Advent

I remember as a small boy helping my father to build a garage. I’m not sure I was much help as I mixed some cement in a saucer with a knife and poured it onto a concrete block. Dad would then lay the next block on my little pile of cement and I would use my knife to smooth the join.

I don’t remember too much about the building, but I will never forget the moment the Mormans came up the drive. They were better dressed than any Catholics I had ever met. They were more direct too. They asked if we had been saved. My father seemed to think we had been and chatted with them as he carried on with the building.

The Mormans got a bit frustrated. They didn’t seem to find it easy to talk with people who kept on building garages. They got a bit desperate for attention and told us that the world was going to end. The nuns had told me about this at school so I wasn’t too shocked. My father seemed to have heard this before too. It probably got mentioned at St Bede’s once or twice.

But Dad went on to react further. put down his trowel, stood up and wiped his hands. The Mormans looked pleased. They had his attention. My father looked uncertain and asked the visitors: “well, is there any point in me finishing this garage?”.

Sadly the Mormans had been trained only to give answers to questions that were in their handbook. They had not been programmed to talk about garages. Such complex implications of theological certainties were beyond them and they walked their new Hallensteins suits back out the gate. Every time I think of the end of the world, or the end of a human life I remember my dad and those Mormans.

The security of health, relationship and employment we live in is really very unstable. Yet these changing realities of life are the place where we must live in every moment. These sometimes gentle, sometimes traumatic realities, serve to keep us awake to God breaking into our lives anew in every moment. Jesus said to his disciples: “there will be signs…”

Over the past week our country has been shaken awake by the trauma and the tragedy of the mine explosion at Pike River. At a time like this the citizens of our country become a family. We share the enormous pain and grief of the closest family and friends of the miners and contractors.

We have been shaken out of a complacency that convinces us that we are in control, and can design our own destiny. In the event of such a wake-up call we feel a profound helplessness. We turn to prayer.

If we look to our prayer to provide answers we will often be disappointed. Prayer is not about getting answers to our own limited questions. Instead, in our prayer we find a home with God where (in the midst of our trauma and loss), we find a sense of peace and perspective.

In these moments of prayer we realise that God has come to us anew in the midst of our grief.

I’d like to meet those Mormans again. I think we could have a great conversation about the ways in which God enters our communal and personal human reality. They may have added a chapter on garage-builders to their handbook by now.

These difficult days reminds us that the signs God uses to wake us up are usually not what we expect. The signs are rarely of our choosing.

The circumstances that we have to live in at any moment, whether they be attractive or painful, are simply the circumstances of my life in this moment. The circumstances themselves are little more than the environment of my life today. Before I finish reading this reflection things may have changed by a phone call or a memory. But for this moment, this is where I live.

Two thousand years ago a young woman was visited by an angel. Mary’s presence of mind and heart and her response to this moment meant that nothing was the same again for the world. Three years later Jesus noticed Judas leave the table early... At this moment Jesus had many valid options before him. He could have gone out with Judas and in a brief conversation changed Judas’ plan. He could have run away. Instead he chose to place his total trust in his Father. The one who had argued with Pharisees, turned over tables in the temple and raised the dead to life, now simply relaxed into total dependence on God. The person of faith is sensitive to these hourly advents. The person of faith sees every moment as an “advent”, an opportunity for intimacy with our all-powerful and all-loving God.

The events of each hour are above all else a reminder to “wake up” and to be aware. God is coming anew into my life in the midst of whatever circumstances I have been dealt at this moment.

Catholics Welcome New Mass Texts

(Published in Christchurch Press 26 November 2010)

http://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/opinion/perspective/4391672/New-translation

Catholic Welcome New Mass Texts

New Zealand Catholics are the first to welcome new English translations of the two thousand year old Mass.

After almost a decade of study and consultation, the revised texts will be used at all Masses in New Zealand from this Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent 2010.

Other English-speaking countries will receive the same new texts over the next twelve months.

Forty years later

It is forty years since the Catholic Mass was translated from the universal Latin into local languages. In almost every language, a “formal correspondence” to the Latin was retained for the Mass dialogues between priest and people.

However those responsible for translating the Mass into English, were instructed to produce a more vernacular English translation that was only “dynamically equivalent” to the Latin.

The result was that while our English texts seemed more user-friendly and contemporary, they were out of harmony with the robust and theologically rich translations of other languages.

An example is the people’s response to the priest’s greeting “The Lord be with you” (“Dominus Vobiscum”). This was translated as “and also with you” (Latin: “et cum spiritu tuo”).

In other languages, “spirit” (the heart of the ancient scriptural greeting) was retained: “Et avec votre esprit” (French), “Y con to espiritu” (Spanish) and “E con il tuo spirito” (Italian).

A more tragic consequence has been the diminishment of the language of the Mass as a vehicle for the tradition, doctrine and theology of the people of God.

Praying what we mean, and meaning what we pray?

In our personal and private prayer we seek to pray what we mean. Such prayer is authentic since we actively orient ourselves towards God, presenting our needs and offering our gratitude.

But when we gather for the Mass we are doing something different. We are humbly remembering that God is actively oriented towards us. We are hearing God speak to us.

Therefore our intention in the prayers of the Mass is not to articulate what we mean. In these ancient texts we are united with our ancestors in hearing our human potential proclaimed and professed. In the Mass we are formed and re-formed. In the Mass we grow to mean what we pray.

Mass: the prayer for miners’ families, and for newly-weds

In this way, every Mass is appropriate worship for every human emotion: the rejoicing newly married couple, and the grieving families of the miners. Whatever our present reality, in the Mass God speaks to us and we allow ourselves to be drawn nearer to God.

Antiques are treasures

The arrival of the first English translations of the Mass in the late 1960’s coincided with an emergence of new and ‘free’ thinking. These were the years when we discarded anything that seemed ‘old-fashioned’. We moved the old oak dining table to the shed. To replace it, we bought a new formica and chrome suite. “This one is more modern, and easier to keep clean” we said.

A generation later we realized that we had lost a lot more than an old table when we threw out the old table. Without the table, we no longer had a daily reminder of great-grandparents who were given the table as a wedding gift, and who sailed with this treasured possession from England. Lost too was the mark of my grandfather’s toddler teeth where he bit into the table leg. The old table told stories. It carried our heritage.

Once again we saw the beauty of the table. We gave it the venerable title “heirloom” and it has pride of place in our modern dining room.

Second Vatican Council 1962-1965

In a rediscovery of our tradition of worship, and armed with the maturity of forty years of growth, Catholics are now ready to implement fully the liturgical teachings of the Second Vatican Council of the early 1960’s.

The first of the sixteen documents to emerge from this gathering brought together a century of liturgical research, consultation, and experimentation. To date, many of the heirlooms and treasures presented by the Council have not been fully received by the Church.

A new opportunity

The Council's challenge to “active participation” in the Mass is often reduced to describe only those who have a visible role or ‘ministry’ at Mass. This emphasis can disguise the deeper call to personal heart-felt encounter with God in the action of the Mass.

The formation of parish Liturgy committees often became an opportunity for distracting and unnecessary creativity at Mass, rather than a guide for faithful celebration of a timeless treasure in a time-tested form.

In our well-intentioned desire to encourage congregational participation with popular hymns, we had moved away from the simple, sound and restorative rhythm of scriptural verses and psalms.

As ancient chant tones (composed to simply carry rather than enhance or nuance prayers) were used less in liturgy, music companies experienced a demand for recordings of nuns and monks praying in Gregorian chant. When people could not find what their souls sought at Church, they looked elsewhere.

Too often silence faded from the Mass at the very time when busy and stressed people sought solitude.

We began to see the Liturgy of the Church as our creation and our work. Instead the Mass is the ultimate activity of God in the lives of Catholics.

In this restoration of the Liturgy, Catholics are not embarking on a nostalgic regression. Instead we now know that we are prepared to move into the future, only when we savour the wisdom and traditions of our ancestors.

It is a mature faith community that can pray in the English, Maori, Latin and Greek language of our ancestors within one liturgy. A community that chants Latin in one prayer and sings modern hymns in the next has reached a deep appreciation of the timelessness of faith.

Next Sunday Catholics will not find a new Mass. Instead they will experience revised texts that better express and communicate the timeless wonder of the presence and action of God in all human life.

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Bishop John Cunneen DD RIP

Below find the homily delivered by Bishop Basil Meeking at the Funeral Mass for Bishop John Cunneen.

Over 78 years ago John Jerome Cunneen was baptised, in the old church, in this parish of St Mary, North Christchurch. Now he has completed his earthly pilgrimage. So we gather for his Requiem Mass, our Bishop Barry Jones, his fellow bishops of New Zealand, his family, the priests, religious and faithful of the Catholic Diocese of Christchurch and many others who have known and loved him and whose lives he has touched and blessed in significant ways.

The life of Bishop John Cunneen was all of a piece. He was a man of the Church firmly, wholeheartedly; he was always comfortable with that, no matter whose company he was in. When he was only 14 years old he went to Holy Name, the national minor seminary just when it opened here in Christchurch and so began his path to the priesthood.. His whole life from then on was given to the Catholic Church, yet in a quite remarkable degree, wherever he was, he was part of the human community too . He had a deep feeling for Canterbury and for the institutions and lives of the people of the province. He was one of those persons of whom you could say, “Nothing human was foreign to him,” This was in no way contradicted by the fact that first and foremost he was a Catholic priest. He was quite without any kind of personal or ideological agenda; he was a man with no concern for possessing money or material goods; he simply found in the priestly ministry his raison d’etre and his way of living the Gospel of Jesus Christ .

As I look back over the 65 years that John Cunneen and I have been friends, one phrase comes to mind that encapsulates the essential thrust of his life. It consists of only two words which were used by the Second Vatican Council in the mid-1960s when speaking of the priestly ministry.

From the outset and at every stage in his life Bishop Cunneen was a man of unwavering “pastoral charity”. Pastoral charity – before the Second Vatican Council we used call it zeal. “A good priest is a zealous priest”, we would say. That remains true. A priest should be zealous for the salvation of the world. But the reinterpretation of zeal as pastoral charity is an advance in understanding of the attitude and the habits a priest needs in order to carry out his ministry. Pastoral charity indicates not only zeal for the salvation of the world but love for the world. It does not mean adopting the standards of the world or being taken in by the world. It is just that you can’t really evangelise someone you don’t love. You can’t speak of evangelising a culture unless you are able to take part in it and can show that you love it. Only someone whose life is marked by love has the ability to reveal the self giving of God the Father in a redemptive love for the world. Pastoral charity is not some general kind of love; it is always love for persons, particular persons made in God’s image. If a priest is truly pastoral it means he never offers his own kind of salvation for people; it means rather that he brings the one God in three Persons to his people and that he is prepared to sacrifice himself in doing so.

The kind of availability for people that is integral to pastoral charity is a self discipline, often a form of penance for the priest. It is the availability that we see in Jesus in the Gospels. His mission on earth Jesus said, was to reveal his Father. That is the mission of the priest, to reveal the Father as the source of all life. The priest is a sacramental sign of Jesus Christ and therefore one who reveals the Father as absolute life-giving love that heals people and transforms them and draws them even to share in the very life of God. Therefore the priest, in revealing God as Father himself shares in a true spiritual fatherhood; he is rightly called “Father”. If the priest is to be effective and at ease in his priestly ministry he must have an increasingly clear sense of himself as a father. It is not a function, not something one does; it is a relationship with God into which the priest brings those he serves and cares for, a relationship that permeates everything, including his free time. This is the pastoral charity that impels a priest to live in the midst of God’s people so as to direct their path and nourish their hope.

In all of this I am describing Father Cunneen, Bishop Cunneen during all his 54 years of priesthood. This is what he became through the sacrament of Holy Orders when he was ordained a priest in Holy Name Church in Ashburton in 1956; this is what he became even more intensely when he was ordained a bishop in the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament in 1992. The holy gifts he received in ordination flourished and bore fruit abundantly in his life not least because he had also notable natural gifts of temperament and character which brought him close to people. A friend to whom I had once introduced him writes from the USA after his death: “I had been impressed by his ability to relate to people immediately He acted as if he had know me for years.” Part of it was his sweet and placid disposition and a real gentleness; I never saw him really angry. He carried optimism almost to a fault; he was the embodiment of those words of the English mystic, Julian of Norwich: “All things shall be well; all manner of things shall be well . “

He was never a man of theory; his clear, wholehearted commitment to social justice, to the relief of human need, to human development was not in the abstract; he simply got on with the job when he saw a person in need. When he came across someone who could not cope with life. I remember once, many years ago, noticing how a team of people funded by the diocese to deal with a certain social situation held meetings and talked a lot while Father Cunneen who was not part of the team was dealing quietly, effectively, with those in need whom the team had been formed to serve; they were beating a path to his door.

A full list of the people with whom he was actively involved cannot be given here; principally there were the Samoan communities in Christchurch to whom he was chaplain and father and friend while there was no Samoan priest in the diocese and whom he continued to cherish and support after we did have Father Paolo from Samoa and after he himself had become the diocesan bishop. Then there were all the young people with whom he could communicate so easily ; they found in him a sympathetic, fatherly figure who understood and cared for them; perhaps some of you here today came to know him at 6A in those Sunday socials in the Xavier College Hall which he organised in the 1960s. For prisoners he was a friend and advocate, someone endlessly ready to listen to them and to give them practical help. Always the Maori people knew they had a friend in Pa Cunneen, one who would share with them not only his time but his possessions too.

All of that was highly personal and it gave him a certain image, yet he always remained solidly based in a parish; he was essentially a hardworking parish priest and he gave of his best in every parish where he served; He met and visited with so many of you who are here today’ in a parish; there he did your baptisms, your First Communions, your weddings and buried your dead. Father Cunneen served as assistant priest in St Joseph’s, North Timaru, in St Paul’s Dallington, at the Cathedral,; then as parish priest in the Chatham Island, after that back as administrator of the Cathedral parish,, then to Sacred Heart Addington, to Rangiora, to Bishopdale and finally Christ the King, Burnside., until in 1990 he became my pastoral assistant, that meant really acting as a kind of unofficial auxiliary bishop; then in 1992 the Holy See agreed to his appointment as auxiliary bishop in Christchurch and I had the joy of consecrating him on St Andrew’s Day that year. Then when I retired in 1996 John Jerome Cunneen was appointed 8th Bishop of Christchurch.

Once in charge of the diocese his impulse was to act as parish priest of the whole diocese and though that may have had some drawbacks, his abundant pastoral charity was lavished on people more widely than ever.

In all situations the considerable pastoral skills he had acquired were to the fore. Especially was he a friend to the priests and always felt close to them and sought their company; they appreciated his first hand experience of their tasks and the problems they faced. He gave encouragement to religious men and women as far as possible in their changing and often difficult situations. In particular, the supportive prayers of the Carmelite sisters, their loyalty to the Church and the friendship and encouragement they give to priests led him to act as their chaplain, celebrating their daily Masses for a number of years until his health gave out. Bishop Cunneen gave his full support to the Catholic schools and the Catholic education system which he continued to keep firmly on a diocesan basis. In the administration of the diocese itself he was blessed with good co-operators and prudently followed the financial and administrative policies he found already in place.

Bishop John was assiduous in keeping up the good practice of regular visitation of the parishes of the diocese which is an important part of the ministry of a diocesan bishop. During the visitation he would go to the parish school where he would meet with students, teachers and the board of trustees. Here he was always aware of his responsibility as teacher of the faith. I remember his telling me on one occasion of his concern that some of the students seemed not to know the biblical and Church teaching about life after death and the resurrection of the body. So he explained to them the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ and what that signified for the resurrection of each Christian on the Day of judgement. It is a lesson he continues to teach us today. In the passage from St John’s Gospel which he chose for this Requiem Mass and which we have just heard, Jesus says: “Those who have done good deeds will rise to the resurrection of life.” It was his own firm belief as it is the solemn teaching of the Church.

In Christchurch Bishop Cunneen took his part in public life. His long time involvement with social causes and with people in need had brought him friends and allies in local social agencies, in the business community and in local government. As a bishop he was able to continue and develop such contacts and he gave his time and his presence generously in public life wherever the collaboration of the Catholic Church was welcome and appropriate.

He also took a full part in the work of the New Zealand Catholic Bishops Conference which enables diocese bishops to cooperate especially on matters of national interest. He did not always find it easy. For a number of years he presided over the ecumenical commission of the Conference and was co-moderator of the dialogue with the Anglican Church of New Zealand.

Here his even temperament and ease of manner were important at a time that was not always propitious for ecumenical relations, a time when new divisions seemed to be emerging and some earlier apparent convergences were unravelling. He knew and put into practice the Catholic principles on ecumenism, principles that ensure that dialogue fosters authentic communion in one faith, in one sacramental life and in one teaching authority, and does not degenerate into lowest common denominator negotiations.

All his priestly life Bishop Cunneen had given himself unstintingly, untiringly; this exacted its toll in 2003 when he had a major stroke that incapacitated him for months; he was never to regain complete mobility. Priests and people were deeply impressed at the way he accepted this affliction and at the determined fight he made, with an amount of success, to overcome the effects of the stroke. In 2007 his retirement was accepted by the Holy See and he was succeeded by his coadjutor, Bishop Barry Jones. Since then Bishop Cunneen has had happy days in St John Fisher House in Brougham Street next to Nazareth House where he and I have each had an apartment, thanks to the generosity of the diocese and have had several years of peaceful retirement. Rather suddenly at the end of July he learned of the cancer that was to end his life. He accepted it with fortitude and great faith He had lived with trust in God’s plan for his life and he approached the end of his days in the same spirit. He greatly appreciated the care he received from the Sisters and staff of Nazareth House these past several weeks as they helped him prepare to pass through the gate of death. He entered that gate in the firm faith that in Christ death is overcome and that life with God awaited him.

Today we pray God’s mercy on Bishop John Jerome Cunneen. May God reward his loving service for the Catholic people of this diocese of Christchurch; our memory of him will be of the great pastoral charity which made his life beautiful for God, a blessing for the Church and a sign of hope for us who remain.

Eternal rest grant to him, O Lord.

And let perpetual light shine upon him.

May he rest in peace.

Amen.

Christ the King

It has been a bit hard to escape the royal family this week. Media reports are saturated with news of the engagement of William and Kate.

When I consider ‘royalty’, I find it hard to think beyond the trappings of contemporary royalty: wealth, glamour, and image. This scene is far from the reality of the feast we celebrate today. Christ is a different kind of king. His palace was the stable of his birth and the simple homes and open roadsides where he slept. His royal court was occupied by the poor and the powerless. Repentant sinners had pride of place in his company. His banquet was the loaves he shared and the cup of his blood outpoured. His throne was a cross. His crown was of thorns.

In 1925 Pope Pius XI spoke strongly against secularism. The secular wave both then and now promotes worldly achievement and wealth as the ultimate human success. Following the difficult years of World War I, the 1920’s brought renewed hope. This new age appeared to herald prosperity.

However there was a sinister, powerful and pervasive element in this new ‘vision’. The hope promised by flourishing ideologies was no longer an eternal life gifted by God. Instead anyone who shouted loudly enough into the vacuum became a saviour. These ideologies promoted worldly structures as the only real hope for the people.

In the opening days of 1925 Mussolini powered his way into position as dictator of Italy. He promised a kingdom that would supass any previous realm. In July 1925 Hitler published “Mein Kampf”. This autobiographical manifesto outlined his plans for a new world that would bring salvation for all those whom he considered to be deserving.

In December 1925 Pope Pius XI closed the 1925 Holy Year by issuing an encyclical letter announcing a new feast of Christ the King. This letter was a powerful reminder that human persons are not created to rule the earth as dictators as of right, but to serve. Our maker is our monarch.

The Pope was speaking from the heart of Catholic (and therefore human) truth: it is of the nature of the human person to be subject to God. Indeed the problem Adam and Eve had in the garden was that they grasped at the role of God. They attempted to dominate and control what did not belong to them. While this sin may have been original at the time it is now the oldest and most serious failing of all.

With tragic consequences we reject the beauty of human existence and grasp at the divine role. After all our work we end up like the newborn baby in the pilot’s seat of the 747. The passengers are ready for the journey but there is no way that this thing is going to move until we find the pilot!

Pius XI speaks to this directly by reminding us of the method that brings all that we seek:

“When once people recognize, both in private and in public life, that Christ is King, society will at last receive the great blessings of real liberty, well-ordered discipline, peace and harmony. Our Lord's regal office invests the human authority of princes and rulers with a religious significance; it ennobles the citizen's duty of obedience. (par.19)

Eighty-six years after our first celebration of the feast of Christ the King, it is timely to consider whether we have made any progress. Without hesitation I can name many signs of hope, perhaps more now than in the middle years of last century. However our progress does feel like a battle at times. This is the case especially when secularism is promoted as the default position for the human person.

Instead, the person who embraces a life of faith, and lives a life of subjection to Christ worshipping with the faith community every Sabbath, is today considered to be a bit odd. The truth is that religious belief and practice is our default setting. We are made for God and cannot live without God.

As we celebrate this feast of faith we acknowledge that, by the generosity of God, we are the subjects of Christ the King. Life in this Kingdom (both eternally and present) frees us from having to make divine decisions: we can let God be God and relax into the natural human position of being loved by God and led by him. We are as helpless and as erratic as sheep. But our shepherd will carry us.

Here the teaching of Pius XI is of one voice with Benedict XVI. There are no surprises in that since both popes (and all between) know that human health and happiness, liberty, discipline, peace and harmony comes when we live as servants and subjects of Christ our King.

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shaking foundations: voice of God?

There will be powerful earthquakes, famines, and plagues from place to place;
 and awesome sights and mighty signs will come from the sky…

…By your perseverance you will secure your lives."

Luke 21

You will notice in the Gospel today, a reference to earthquakes. We have had our fair share of them. Throughout history earthquakes have been a wake-up call for drowsy believers. I wonder if our Christchurch quakes have opened our eyes to the realities of life.

You will remember the first days after the September 4 quake. Even the Prime Minister and our city mayor (neither of whom profess Christian belief) were speaking of a “miracle” that there was no loss of life and inviting us to “count our blessings”.

Bishop Barry Jones was interviewed on TV news. He commented that the fact that there was no loss of life in the quake is certainly a “wonder of the world.”

Did you stop to savour the miracle or count the blessings? Did you take time to ponder this 2010 wonder of the world? Perhaps our focus shifted immediately went to rebuilding and recovery.

Our ancestors in Faith saw every event, indeed every moment, as a sign. The bountiful harvest was the sign that God was bestowing His gifts. The sunrise in the morning was the direct daily action of God providing light and life. The flood and earthquake served to refocus people on the life of God. The Sunday after an earthquake our lapsed ancestors would have filled the Church to once again know the favour of God.

But now the sunset at the end of the day is no longer seen as a gift from the God who loves us, inviting us to rest. Instead the lights of the city come on and the clubs burst into rhythm. At home the TV in the bedroom and computer on the dining table blur the boundaries between work and sleep. The voice of God in the rhythm of nature and human relationship has become passé and routine.

And in this blur of activity we miss the voice of God. Of course this would not be a problem if we were all blissfully happy on this earth. But the reality is that most of us do struggle. We have difficulty meeting our obligations to family, workplace and friends. We never seem to have enough money. Even the happiness provided by human joys has become fleeting, lasting only until the next crisis bring another dose of stress.

Our Faith gives us the courage and the confidence to perservere. Our only sure foundation is God.

moving forward in liturgy...

...with the wisdom and beauty of the past

After Sunday morning Mass last week, a parishioner made a comment that got me thinking. They said that they were happy that “I” had decided to introduce chant at Mass. They added that they were happy too with my decision to have incense at Mass.

While I would be happy to be credited with this, the introduction of chant and incense was not my idea.

I have also received some negative comments about the chant and incense. People say ‘why have you decided to make these changes…it’s not happening in other parishes?’ Some people go on to express their dissatisfaction that “I” decided not to have cd’s or Power Point in the Church, even at funerals. Once again this is not simply my decision. It was never intended or imagined by the Second Vatican Council, that churches would be a venue for slide-shows of granddad on the beach or mum in fancy-dress at a family party. The thought that one day a Catholic would be carried from his Funeral Mass accompanied by Frank Sinatra singing “I did it my way” was unimaginable in the mind of the Council.

The months since the restoration of our parish Church have happily coincided with the introduction of the new General Instruction of the Roman Missal and the Revised Order of the Mass. In just two weeks (28 November 2010, First Sunday of Advent) the church in New Zealand will receive the revised people’s prayers of the Mass. In these months we also take further steps to implement the new General Instruction.

In the almost fifty years since the Council, many changes have been made to the way we celebrate the Mass. Some of these changes were presented and encouraged by the Council. The increased use of the local language in the Mass (especially for the readings) is an example. However there are some other changes we have experienced that were never intended by the Council. An example is the movement away from use of scripture in the prayers and hymns of the Mass.

Another change that the bishops of the Council could never have imagined is the increased adapting and building of churches to be ‘multi-purpose-gathering-spaces’, where coffee is served, canned secular music is played and movies are shown.

In hindsight we can see that the life-giving documents of the Council landed in a western culture that (in the mood of the 1960’s) was all too ready to discard anything that reeked of “tradition”.

These were the years when our families put the oak dining table in the garage and saved up for formica and chrome. It looks more ‘modern’ we said, and ‘it’s easier to keep clean’.

The same was true of our culture and language. Immigrants were encouraged (ordered even) to abandon their own language and traditions, so that they could ‘settle’ and integrate in a new land. Even the first people of our own land were discouraged from speaking Maori. Such repression is not the mark of a healthy society.

But now we realize that we lost a lot when the oak went out. It wasn’t just the table we discarded. It was the reminder of our parents who ate every day at this battered heirloom, and the memory of our grandparents who received the table as a wedding present and who brought it with them from Ireland. Now we lovingly restore the antique table and design the rest of the room around it. In doing this we are not moving backwards. We are remembering that we are not ready to move into the future, unless we carry the wisdom and tradition of the past.

So too in the Church the time is ripe to maturely restore anything of value that has been lost. We realize again that the Liturgy of the Church is a gift to be received rather than a performance of our own creating. Two thousand years of Sacred Tradition is worth re-embracing.

This is not a backward movement, or a tripping on nostalgia. At Our Lady of Victories we are not following the whims of an innovative priest. Every change we have made, from the restoration of the church building, to the form of our celebration of the Liturgy, is clearly outlined as the norm in the Rites of the Church.

In worshipping in our parish church in harmony with the wider mind and heart of the Church, we provide for the people of our city, the sacred space and worship that the human soul seeks.

Please do not hesitate to call or email me for further clarification on this. I am also happy to meet with any group who would like to grown in appreciation of and understanding of the Liturgy of the Church.

may they rest in peace

On Sunday after the morning Mass I visited the four local cemeteries. A large number of parishioners and friends joined me at each cemetery to pray for those who had died.

As I blessed each grave, accompanied by the friends and/or family of the deceased person, I had a sense of the grief and loss that remains in each family even after many years.

Some of those we prayed for had lived long lives. Others had died as children, teenagers and young adults. Still others were young parents with children still at home.

A cemetery is a place of reality. Surrounded by headstones and silence it is impossible to avoid the most painful realities of life. Loss, suffering, death and grief, are inescapable realities of human existence.

In these November weeks we remember those who have died. This month of Holy Souls is embraced by feasts of great hope. On November 1 we celebrate All Saints: our real and eternal home exists beyond earthly struggles. This reality transcends human pleasures. Later in November the Church year concludes with the triumph of Christ the King. Then the month ends with the new beginning of Advent.

While the Church constantly calls us to live in reality, the Church never lets us sit in pain, without providing hope.

In the memories of loss and grief, and the pain of separations, today's first reading of the Mass of Holy Souls gives renewed hope:

The souls of the just are in the hand of God,

and no torment shall touch them.

They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;

and their passing away was thought an affliction

and their going forth from us, utter destruction.

But they are in peace.

Wisdom 3:1