Book of Revelation are the oldest complete portrayal of these scene in the Orthodox world. The treasures and relics include the right hand of Saint John the Baptist. The monastery has a community of around 50.
Saint Paul was endowed by the Serbian-born wife of the Sultan Murat II, who brought the gifts of the Three Wise Men (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The last monastery we reached was Saint Paul or Aghiou Pavlou, founded by Saint Paul of Xeropotamou, who also founded Xeropotamou. The monastery was deserted in the 14th century, but was restored by Serbian nobles, Byzantine emperors, Danubian princes and Romanian and Greek benefactors. Catastrophes in 20th century included a fire in 1902 and a flood in 1911.
The monastery’s oldest building, the chapel of Saint George, has frescoes painted by members of the Cretan School. The monastery treasures are said to include the gifts of the Three Wise Men, donated by the Serbian-born wife of the Sultan Murat II. She is said to be the only woman to have set foot on the shore at the monastery harbour. Other relics include the foot of Saint Gregory the Theologian, and a piece of the True Cross. The community consists of 30 monks.
Return to Ouranoupolis
Icons and religious goods made on Mount Athos on sale in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
During our journey along the west coast of Mount Athos, we also saw a number of smaller houses that are dependencies of the larger monasteries, including Kelli Ayiou Modestou, Skiti Monoxilites, and Metochi Chourmitsis an outlying farm belonging to Panteleimon, where the once abandoned vineyards have been developed in recent years by the Tsantalis label, producing organic wines and spirits.
Tickets for ferry boats and speed boats to Mount Athos on sale in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
We returned along the full length of the south-west coat of the Holy Mountain. In all, we had seen eight or nine of the 20 monasteries on Mount Athos.
Back in Ouranoupolis, after a late but lingering lunch, we explored the small shops along the seafront, selling icons and religious goods made by the monks in the monasteries. In one shop, a woman devoutly but proudly brought us to see the bread she had baked for the Eucharist the next day: Easter would dawn in the morning.
Bread for the Easter Liturgy prepared in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
A shop in Chania in Crete … one of the many shops throughout Greece selling icons and religious goods made on Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Religious goods from Mount Athos in a shop in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
This feature was published in September 2018 in the ‘Church Review’ (Dublin and Glendalough) and the ‘Diocesan Magazine’ (Cashel, Ferns and Ossory)
Patrick Comerford
On the shores of the Chalkidiki peninsula in north-east Greece, a 14th century Byzantine castle stands above a small sandy beach at Ouranoupolis. The castle is uninhabited today, but over an 800-year history it has housed visiting Byzantine emperors, Orthodox monks and Anatolian refugees.
The castle was built in the early 14th century as part of a farm owned by the monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos. Decades later, Byzantine emperors exempted the tower and the farm from taxes, and monks from Vatopedi continued to live in the tower as they farmed the surrounding countryside until 1922.
There are 20 monasteries on Mount Athos, known to Greeks as the Holy Mountain (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The Greek government confiscated the tower and the monastic land around it in 1922 to settle Greek-speaking refugees who had been expelled from Ataturk’s Turkey. The first boatload of refugees came from Caesarea, and refugees continued to arrive each year up to 1928.
The village was known as Prosforion until 1946, when the name was changed to Ouranoupolis, inspired by the unexplored site of an ancient town nearby founded in the reign of Alexander the Great.
Ouranoupolis remained cut off from the rest of Greece until a harsh winter forced the villagers to cut the first road out in 1959. No longer isolated from the rest of mainland Greece, Ouranoupolis was poised to take advantage of the beginning of tourism in the 1970s after the fall of the colonels’ regime.
‘City of the Heavens’
Fishing boats beached on the shore at Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The name Ouranoupolis means ‘City of the Heavens.’ But for most of the summer Ouranoupolis remains a haven from noisy and boisterous tourism, coming to life in the early morning as coaches arrive bringing people to catch the early morning ferries to Mount Athos, and coming back to life again when the ferries return and the cafés and restaurants do a brisk and busy trade.
I had last visited Mount Athos when I spent Easter Week in 2004 in Vatopedi, the monastery that once owned the tower and lands in Ouranoupolis. I returned to Mount Athos earlier this year while I was staying in Thessaloniki.
The Castle at Ouranoupolis was once inhabited by monks from Vatopedi (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Mount Athos is known to Greeks as the Holy Mountain (Aghion Oros) and it forms its own autonomous Athonite State within the boundaries of Greece. With 20 monasteries and 12 sketes or smaller monastic houses under the direct jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, Mount Athos has been the spiritual and intellectual centre of Orthodoxy for centuries.
Many of the monasteries are known for their opposition to ecumenism, and Esphigmenou, the northern-most monastery, is particularly outspoken. In an escalating conflict, the monks have defied eviction orders by both church and state, and even Orthodox visitors find anything but a warm welcome at Esphigmenou, where monks have draped a banner from the battlements declaring: ‘Orthodoxy or Death.’
A pilgrims’ journey
The offices of Mount Athos in Thessaloniki … visitors need a special permit or visa (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Mount Athos is a Unesco-listed world heritage site. The monasteries and their schools of icon-writing and painting have influenced art and architecture throughout the Orthodox world, from Greece and Cyprus to Romania and Russia. Over 2,000 monks live ascetic lives in the monasteries and sketes, in secluded isolation from the rest of the world.
It was a two-hour, 140 km bus journey from Thessaloniki to Ouranoupolis. There we caught one of the many morning boats that sail along the west coast of Mount Athos as far as the southern tip, where the peaks of this mysterious and miraculous peninsula reach their highest point at 2,033 metres.
Ferries leave for Mount Athos each morning and return in the afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Only men may visit Mount Athos, all visitors need a special permit or diamoneterion, priests need a special invitation from the Ecumenical Patriarch, and the Holy Mountain is forbidden to women and children. On our four-hour boat trip, there were women and children on board, and no-one had a visitor’s permit. Although we could not disembark at any of the monastic piers or visit any of the monasteries, for many this was the closest they were ever going to get to the monasteries, and the journey took on the atmosphere of a pilgrimage.
Monasteries by the shore
Docheiariou has been known as a Serb monastery (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
As we travelled along the coast, we passed a succession of bays and small harbours leading to inland monasteries that were not within sight. The port of Zographou leads inland to Zographou or Saint George the Zograf Monastery, founded by three Bulgarian monks from Ohrid in the late 9th or early 10th century.
This is still seen as a Bulgarian monastery and today it has about 15 monks. The monastery is named after a 13th or 14th century icon of Saint George, said to have mysteriously painted itself on the prepared board. A sceptical bishop is said to have tried to test the icon by touching it, but part of his finger stuck to the icon and had to be severed.
Docheiariou was the first monastery we saw on the coast on out journey. With its tall, 18th century defensive tower, it looks like a fortified castle. It was founded in the 10th century and is dedicated to the Archangels Michael and Gabriel. Since the late 15th century, this has been a Serb monastery, and today it is home to about 30 monks.
Xenophontos frequently suffered from pirate raids (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The second monastery was Xenophontos, founded in the 10th or 11th century by Saint Xenophon. As a monastery on the seashore, Xenophontos frequently suffered from pirate raids. The monastery fell into financial ruin but was re-established in the 18th century. The bell tower was built in 1864. Today the community has 30 monks.
Introducing the ‘Jesus Prayer’
The domes of Saint Panteleimon are a reminder of Russian influences (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Saint Panteleimon, also known as the Rousikon or Russian monastery, is mid-way along the west coast. This is the most eye-catching monastery on Mount Athos and the largest of the 20 monasteries. The expansive, grand multi-storey buildings, many of them abandoned, the green copper onion domes and the resounding bells testify to its rich and expansive past.
For centuries, Russian and Greek monks lived together in harmony in Panteleimon. The benefactors included Byzantine emperors, Serbian princes, wealthy Romanians, Greek merchant families in Constantinople and Russian tsars.
After a long absence, Russian monks began returning in the 19th century, and they monks numbered 1,000 in 1895. But in 1913, 800 monks were sent back to Russia, and the Russian Revolution in 1917 brought to an end the flow of Russian monks for most of the 20th century.
Two monks of the monastery – Saint Silouan the Athonite (1866-1938) and Archimandrite Sophrony Sakharov (1896-1993) – were influential in introducing the practice of the Jesus Prayer to Western spirituality.
In 2005, President Vladimir Putin became the first Russian leader to visit the monastery. Today, there are about 70 Russian and Ukrainian monks at Saint Panteleimon.
Xeropotamou, a classic example of Athonite architecture, stands on a conspicuous site 200 metres above sea level. This is one of the oldest Athonite monasteries, although its early history remains obscure and the exact date of its foundation and the identity of its founder are obscured in tradition and myth. One tradition says it was founded by the Empress Pulcheria in the fifth century.
The monastery flourished until the 13th century, and like the other monasteries it has had its periods of decline, including catastrophic fires and the burden of great debts.
Today, the monastery owns the port of Daphne and its treasures include two pieces of the True Cross. The monastery now has about 25 monks.
Daphne is a small settlement between Xeropotamou and Simonopetra with fewer than 40 residents. It serves as the port and entry point to Mount Athos, with daily ferries to and from Ouranoupolis.
Daring precipice
Simonopetra stands on the edge of a rocky range (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The Monastery of Simonos Petra venerates Saint Mary Magdalene as one of its ‘co-founders,’ despite the prohibition on women visiting the mountain. Known more simply as Simonopetra, this is the most daring construction on Mount Athos, at a height of 330 metres on the end of a rocky mountain range. It was founded around 1257, but was destroyed by fires in 1570, 1622 and again in 1891.
Decades of decline were reversed in 1973, when a new 20-member brotherhood from the Meteora on the Greek mainland moved to the monastery, which now has a community of 50 monks.
Gregoriou is built on a sea-washed rock with balconies overlooking the gulf below, Patrick Comerford, Mount Athos, 2018 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The Monastery of Gregoriou is built on a sea-washed rock with balconies overlooking the gulf below. It was founded in the 14th century by Gregory, a Syrian monk from Mount Sinai. The monastery has about 70 monks today.
Dionysiou has a gilded sanctuary screen and frescoes depicting scenes from the Book of Revelation (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Dionysiou or ‘Nea Petra,’ on the south-west tip of Mount Athos, stands on a narrow and steep rocky mass rising to a height of 80 metres above the sea. It is named after the founder, Saint Dionysius from Korysos near Kastoria.
Saint Niphon, Patriarch of Constantinople, was a monk of Dionysiou in the 15th century. The monastery’s wall paintings or frescoes, dating from around 1546, are the work of Tzortzis, an influential member of the Cretan School of Iconography. The gilded sanctuary screen and the wall-paintings of the Book of Revelation are the oldest complete portrayal of these scene in the Orthodox world. The treasures and relics include the right hand of Saint John the Baptist. The monastery has a community of around 50.
Saint Paul was endowed by the Serbian-born wife of the Sultan Murat II, who brought the gifts of the Three Wise Men (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The last monastery we reached was Saint Paul or Aghiou Pavlou, founded by Saint Paul of Xeropotamou, who also founded Xeropotamou. The monastery was deserted in the 14th century, but was restored by Serbian nobles, Byzantine emperors, Danubian princes and Romanian and Greek benefactors. Catastrophes in 20th century included a fire in 1902 and a flood in 1911.
The monastery’s oldest building, the chapel of Saint George, has frescoes painted by members of the Cretan School. The monastery treasures are said to include the gifts of the Three Wise Men, donated by the Serbian-born wife of the Sultan Murat II. She is said to be the only woman to have set foot on the shore at the monastery harbour. Other relics include the foot of Saint Gregory the Theologian, and a piece of the True Cross. The community consists of 30 monks.
Return to Ouranoupolis
Icons and religious goods made on Mount Athos on sale in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
During our journey along the west coast of Mount Athos, we also saw a number of smaller houses that are dependencies of the larger monasteries, including Kelli Ayiou Modestou, Skiti Monoxilites, and Metochi Chourmitsis an outlying farm belonging to Panteleimon, where the once abandoned vineyards have been developed in recent years by the Tsantalis label, producing organic wines and spirits.
Tickets for ferry boats and speed boats to Mount Athos on sale in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
We returned along the full length of the south-west coat of the Holy Mountain. In all, we had seen eight or nine of the 20 monasteries on Mount Athos.
Back in Ouranoupolis, after a late but lingering lunch, we explored the small shops along the seafront, selling icons and religious goods made by the monks in the monasteries. In one shop, a woman devoutly but proudly brought us to see the bread she had baked for the Eucharist the next day: Easter would dawn in the morning.
Bread for the Easter Liturgy prepared in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
A shop in Chania in Crete … one of the many shops throughout Greece selling icons and religious goods made on Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Religious goods from Mount Athos in a shop in Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
This feature was published in September 2018 in the ‘Church Review’ (Dublin and Glendalough) and the ‘Diocesan Magazine’ (Cashel, Ferns and Ossory)
12 August 2018
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever
comes to me will never
be hungry, and whoever believes
in me will never be thirsty’
‘This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 50) … bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Patrick Comerford
Sunday 12 August 2018,
The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Proper 14B).
11.30 a.m., Morning Prayer, Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale, Co Limerick.
Readings: II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33; Psalm 130; Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2; John 6: 35, 41-51.
David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)
May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
One of the reasons I find many people say they are turned off the Old Testament is the amount of violence they find in it.
People who seem to have no problems watching boxers punch each other around the head in the ring, or watching ‘mixed martial arts,’ have real problems when it comes to stories in the Old Testament of wars, murders and battles.
And we have them all in our Old Testament reading this morning (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33).
It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister; mercenaries brought in; pitched battles with slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.
After speaking at the Hiroshima Day commemorations in Dublin last Monday [6 August 2018], I am only too aware that trying to find religious meaning in all of this, with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace, is such a difficult task.
So difficult, in fact, that it is not surprising to find some people find it difficult to reconcile the God of the Old Testament with the loving God that Christ speaks of as Father three times in this morning’s Gospel reading (see John 6: 44, 45, 46), and also, in the Lord’s Prayer, speaks of him in the simple and direct Aramaic of his day as Abba.
And yet, as we wade through the horror and gore in our first reading, we can realise that we have here a story that allows us to catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.
David has never been a perfect husband, nor has he ever been a perfect father, never a perfect king.
All these failings are there to see in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).
In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice.
There is an old legal adage or maxim that justice delayed is justice denied. Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, through Joab’s mediation, Absalom returns to the court of his father, King David.
But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état. He knows how to capitalise on festering resentment to the growth of David’s empire, court and bureaucracy, and to David’s inability to accept changing social patterns and values.
Absalom marches on Jerusalem. Fleeing the city, David escapes across the River Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. He divides his army into three groups, one each commanded by Joab, Abishai and Ittai (verse 5).
But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct involvement in the decisions about what should happen to Absalom.
David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.
The battle is fought in the ‘forest of Ephraim’ (verse 6), on the east bank of the River Jordan. But Absalom’s militia, ‘the men of Israel’ (verse 7), are no match for David’s army.
It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter, in the killing of perhaps tens of thousands of people, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom, whose rebellion against his father began with good intent.
As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by the ‘head,’ perhaps by his long, dangling hair, which he cut only once a year, and he is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).
In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14), perhaps for the sake of abbreviation – not to make a long story longer on a Sunday morning. In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the politically-charged decision of whether to kill Absalom.
Ten young men are sent to take advantage of Absalom’s predicament. He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed.
Another missing verse tells us Absalom’s body was thrown into a ‘big pit in the forest’ (verse 17), despite the fact that he had already built himself an elegant, pillared tomb in the Valley of the Kings near Jerusalem so that he would not be forgotten (verse 18).
But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.
And so, instead, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).
David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.
The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or a daughter, no matter what age either of them is, is a cry that pierces the soul. Once you hear it, you can never forget it.
No parent expects to see a child grow to full adulthood and then live to see that son or daughter die. It is an unnatural sequence or pairing of life events. It is one of the great injustices in life.
And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, despite his own role in bringing about these bitter and ugly events, is one of those truly authentic passages of reportage in the Bible:
‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ (II Samuel 18: 33).
These truly are the words of a distressed Father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child.
No matter how wayward, how rebellious, or how violent that child may be – and every parent has children who give problems – been there, done that – yet the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench.
This was one of the readings chosen by Bishop John McDowell for the devotional reflections at the General Synod some years ago [2012], and, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.
Perhaps this is what it means when it is said David was ‘a man after God’s own heart’ (I Samuel 13: 13-14; Acts 13: 22). Despite David’s many faults, he had a heart like God’s, weeping over his wayward children, willing to die in their place, never allowing their rebellion and cruelty to harden his own heart towards them.
David’s heart-breaking grief is echoed in our Psalm: ‘Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!’ (Psalm 130: -21).
The first verse in Psalm 130 is a call to God in deep sorrow, ‘out of the depths’ as it is translated in the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible and in the Book of Common Prayer. When the Book of Common Prayer gave Latin names to the psalms, the psalm was known by its Latin incipit, De profundis, and it has inspired composers (Bach, Mozart, Arvo Pärt), poets (Tennyson, Rossetti, Lorca) and writers (Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle).
David’s cry is a cry to God for deliverance from personal trouble, yet it ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing love, freedom from grievous sin.
Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children.
That is why the story of the ‘Prodigal Son’ (Luke 15: 11-32) rings so true. It is not just the story of a grieving father waiting for a wayward son, but the story of a grieving father waiting for a son who may be his ruin, the story of a grieving father whose two sons have fought so much with each other that one refuses to welcome the other home. It has parallels with Absalom’s clashes with Amnon, and contrasts with David’s refusal to go out and meet Absalom when he returns home.
This morning’s Psalm is a prayer for deliverance from personal trouble, but it ends with a message to all people: wait in hope for God; he offers unfailing love.
God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.
God’s love is never petulant. God never goes into a corner and sulks.
And God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.
Christ understands that so well. He tells the people who follow him after he has feed the multitude in the wilderness, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
Of course, there are many exceptions; of course, there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. Even his critics try to abuse Christ by implying in this morning’s Gospel reading that he comes from a dysfunctional family (see verse 42).
But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, that there are no exclusions to his understanding of family when he emphasises: ‘Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me’ (see verse 46).
Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.
God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.
Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.
‘I am the bread of life … This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
John 6: 35, 41-51:
35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’
41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Liturgical Colour: Green.
Collect:
O God,
you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
Mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Hymns:
62, Abide with me (CD 4);
24, All creatures of our God and king (CD 2, omits verses 5 and 6).
425, Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts (CD 25).
‘Grant … that we, running the way of your commandments, may receive your gracious promises’ … the Ten Commandments seen on carved stone in a synagogue in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.
Patrick Comerford
Sunday 12 August 2018,
The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Proper 14B).
11.30 a.m., Morning Prayer, Holy Trinity Church, Rathkeale, Co Limerick.
Readings: II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33; Psalm 130; Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2; John 6: 35, 41-51.
David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)
May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
One of the reasons I find many people say they are turned off the Old Testament is the amount of violence they find in it.
People who seem to have no problems watching boxers punch each other around the head in the ring, or watching ‘mixed martial arts,’ have real problems when it comes to stories in the Old Testament of wars, murders and battles.
And we have them all in our Old Testament reading this morning (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33).
It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister; mercenaries brought in; pitched battles with slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.
After speaking at the Hiroshima Day commemorations in Dublin last Monday [6 August 2018], I am only too aware that trying to find religious meaning in all of this, with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace, is such a difficult task.
So difficult, in fact, that it is not surprising to find some people find it difficult to reconcile the God of the Old Testament with the loving God that Christ speaks of as Father three times in this morning’s Gospel reading (see John 6: 44, 45, 46), and also, in the Lord’s Prayer, speaks of him in the simple and direct Aramaic of his day as Abba.
And yet, as we wade through the horror and gore in our first reading, we can realise that we have here a story that allows us to catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.
David has never been a perfect husband, nor has he ever been a perfect father, never a perfect king.
All these failings are there to see in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).
In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice.
There is an old legal adage or maxim that justice delayed is justice denied. Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, through Joab’s mediation, Absalom returns to the court of his father, King David.
But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état. He knows how to capitalise on festering resentment to the growth of David’s empire, court and bureaucracy, and to David’s inability to accept changing social patterns and values.
Absalom marches on Jerusalem. Fleeing the city, David escapes across the River Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. He divides his army into three groups, one each commanded by Joab, Abishai and Ittai (verse 5).
But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct involvement in the decisions about what should happen to Absalom.
David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.
The battle is fought in the ‘forest of Ephraim’ (verse 6), on the east bank of the River Jordan. But Absalom’s militia, ‘the men of Israel’ (verse 7), are no match for David’s army.
It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter, in the killing of perhaps tens of thousands of people, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom, whose rebellion against his father began with good intent.
As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by the ‘head,’ perhaps by his long, dangling hair, which he cut only once a year, and he is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).
In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14), perhaps for the sake of abbreviation – not to make a long story longer on a Sunday morning. In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the politically-charged decision of whether to kill Absalom.
Ten young men are sent to take advantage of Absalom’s predicament. He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed.
Another missing verse tells us Absalom’s body was thrown into a ‘big pit in the forest’ (verse 17), despite the fact that he had already built himself an elegant, pillared tomb in the Valley of the Kings near Jerusalem so that he would not be forgotten (verse 18).
But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.
And so, instead, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).
David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.
The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or a daughter, no matter what age either of them is, is a cry that pierces the soul. Once you hear it, you can never forget it.
No parent expects to see a child grow to full adulthood and then live to see that son or daughter die. It is an unnatural sequence or pairing of life events. It is one of the great injustices in life.
And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, despite his own role in bringing about these bitter and ugly events, is one of those truly authentic passages of reportage in the Bible:
‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ (II Samuel 18: 33).
These truly are the words of a distressed Father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child.
No matter how wayward, how rebellious, or how violent that child may be – and every parent has children who give problems – been there, done that – yet the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench.
This was one of the readings chosen by Bishop John McDowell for the devotional reflections at the General Synod some years ago [2012], and, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.
Perhaps this is what it means when it is said David was ‘a man after God’s own heart’ (I Samuel 13: 13-14; Acts 13: 22). Despite David’s many faults, he had a heart like God’s, weeping over his wayward children, willing to die in their place, never allowing their rebellion and cruelty to harden his own heart towards them.
David’s heart-breaking grief is echoed in our Psalm: ‘Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!’ (Psalm 130: -21).
The first verse in Psalm 130 is a call to God in deep sorrow, ‘out of the depths’ as it is translated in the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible and in the Book of Common Prayer. When the Book of Common Prayer gave Latin names to the psalms, the psalm was known by its Latin incipit, De profundis, and it has inspired composers (Bach, Mozart, Arvo Pärt), poets (Tennyson, Rossetti, Lorca) and writers (Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle).
David’s cry is a cry to God for deliverance from personal trouble, yet it ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing love, freedom from grievous sin.
Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children.
That is why the story of the ‘Prodigal Son’ (Luke 15: 11-32) rings so true. It is not just the story of a grieving father waiting for a wayward son, but the story of a grieving father waiting for a son who may be his ruin, the story of a grieving father whose two sons have fought so much with each other that one refuses to welcome the other home. It has parallels with Absalom’s clashes with Amnon, and contrasts with David’s refusal to go out and meet Absalom when he returns home.
This morning’s Psalm is a prayer for deliverance from personal trouble, but it ends with a message to all people: wait in hope for God; he offers unfailing love.
God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.
God’s love is never petulant. God never goes into a corner and sulks.
And God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.
Christ understands that so well. He tells the people who follow him after he has feed the multitude in the wilderness, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
Of course, there are many exceptions; of course, there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. Even his critics try to abuse Christ by implying in this morning’s Gospel reading that he comes from a dysfunctional family (see verse 42).
But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, that there are no exclusions to his understanding of family when he emphasises: ‘Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me’ (see verse 46).
Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.
God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.
Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.
‘I am the bread of life … This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
John 6: 35, 41-51:
35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’
41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Liturgical Colour: Green.
Collect:
O God,
you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
Mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Hymns:
62, Abide with me (CD 4);
24, All creatures of our God and king (CD 2, omits verses 5 and 6).
425, Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts (CD 25).
‘Grant … that we, running the way of your commandments, may receive your gracious promises’ … the Ten Commandments seen on carved stone in a synagogue in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.
‘I am the bread of life … This
is the bread that comes down
from heaven, so that one
may eat of it and not die’
‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35) … bread in a restaurant in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Patrick Comerford
Sunday 12 August 2018,
The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Proper 14B).
9.30 a.m., the Eucharist (Holy Communion 2), Castletown Church, Kilcornan, Co Limerick.
Readings: II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33; Psalm 130; Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2; John 6: 35, 41-51.
David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)
May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
One of the reasons I find many people say they are turned off the Old Testament is the amount of violence they find in it.
People who seem to have no problems watching boxers punch each other around the head in the ring, or watching ‘mixed martial arts,’ have real problems when it comes to stories in the Old Testament of wars, murders and battles.
And we have them all in our Old Testament reading this morning (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33).
It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister; mercenaries brought in; pitched battles with slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.
After speaking at the Hiroshima Day commemorations in Dublin last Monday [6 August 2018], I am only too aware that trying to find religious meaning in all of this, with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace, is such a difficult task.
So difficult, in fact, that it is not surprising to find some people find it difficult to reconcile the God of the Old Testament with the loving God that Christ speaks of as Father three times in this morning’s Gospel reading (see John 6: 44, 45, 46), and also, in the Lord’s Prayer, speaks of him in the simple and direct Aramaic of his day as Abba.
And yet, as we wade through the horror and gore in our first reading, we can realise that we have here a story that allows us to catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.
David has never been a perfect husband, nor has he ever been a perfect father, never a perfect king.
All these failings are there to see in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).
In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice.
There is an old legal adage or maxim that justice delayed is justice denied. Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, through Joab’s mediation, Absalom returns to the court of his father, King David.
But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état. He knows how to capitalise on festering resentment to the growth of David’s empire, court and bureaucracy, and to David’s inability to accept changing social patterns and values.
Absalom marches on Jerusalem. Fleeing the city, David escapes across the River Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. He divides his army into three groups, one each commanded by Joab, Abishai and Ittai (verse 5).
But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct involvement in the decisions about what should happen to Absalom.
David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.
The battle is fought in the forest of Ephraim (verse 6), on the east bank of the River Jordan. But Absalom’s militia, the men of Israel (verse 7), are no match for David’s army.
It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter, in the killing of perhaps tens of thousands of people, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom, whose rebellion against his father began with good intent.
As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by his long, dangling hair, which he cut only once a year, and he is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).
In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14), perhaps for the sake of abbreviation – not to make a long story longer on a Sunday morning. In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the politically-charged decision of whether to kill Absalom.
Ten young men are sent to take advantage of Absalom’s predicament. He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed.
Another missing verse tells us Absalom’s body was thrown into a ‘great pit in the forest’ (verse 17), despite the fact that he had already built himself an elegant, pillared tomb in the Valley of the Kings near Jerusalem so that he would not be forgotten (verse 18).
But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.
And so, instead, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).
David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.
The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or a daughter, no matter what age either of them is, is a cry that pierces the soul. Once you hear it, you can never forget it.
No parent expects to see a child grow to full adulthood and then live to see that son or daughter die. It is an unnatural sequence or pairing of life events. It is one of the great injustices in life.
And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, despite his own role in bringing about these bitter and ugly events, is one of those truly authentic passages of reportage in the Bible:
‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ (II Samuel 18: 33).
These truly are the words of a distressed Father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child.
No matter how wayward, how rebellious, or how violent that child may be – and every parent has children who give problems – been there, done that – yet the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench.
This was one of the readings chosen by Bishop John McDowell for the devotional reflections at the General Synod some years ago [2012], and, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.
Perhaps this is what it means when it is said David was ‘a man after God’s own heart’ (I Samuel 13: 13-14; Acts 13: 22). Despite David’s many faults, he had a heart like God’s, weeping over his wayward children, willing to die in their place, never allowing their rebellion and cruelty to harden his own heart towards them.
David’s heart-breaking grief is echoed in our Psalm: ‘Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!’ (Psalm 130: -21).
The first verse in Psalm 130 is a call to God in deep sorrow, ‘out of the depths’ as it is translated in the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible and in the Book of Common Prayer. When the Book of Common Prayer gave Latin names to the psalms, the psalm was known by its Latin incipit, De profundis, and it has inspired composers (Bach, Mozart, Arvo Pärt), poets (Tennyson, Rossetti, Lorca) and writers (Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle).
David’s cry is a cry to God for deliverance from personal trouble, yet it ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing love, freedom from grievous sin.
Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children.
That is why the story of the ‘Prodigal Son’ (Luke 15: 11-32) rings so true. It is not just the story of a grieving father waiting for a wayward son, but the story of a grieving father waiting for a son who may be his ruin, the story of a grieving father whose two sons have fought so much with each other that one refuses to welcome the other home. It has parallels with Absalom’s clashes with Amnon, and contrasts with David’s refusal to go out and meet Absalom when he returns home.
This morning’s Psalm is a prayer for deliverance from personal trouble, but it ends with a message to all people: wait in hope for God; he offers unfailing love.
God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.
God’s love is never petulant. God never goes into a corner and sulks.
And God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.
Christ understands that so well. He tells the people who follow him after he has feed the multitude in the wilderness, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
Of course, there are many exceptions; of course, there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. Even his critics try to abuse Christ by implying in this morning’s Gospel reading that he comes from a dysfunctional family (see verse 42).
But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, that there are no exclusions to his understanding of family when he emphasises: ‘Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me’ (verse 46).
Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.
God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.
Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.
‘I am the bread of life ... This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
John 6: 35, 41-51:
35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’
41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’
‘This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 50) … bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Liturgical Colour: Green.
Collect:
O God,
you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
Mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Post Communion Prayer:
Lord of all mercy,
we your faithful people have celebrated
the memorial of that single sacrifice
which takes away our sins and brings pardon and peace.
By our communion
keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel
and preserve us from all sin;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Hymns:
62, Abide with me (CD 4);
24, All creatures of our God and king (CD 2, omits verses 5 and 6).
425, Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts (CD 25).
‘Grant … that we, running the way of your commandments, may receive your gracious promises’ … the Ten Commandments seen on carved stone in a synagogue in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.
Patrick Comerford
Sunday 12 August 2018,
The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity (Proper 14B).
9.30 a.m., the Eucharist (Holy Communion 2), Castletown Church, Kilcornan, Co Limerick.
Readings: II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33; Psalm 130; Ephesians 4: 25 to 5: 2; John 6: 35, 41-51.
David and Absalom (Marc Chagall, 1956)
May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
One of the reasons I find many people say they are turned off the Old Testament is the amount of violence they find in it.
People who seem to have no problems watching boxers punch each other around the head in the ring, or watching ‘mixed martial arts,’ have real problems when it comes to stories in the Old Testament of wars, murders and battles.
And we have them all in our Old Testament reading this morning (II Samuel 18: 5-9, 15, 31-33).
It is a story of violence: father and son fighting each other after son has violated sister; mercenaries brought in; pitched battles with slaughter and overkill – in those days a battle force of 20,000 amounted to weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.
After speaking at the Hiroshima Day commemorations in Dublin last Monday [6 August 2018], I am only too aware that trying to find religious meaning in all of this, with our modern approaches to issues of justice and peace, is such a difficult task.
So difficult, in fact, that it is not surprising to find some people find it difficult to reconcile the God of the Old Testament with the loving God that Christ speaks of as Father three times in this morning’s Gospel reading (see John 6: 44, 45, 46), and also, in the Lord’s Prayer, speaks of him in the simple and direct Aramaic of his day as Abba.
And yet, as we wade through the horror and gore in our first reading, we can realise that we have here a story that allows us to catch a glimpse of the love of God as a perfect father.
David has never been a perfect husband, nor has he ever been a perfect father, never a perfect king.
All these failings are there to see in earlier stories in this book: David and Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah (II Samuel 11: 2-27), and then David’s failure to deal with Amnon’s violation of his own half-sister Tamar (II Samuel 13: 1-21).
In this story, David’s love for his first-born son and heir is great, but it prevents him from administering justice.
There is an old legal adage or maxim that justice delayed is justice denied. Frustrated by David’s inaction, his third but second surviving son, Absalom, takes the law into his own hands, and has Amnon killed. After time in exile, through Joab’s mediation, Absalom returns to the court of his father, King David.
But David’s refusal to see him for two years leads Absalom to hate his father. Absalom plans a coup d’état. He knows how to capitalise on festering resentment to the growth of David’s empire, court and bureaucracy, and to David’s inability to accept changing social patterns and values.
Absalom marches on Jerusalem. Fleeing the city, David escapes across the River Jordan with his army and begins a military comeback. He divides his army into three groups, one each commanded by Joab, Abishai and Ittai (verse 5).
But David’s advisers keep the king away from any direct involvement in the decisions about what should happen to Absalom.
David orders his commanders to ‘deal gently’ with his rebellious son. Despite his rebellion, David still loves Absalom, perhaps hoping against hope at this late stage to save his life.
The battle is fought in the forest of Ephraim (verse 6), on the east bank of the River Jordan. But Absalom’s militia, the men of Israel (verse 7), are no match for David’s army.
It is a cataclysmic battle. In the midst of the slaughter, in the killing of perhaps tens of thousands of people, we hear of the death of one individual, the wayward Absalom, whose rebellion against his father began with good intent.
As he is riding through the forest, the handsome prince is caught by his long, dangling hair, which he cut only once a year, and he is left dangling from the branches of a great oak tree (verse 9; see II Samuel 14: 25-26).
In his desperate plight, we are left hanging too, wondering what happens, for this morning’s reading hastens the pace as it skips over some verses (10-14), perhaps for the sake of abbreviation – not to make a long story longer on a Sunday morning. In those missing verses, a man tells Joab of the plight of the dangling Absalom. But he leaves it to Joab to make the politically-charged decision of whether to kill Absalom.
Ten young men are sent to take advantage of Absalom’s predicament. He is still hanging from the tree when he is killed.
Another missing verse tells us Absalom’s body was thrown into a ‘great pit in the forest’ (verse 17), despite the fact that he had already built himself an elegant, pillared tomb in the Valley of the Kings near Jerusalem so that he would not be forgotten (verse 18).
But the men who are brave enough to kill the prince when he is an easy target are not brave enough to tell David what they have done to his son. It is amazing how brave men can become so timorous.
And so, instead, they send a Cushite, an Ethiopian or Sudanese mercenary or slave (verse 21), to tell David the whole story, both the good news and the bad news, about the victory and about his son being slain (verses 31-32).
David is heartbroken, and his open grief makes him politically weak too. Instead of honouring the victors, he mourns the death of his son.
The cry of a grieving parent for the death of a son or a daughter, no matter what age either of them is, is a cry that pierces the soul. Once you hear it, you can never forget it.
No parent expects to see a child grow to full adulthood and then live to see that son or daughter die. It is an unnatural sequence or pairing of life events. It is one of the great injustices in life.
And David’s grieving, despite all that has happened before, despite his own role in bringing about these bitter and ugly events, is one of those truly authentic passages of reportage in the Bible:
‘O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ (II Samuel 18: 33).
These truly are the words of a distressed Father’s love for his son, a parent’s love for the child.
No matter how wayward, how rebellious, or how violent that child may be – and every parent has children who give problems – been there, done that – yet the love of a parent for a child is impossible to quench.
This was one of the readings chosen by Bishop John McDowell for the devotional reflections at the General Synod some years ago [2012], and, as he read it, I could feel my heart breaking.
Perhaps this is what it means when it is said David was ‘a man after God’s own heart’ (I Samuel 13: 13-14; Acts 13: 22). Despite David’s many faults, he had a heart like God’s, weeping over his wayward children, willing to die in their place, never allowing their rebellion and cruelty to harden his own heart towards them.
David’s heart-breaking grief is echoed in our Psalm: ‘Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!’ (Psalm 130: -21).
The first verse in Psalm 130 is a call to God in deep sorrow, ‘out of the depths’ as it is translated in the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible and in the Book of Common Prayer. When the Book of Common Prayer gave Latin names to the psalms, the psalm was known by its Latin incipit, De profundis, and it has inspired composers (Bach, Mozart, Arvo Pärt), poets (Tennyson, Rossetti, Lorca) and writers (Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle).
David’s cry is a cry to God for deliverance from personal trouble, yet it ends with a message of hope for all. God is attentive to our pleas, despite everything that has gone wrong. God forgives, God is merciful, God offers unfailing love, freedom from grievous sin.
Christ understands the difficulties created by the relationship between a parent and child, and between a parent who is grieved by the bickering and battling between two children.
That is why the story of the ‘Prodigal Son’ (Luke 15: 11-32) rings so true. It is not just the story of a grieving father waiting for a wayward son, but the story of a grieving father waiting for a son who may be his ruin, the story of a grieving father whose two sons have fought so much with each other that one refuses to welcome the other home. It has parallels with Absalom’s clashes with Amnon, and contrasts with David’s refusal to go out and meet Absalom when he returns home.
This morning’s Psalm is a prayer for deliverance from personal trouble, but it ends with a message to all people: wait in hope for God; he offers unfailing love.
God’s love for us surpasses the love of any father or mother for their children.
God’s love is never petulant. God never goes into a corner and sulks.
And God’s bitter weeping and grieving when he sees our plight is expressed most perfectly in the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ.
Christ understands that so well. He tells the people who follow him after he has feed the multitude in the wilderness, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
Of course, there are many exceptions; of course, there are abusive parents and there are dysfunctional families. Even his critics try to abuse Christ by implying in this morning’s Gospel reading that he comes from a dysfunctional family (see verse 42).
But we also know that with God that there are no exceptions, that in Christ there is no abuse, that there are no exclusions to his understanding of family when he emphasises: ‘Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me’ (verse 46).
Christ calls us into a relationship with his Father that is free of any dysfunction that we may have known in the past.
God’s grief for us is more perfect that David’s grief for Absalom. God does not refuse to meet us when we reach out to him. And the love of God the Father, offered to us through Christ his Son, knows no exceptions, knows no boundaries, when it comes to his children.
Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty’ (John 6: 35).
And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.
‘I am the bread of life ... This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 48-50) … an icon in a shop window in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
John 6: 35, 41-51:
35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’
41 Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ 42 They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven”?’ 43 Jesus answered them, ‘Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, “And they shall all be taught by God.” Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’
‘This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die’ (John 6: 50) … bread prepared on Saturday for the Sunday Liturgy in Ouranoupolis, near Mount Athos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Liturgical Colour: Green.
Collect:
O God,
you declare your almighty power
most chiefly in showing mercy and pity:
Mercifully grant to us such a measure of your grace,
that we, running the way of your commandments,
may receive your gracious promises,
and be made partakers of your heavenly treasure;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Post Communion Prayer:
Lord of all mercy,
we your faithful people have celebrated
the memorial of that single sacrifice
which takes away our sins and brings pardon and peace.
By our communion
keep us firm on the foundation of the gospel
and preserve us from all sin;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Hymns:
62, Abide with me (CD 4);
24, All creatures of our God and king (CD 2, omits verses 5 and 6).
425, Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts (CD 25).
‘Grant … that we, running the way of your commandments, may receive your gracious promises’ … the Ten Commandments seen on carved stone in a synagogue in Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.
11 August 2018
A pilgrim’s quiet time in
the ‘City of the Heavens’
and a haven for refugees
Fishing boats on the beach at Ouranouplis in the summer sun (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Patrick Comerford
I spent some time this week putting the finishing touches to my monthly column in two church magazines, the Church Review in the Diocese of Dublin and Glendalough, and the Diocesan Magazine in the Diocese of Cashel, Ferns and Limerick.
In next month’s column [September 2018], I am recalling a visit earlier this year to Mount Athos, which began from the small port of Ouranoupolis, the port from which most visitors begin their journey to the Holy Mountain in north-east Greece.
Ouranoupolis is an interesting place itself, and might have been a topic on its own for this monthly column.
The fishing village was originally known as Prosforion, but changed its name to Ouranoupolis, which means ‘City of the Heavens,’ in the mid-20th century to recall the glory of the ancient town of Ouranoupolis, built around 300 BC by Alexarhos, a brother of the Macedonian king Kassander, in the time of Alexander the Great.
The exact location of ancient Ouranoupolis is not known, although it was located on or close to Mount Athos. It was important enough to have its own coins, which depict an eight-rayed star or the sun on one side and on the other side an image of Aphrodite Urania seated and holding a long, forked sceptre, surmounted by a ring. Next to the sceptre is a conical object surmounted by a star.
The images on the coins indicate a cult that honoured Aphrodite, the goddess of love.
Ancient Ouranoupolis did not survive for very long. A Swedish underwater expedition is said to have discovered monumental walls and possibly the remains of an ancient town in the sea in 1954. But the site has never been explored properly, and little is still known about the ancient town of Ouranoupolis.
The 14th century Byzantine tower is the earliest archaeological site at Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The earliest archaeological site at Ouranoupolis today is a Byzantine tower on the shoreline built in the 14th century.
By 1344, the tower was the principal building of a metohi or outlying farm that belonged to the monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos. In May 1379, the Byzantine ruler, John V Palaeologos, stayed in the tower in May 1379, and issued various concessions in favour of Mount Athos. He removed the obligation for the metohi or farm attached to the tower to pay taxes and the original document is still kept at the Monastery of Vatopedi.
The farm prospered and expanded, taking over all the land in the area, including the lands of the Monastery of Zygou which had gone into decline by then.
The monks who farmed the metohi continued to live in the tower until 1922. It was set on fire in 1821 but was repaired sometime after 1865 when a few other buildings around it were added. These included an olive press with a well, an oven, stables, an ironmonger’s workshop and two large houses where the lay workers lived.
The Greek war with Turkey after World War I ended in disaster in disaster in 1921, and a systematic genocide of Greeks living in Turkey was underway.
Smyrna was burned to the ground and the majority of the Greek people there were killed. Whole Greek-speaking villages in Turkey were uprooted and refugees crammed onto boats and trains heading for mainland Greece. Greece faced a major crisis with the arrival of half a million destitute and traumatised people.
The refugees were first taken to holding areas and then sent to different parts of Greece to begin a new life. In the past, I have told stories of how some of these refugees were housed in Tsesmes, near Rethymnon in Crete.
In response to these demands, the Greek government confiscated the monastic lands around the tower at Prosforion to settle some of the destitute refugees. The monks left promptly for Vatopedi and the first boatload of refugees arrived in 1922.
These first refugees were from Caesarea, and included former merchants and carpet wavers. At first, they moved into the abandoned monastic buildings and used them as communal living quarters until the first houses were built. More refugees arrived each successive year until 1928, and gradually a small village grew up with 90 cottages.
The later refugees were once prosperous fishermen and their families from the Princes Islands off the coast of Constantinople in the Sea of Marmara that connects the Black Sea with the Aegean Sea.
The village name was changed from Prosforion to Ouranoupolis in 1946, and became a village in its own right, separate from the neighbouring town of Ierissos.
The first refugee houses were white-washed, red-tiled, one-bedroom, single-storey houses built by a German contractor, each with a small garden. Each family was given a cottage, a plot of land, some olive trees and 10 sheep. But when the sheep soon died from starvation they were replaced by more resolute goats. The fishermen were given grants to buy boats.
Living conditions were harsh, water was scarce, and the dry land produced little. The only available source of employment nearby was on Mount Athos, and the men often spent months away from home in the monasteries, working as labourers and struggling to support their families.
The village remained isolated from the rest of Greece, there was no road out, and it was a 9 km journey along a mule track through the mountains of Halkidiki to Tripiti. From there, the final leg of the journey involved either walking or taking a boat. An ancient edict prohibited building a road ‘on which a wheel could run’ to Mount Athos and so Ouranoupolis remained without a road and isolated for many years.
After a particularly harsh winter, the villagers, led by Ioannis Tozakoglou, took matters into their hands in 1959, and with spades, shovels and bare hands they built a dirt track that became, the first road to the village. The first car to reach the village was a British Land Rover.
The road was improved soon after, a daily bus service was introduced and with the arrival of tourists the village was gradually lifted out of poverty, eventually becoming the prosperous tourist resort it is today.
But even at the height of summer, Ouranoupolis can remain a relatively restrained place, with the laid-back atmosphere disturbed only in the early morning with the arrival of buses bringing people to catch the ferries to Mount Athos, and returning again in the afternoon in time for lunch.
Lunchtime on a sunny afternoon in Ouranoupolis earier this year (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
Patrick Comerford
I spent some time this week putting the finishing touches to my monthly column in two church magazines, the Church Review in the Diocese of Dublin and Glendalough, and the Diocesan Magazine in the Diocese of Cashel, Ferns and Limerick.
In next month’s column [September 2018], I am recalling a visit earlier this year to Mount Athos, which began from the small port of Ouranoupolis, the port from which most visitors begin their journey to the Holy Mountain in north-east Greece.
Ouranoupolis is an interesting place itself, and might have been a topic on its own for this monthly column.
The fishing village was originally known as Prosforion, but changed its name to Ouranoupolis, which means ‘City of the Heavens,’ in the mid-20th century to recall the glory of the ancient town of Ouranoupolis, built around 300 BC by Alexarhos, a brother of the Macedonian king Kassander, in the time of Alexander the Great.
The exact location of ancient Ouranoupolis is not known, although it was located on or close to Mount Athos. It was important enough to have its own coins, which depict an eight-rayed star or the sun on one side and on the other side an image of Aphrodite Urania seated and holding a long, forked sceptre, surmounted by a ring. Next to the sceptre is a conical object surmounted by a star.
The images on the coins indicate a cult that honoured Aphrodite, the goddess of love.
Ancient Ouranoupolis did not survive for very long. A Swedish underwater expedition is said to have discovered monumental walls and possibly the remains of an ancient town in the sea in 1954. But the site has never been explored properly, and little is still known about the ancient town of Ouranoupolis.
The 14th century Byzantine tower is the earliest archaeological site at Ouranoupolis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
The earliest archaeological site at Ouranoupolis today is a Byzantine tower on the shoreline built in the 14th century.
By 1344, the tower was the principal building of a metohi or outlying farm that belonged to the monastery of Vatopedi on Mount Athos. In May 1379, the Byzantine ruler, John V Palaeologos, stayed in the tower in May 1379, and issued various concessions in favour of Mount Athos. He removed the obligation for the metohi or farm attached to the tower to pay taxes and the original document is still kept at the Monastery of Vatopedi.
The farm prospered and expanded, taking over all the land in the area, including the lands of the Monastery of Zygou which had gone into decline by then.
The monks who farmed the metohi continued to live in the tower until 1922. It was set on fire in 1821 but was repaired sometime after 1865 when a few other buildings around it were added. These included an olive press with a well, an oven, stables, an ironmonger’s workshop and two large houses where the lay workers lived.
The Greek war with Turkey after World War I ended in disaster in disaster in 1921, and a systematic genocide of Greeks living in Turkey was underway.
Smyrna was burned to the ground and the majority of the Greek people there were killed. Whole Greek-speaking villages in Turkey were uprooted and refugees crammed onto boats and trains heading for mainland Greece. Greece faced a major crisis with the arrival of half a million destitute and traumatised people.
The refugees were first taken to holding areas and then sent to different parts of Greece to begin a new life. In the past, I have told stories of how some of these refugees were housed in Tsesmes, near Rethymnon in Crete.
In response to these demands, the Greek government confiscated the monastic lands around the tower at Prosforion to settle some of the destitute refugees. The monks left promptly for Vatopedi and the first boatload of refugees arrived in 1922.
These first refugees were from Caesarea, and included former merchants and carpet wavers. At first, they moved into the abandoned monastic buildings and used them as communal living quarters until the first houses were built. More refugees arrived each successive year until 1928, and gradually a small village grew up with 90 cottages.
The later refugees were once prosperous fishermen and their families from the Princes Islands off the coast of Constantinople in the Sea of Marmara that connects the Black Sea with the Aegean Sea.
The village name was changed from Prosforion to Ouranoupolis in 1946, and became a village in its own right, separate from the neighbouring town of Ierissos.
The first refugee houses were white-washed, red-tiled, one-bedroom, single-storey houses built by a German contractor, each with a small garden. Each family was given a cottage, a plot of land, some olive trees and 10 sheep. But when the sheep soon died from starvation they were replaced by more resolute goats. The fishermen were given grants to buy boats.
Living conditions were harsh, water was scarce, and the dry land produced little. The only available source of employment nearby was on Mount Athos, and the men often spent months away from home in the monasteries, working as labourers and struggling to support their families.
The village remained isolated from the rest of Greece, there was no road out, and it was a 9 km journey along a mule track through the mountains of Halkidiki to Tripiti. From there, the final leg of the journey involved either walking or taking a boat. An ancient edict prohibited building a road ‘on which a wheel could run’ to Mount Athos and so Ouranoupolis remained without a road and isolated for many years.
After a particularly harsh winter, the villagers, led by Ioannis Tozakoglou, took matters into their hands in 1959, and with spades, shovels and bare hands they built a dirt track that became, the first road to the village. The first car to reach the village was a British Land Rover.
The road was improved soon after, a daily bus service was introduced and with the arrival of tourists the village was gradually lifted out of poverty, eventually becoming the prosperous tourist resort it is today.
But even at the height of summer, Ouranoupolis can remain a relatively restrained place, with the laid-back atmosphere disturbed only in the early morning with the arrival of buses bringing people to catch the ferries to Mount Athos, and returning again in the afternoon in time for lunch.
Lunchtime on a sunny afternoon in Ouranoupolis earier this year (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)
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