‘Death,’ says His Grace, ‘throws it all apart. For we are not as we should be. Faith requires our adjustment to God’s truth. God’s triumph in a very real sense requires in us the loss of our everything. Which, as with Mary at the other end of Jesus’s life, is God’s truth.’
The Gospel reading is of John 11: 1-45, which is a long passage, and His Grace’s homiletic theme commences in textual wilderness. Our brokenness – in this place – a family home. Our faith, our doubt, our death… The irruption – death, doubt, fear – within our precious scenes and our most intimate places. Our domesticity.
His Grace speaks from the chair, as is a bishop’s prerogative, and says:
‘So much is obscure in the Gospels. We’re always reaching through them. We’re never there. Really, we never are. Our knowledge, our understanding, of the Gospels is never complete, and with each reading comes a new revelation. There are always new riches there. Just as there are between all of us, between myself and you. The Gospels are living texts. This is a part of the conversation we have with our own Christianity. It is a part of who we are in our relationship with Jesus. We are in this sense always on the brink.
‘So yes, there is plenty that doesn’t seem to make sense. As one of the order of bishops, we would be lying if we said that weren’t the case. They are not easy texts to encounter, if by that word we may signify something more than a superficial glancing off against, but rather a profound search for the word of God. The Gospels are written by people who had their own ideas, and often didn’t know what had really happened. Luke is quite explicit on this point. His is an investigation, from the explicitly claimed point of view of an historian, rather than that of a first-hand witness, who attempts, so he says, to set out an orderly account, out of the chaos, the sheer muddle, that has been handed down to him. It is possible to imagine Luke researching and composing his account after many years, when there has arisen a desire to know what exactly happened, and this implies a certain call to faith and certain demands of historicity, to historical exactitude. So in these different ways, the people of the first years of Christian faith are in the dark. There is also a decisive need to define the life of Jesus. And people didn’t get Jesus. The whole meaning of Christianity is only now beginning to take root throughout the composition. So much needs to be evangelized. The light shines almost in tentative fashion like that first star, which drew the wise men from the east to our Lord’s cradle.
‘John’s is widely held to be a very late Gospel. There are others who say that John’s Gospel might have been the first to acquire its true shape, because it most fully expresses Jesus, as we know him to be, as members of the Catholic Church. We don’t really know when any of this is being written, but we get a feel in John of a Gospel refined over many years, through a community. So there’s a lot going on there that I’d like you to think about.
‘What I would like to suggest to you is that, while within the Gospels we are often confronted with clues, guesswork, stories that have been handed down through so many people, and so in this sense we might find ourselves to be in the wilderness, this is the very desolate space itself to which we must give ourselves in order to experience Christ’s full redemption in our lives. I suggest it is for God’s glory that we do so.
‘As we become aware of ourselves, in this seminary, we find ourselves in a very secure, comfortable setting, and there are signs of Easter everywhere. Within the very fabric of these buildings, our Lord is risen; our Lord lives. But now this is our Lenten journey, where death enters, where death breaks us. We are to ride into Jerusalem in triumph, and then we are to be utterly broken, all hope gone, our hope extinguished. And really, I suggest to you, it is only by inhabiting this thought, as if we don’t know Easter is there, that our new life can follow, just when we have given up all hope, when every promise that Jesus made to us seems to have been cancelled.
‘And here now we have the story of Lazarus. I should like to suggest to you that we have a very powerful call now. In our very comfortable space, our domesticity, with all this comfort, where so very little might seem to happen each day, so it might seem to you, there is a disturbance within all of this comfort, and that is a disturbance within ourselves, and that is our call to Jesus. I think it is correct to say that our most comfortable places break in the light of Jesus from the inside, in order that we may take the necessary steps to be with Jesus.
‘Faith is not comfortable. I think that we can all receive the message of the rolling away of the rock from the tomb of Lazarus to say something of vital importance to ourselves concerning our openness to God’s love. The rock we roll away can come in all sorts of guises, but we know when we are blocked, and I firmly believe if we are truthful then we know where those blocks might be.
‘Next Sunday, which will be Palm Sunday, we process as it were to Jerusalem, to begin our Holy Week. Now as I speak to you we are on the brink. Even now, I suggest it might be very good for all of us to lay aside what we think we know, to fall apart a little, and so to open our way through death, and through death’s cancellation of all we think we are, to be with Jesus.’
Psalm 65 is a song of gratitude and praise to the Divine. In this beautiful hymn, the psalmist reflects on the majesty and mercy of God, expressing a deep sense of awe and thanksgiving for the bountiful blessings bestowed upon the earth. The psalm opens with a resounding declaration that praises are reserved for God in Zion, the sacred city, and vows made to the Almighty will be fulfilled [ … ]
Office Of Readings | Friday, Lent Week 1 | From The Mirror Of Love By Saint Aelred, Abbot ‘Christ, the model of brotherly love.’ Who Was Saint Aelred Of Rievaulx? Saint Aelred of Rievaulx presents the highest expression of Christian love: the love of one’s enemies. His reflection is deeply rooted in the Gospel, particularly in Christ’s own example on the cross, where Jesus prays, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” For Aelred, this moment encapsulates the essence of divine love—self-giving, patient, and without retaliation. Aelred was a 12th-century Cistercian monk and abbot of Rievaulx Abbey, known for his writings on Christian friendship and love. His spirituality was deeply influenced by Saint Augustine, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, and the monastic tradition, particularly in its focus on the imitation of Christ. This reading is a reflection of Aelred’s broader theological vision, where love is not merely an emotion but a profound act of spiritual transformation, a means of becoming Christ-like. Aelred emphasizes Christ’s willingness to endure humiliation and suffering without anger or resistance. Jesus allows himself to be spat upon, blindfolded, scourged, and crowned with thorns—acts of extreme cruelty—yet Christ responds with silence and peace. He is mocked and crucified, yet he prays for his persecutors. Jesus offers not only forgiveness but also an excuse for the actions of those who tormented him: “they do not know what they are doing.” This extraordinary response defies human instinct, which seeks justice and retribution. Aelred sees in Christ’s attitude the perfect model for the Christian life—one that transforms suffering into love. Aelred’s words echo the call of Isaiah, where the Suffering Servant is “like a lamb led to the slaughter, silent before his shearers.” Aelred invites the reader not just to admire Christ’s patience, but to embody it in their own struggles. Aelred’s theology of love is drawn from both Augustinian and Cistercian thought. Like Augustine, Aelred sees love as the ultimate path to God, and like Bernard of Clairvaux, he understands love as an active response to divine grace. Aelred extends this concept to love for one’s enemies, arguing that true love must be universal because if love excludes enemies, it remains incomplete. Forgiveness is not weakness but strength, overcoming hatred by transforming the heart. The fire of divine love must not grow cold, for resentment and injury should never diminish the Christian’s ability to love. This idea resonates with Saint Paul’s exhortation to bless persecutors and overcome evil with good. Aelred presents this not as an idealistic aspiration but as an essential mark of Christian holiness. Aelred’s words challenge believers to examine their own attitudes toward forgiveness and reconciliation. Many individuals struggle with resentment, past wounds, and a sense of justice, yet Aelred reminds Christians that true spiritual freedom comes not from revenge but from the ability to love as Christ loved. His teaching is especially relevant in a world marked by division, hostility, and conflict. To live this teaching requires a conscious decision to forgive, even when forgiveness feels undeserved, a focus on Christ’s example, keeping one’s spiritual eyes on Jesus’ patience and gentleness, and a heart open to grace, allowing God to soften any areas hardened by pain. For Aelred, Christian perfection is found in imitating Christ’s love on the cross. To love one’s enemies is to participate in the very life of God, for as the Apostle John declares, “God is love.” This reading encapsulates Aelred’s monastic and theological vision, in which love is not merely a virtue but the summation of Christian perfection. Love, when extended even to one’s enemies, makes a person like Christ. Love is the path to holiness, the fire that purifies the soul, and the mark of a true disciple. In this reflection, Aelred does not offer abstract philosophy but a deeply practical and demanding call to live as Christ lived. From The Mirror Of Love By Saint Aelred, Abbot The perfection of brotherly love lies in the love of one’s enemies. We can find no greater inspiration for this than grateful remembrance of the wonderful patience of Christ. He who is more fair than all the sons of men offered his fair face to be spat upon by sinful men; he allowed those eyes that rule the universe to be blindfolded by wicked men; he bared his back to the scourges; he submitted that head which strikes terror in principalities and powers to the sharpness of the thorns; he gave himself up to be mocked and reviled, and at the end endured the cross, the nails, the lance, the gall, the vinegar, remaining always gentle, meek and full of peace. In short, he was led like a sheep to the slaughter, and like a lamb before the shearers he kept silent, and did not open his mouth. Who could listen to that wonderful prayer, so full of warmth, of love, of unshakeable serenity – Father, forgive them – and hesitate to embrace his enemies with overflowing love? Father, he says, forgive them. Is any gentleness, any love, lacking in this prayer? Yet he put into it something more. It was not enough to pray for them: he wanted also to make excuses for them. Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. They are great sinners, yes, but they have little judgement; therefore, Father, forgive them. They are nailing me to the cross, but they do not know who it is that they are nailing to the cross: if they had known, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory; therefore, Father, forgive them. They think it is a lawbreaker, an impostor claiming to be God, a seducer of the people. I have hidden my face from them, and they do not recognise my glory; therefore, Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. If someone wishes to love himself he must not allow himself to be corrupted by indulging his sinful nature. If he wishes to resist the promptings of his sinful nature he must enlarge the whole horizon of his love to contemplate […]
This powerful text from Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church from the Second Vatican Council, invites us to reflect on who the Church truly is — not just what she does or how she’s organized, but her deepest identity as the people of God, drawn together by grace, and sent into the world to be a sign of unity and an instrument of salvation [ … ]
