Sunday Reflections

On a liturgical note Canon Philip Gillespie ‘(Mary is) a sign of sure hope and comfort to your pilgrim people.’ (Preface of the Assumption) For the Italians, the Solemnity of the Assumption on 15 August is a wellloved and well-honoured feast – not least because it falls in the middle of what can be the hottest month. Not for nothing do they speak of ‘fer Agosto’ – the iron heat of August –and so the Assumption can be an opportunity for a much-needed extra day of rest, and perhaps a trip to the seaside or an extra ice cream! Our devotion for and love of Mary does not turn her into a goddess to be worshipped, but acknowledges her powerful example, inspiration and intercession for us on our journey of faith and life. She is ‘the handmaid of the Lord’, the one who acknowledges that ‘the Almighty has done great things for me and Holy is His Name’ and who encourages us to echo her words of thanksgiving – not just by the words of our mouths but by the ‘words in action’ of our Christian living. The unique privileges of Mary do not distance her from us but make her that motherly and compassionate presence at the heart of God’s faithful people. Perhaps that is one reason why Pope Francis instituted an annual Feast of Mary, Mother of the Church, on the Monday after Pentecost, ‘encouraging the growth of the maternal sense of the Church in the pastors, religious and faithful, as well as a growth of genuine Marian piety’ (Congregation for Divine Worship, 2018). England was traditionally known as the Dowry of Mary and whether it is in our churches dedicated to Saint Mary (later Our Lady) – places of pilgrimage such as Fernyhalgh near Preston, Walsingham in East Anglia, Our Lady of the Assumption at Aylesford – we rejoice in a rich heritage of Marian devotion. On the Feast of the Assumption, therefore, perhaps it is a good opportunity to echo again one of the earliest prayers to the Blessed Virgin: ‘Beneath your compassion, We take refuge, O Mother of God: do not despise our petitions in time of trouble: but rescue us from dangers, only pure, only blessed one.’

We recently gathered in the Isle of Man to mark the closure of St Joseph’s, Willaston. Sad as it is when a church closes, it is important to remind ourselves that the Church is its people rather than the bricks and mortar of any building. The occasion was a joyful celebration of milestones and memories in the life of the community. At a Sunday afternoon service, the parish registers were placed on the altar. Names of those who had been baptised, confirmed, married and whose funerals had been celebrated over the last 60 years were read out. They included the very first baptism and the last wedding. It brought these past events alive. Their names live on. People who had not gathered together in a long time had the opportunity to reunite and talk about the old days and share photos. These raised peals of laughter as people recognised their younger selves over tea and cake. As one longstanding parishioner movingly wrote to me:

Mgr John Devine OBE

‘Thank you and to all your team who made the sad closure of St Joseph’s Church into a happy and memorable day.’ Each of the church’s 14 stations of the cross had been donated in memory of loved ones. Parishioners were invited to give them an honoured place in their homes. A carved statue of Saint Joseph the Worker, donated by Father James English to the first and only parish priest, Fr Leslie Daley, now has pride of place in St Mary of the Isle Church in Douglas. One family claimed the pew where their dad sat for many years as he attended Mass. This prompted other parishioners to take the remaining pews. As well as serving as a memento of St Joseph’s, they make excellent garden furniture. Over the years St Joseph’s has developed as a hub for social welfare agencies. Their work will continue in partnership with Living Hope, an evangelical church in the Baptist tradition.

In 2019 we were lucky enough to host Peter McVerry at our Come & See Conference. Peter spoke very movingly of his time in Summerhill in North Dublin. It was there that he came face to face with the problem of homelessness and deprivation. This had a profound effect on him, and he devoted his life to working with and for the poor, and particularly young people. Peter was one of those men whose compassion flowed from him as he talked of the young people that he worked with. He almost broke down as he shared their stories and enabled us to begin to understand what was going on in their lives. The crowds that followed Jesus were like those young people: lost, confused, living under a cruel Roman occupation, needing something to give them reasons to live. The Greek word that we translate as ‘pity’ means to have a gut reaction of compassion. This Gospel is meant to affect our guts, the core of our being. Jesus is the icon of humanity who helps us understand what the compassionate way of our God is all about and the Gospels record this way for us. He always allowed the suffering of others to touch Him, sometimes even reacting without being asked. Compassion was at the heart of everything Jesus did and He lived His life without concern for reputation, financial security, or selfserving traditions. The lesson for me is that we should not spend time trying to protect what we have at the expense of being open to the Kingdom and the invitation to enter into the pain of the world. Maybe the challenge of this Gospel passage is to be like Jesus: receptive to others, particularly the poor and the broken. This call to compassionate living demands a movement away from our natural aversion to suffering. Each of the Synoptic Gospels begins with the word metanoia, which we translate as repent. This isn’t about beating ourselves up for our sins but about falling into the grace of God and realising that God is everything, that God is life. We are to turn around from what the world sees as reality and believe in the Lord’s reality, which is the Kingdom of God. It is an invitation to put on a new mind, to see things in a different way. It always involves an openness to the spirit and a letting go of that which stops us being like God. It calls for compassion, to not run away from the pain and suffering around us. We are called to be the healing, loving, transforming presence of Christ in the world; to be His hands and feet and eyes. We’re to be His compassion as we proclaim the Kingdom of God.