SACRED HEART TALK 2020: Priests of the Sacred Heart (3)

Hello and welcome to the third and last of these talks concerning the Sacred Heart in which I want to consider how we’re called to be Priests of the Sacred Heart.

One of the important purposes of the priesthood, of course, is to share with others something of the love of God – to help them consider that Love and to grow in their free gift of themselves to that Love, and to do that we need to be growing in that love.  In his gospel St. John records, of course, that triple question Jesus asked Peter: “Do you love me – love me more than these?”  (Jn. 21:15).  He wasn’t speaking of sentimental love, but agape love, love which is costly. He wanted to get Peter to consider in depth – in the depths of his heart – that love which the image of the Sacred Heart reveals.  It’s this love which needs to animate the vocation of every priest and we need to hear Jesus saying to us: “Do you love me – more than these?”  It’s the question that needs to refresh our vocation and to which we need to constantly return.

It’s the question reflected in the image of the Sacred Heart and is one of the reasons why it can be of great benefit to everyone, not least to priest.  We all know the importance of images – how they can speak more powerfully than words – and, as we know, the image of the heart speaks across religions, cultures and ages.  Whether on a heart on a Valentine’s card or one made with our hands, it has a warm sentimental feel; which is the difference between those romantic hearts and the Sacred Heart.  For the Sacred Heart portrays the cost of Jesus’ love shown in the way this Heart is illustrated with symbols of the Passion, so let’s consider them for they reveal the depths of Christ’ love, a love which is of far greater importance than the fuzzy glow that can come with a Valentine.

THE BLOOD-FILLED HEART

Firstly, it is a heart pumping with blood, the one organ which enables the whole body to live.  Unseen, but not unheard, it works away 24/7 for the whole of our time on earth – we could manage without many of our body parts, but not without our heart and it’s that unseen beat of the heart which needs to animate our vocation.

THE PIERCED HEART

Then there’s that matter of the blood with is shown, dripping from a wound. That makes it clear how the Heart of Jesus, like that of His Mother, was pierced; hers by a sword, his by a lance – the holy lance of the soldier, St. Longinus – as he hung on the Cross.  The lance pierced through His side into His Heart, into what this drawing by St. Margaret Mary made clear was a reservoir of caritas, love, from which flowed blood and water, the water of Baptism and the blood of the Eucharist, Sacraments of the Love of God.  In the past the Holy Blood was revered for the way it was that ‘ocean of love’ which could cleanse and renew our own –

Wash thou my wounds in that dear Blood
Which forth from thee doth flow,
New grace, new hope inspire, a new
And better heart bestow.

As Jesus said about the German mystic, St. Gertrude: ‘The proximity of her heart to the wound in my side means that I have so joined her heart to mine that she is able to receive, directly and at all times, the flow of my divinity.’  So we’re also to be priests of the wounded Christ, realising that the wounds of those with whom we minister are reflected in the Wounded Heart of Jesus.

THE CROWNED HEART

To underline the connection between the Sacred Heart and the Passion of Christ, the Heart is encircled by the Crown of Thorns.  Firstly, that reminds us how it wasn’t just His body which reveals the cost of love, His mind also paid the price.  But just as the Holy Lance which pierced the side of Jesus symbolises those ‘darts of longing love’ which gain us entry into Christ’s heart, so we can meditate on the way this Crown of love pierces him.

THE CROSS-CROWNED HEART

‘Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness’ (Phi. 2:1f).  It also reminds us that, whilst we may not find ourselves having to physically suffer for our faith, there will be many times when we’re pierced and humbled and all we can do is hold on to our consecration as priests of the Sacred Heart.  No wonder, then, that the Heart is surmounted by the Cross.  Or, perhaps we might consider how the Cross rests on the Sacred Heart reminding us that when we gaze on it, we must always contemplate it as the sign of God’s love.  Priestly ministry will always be under this sign of our Master and reminding us that we should never be surprised that we’re called to suffer with Him.  St. Teresa of Avila said: ‘the important thing is not to think much but to love much and do that which stirs us to love.’  How often do we place our mind in our heart?  Where is the centre of our being – in the head or the heart?

THE FLAMING HEART

Again, that consideration is informed by the way the Cross is enflamed – the fire of God’s love by which so many have said we must be consumed.  ‘May the power of your love’, prayed St. Francis of Assisi, ‘fiery and sweet as honey, so absorb our hearts as to withdraw them from all that is under heaven.  Grant that we may be ready to die for love of your love, as you died for love of our love.’  That prayer should take us back to that triple question posed to St. Peter, a prayer which might be one every priest should pray daily.   The Sacred Heart is a warm, glowing heart, radiating compassionate love; a hurt, open heart which is the gate of heaven and needs to inform our priesthood.

THE NON-DUALISTIC HEART

But there’s an aspect of some Sacred Heart imagery many find off-putting – the way they show Jesus in an androgynous way – he seems partly male and partly female, certainly not a man’s man!   There’s a femininity about many images which can be challenging, but which fits with the classic symbolism of the heart as feminine and the mind as masculine; the softness and approachability of Jesus in such images is revealed by artists who, perhaps unconsciously, knew the Sacred Heart was meant to open us to the feminine in the divine and is meant to answer the false dualism pictures can inevitably portray.   For we know that in Christ there is neither male nor female, we are all one in Him (Gal. 3:28), something we need to realise in ourselves.   Our priesthood needs to incarnate both the feminine and masculine in God.

THE COSMIC HEART

Finally, I want to acknowledge that the Sacred Heart is not only a universal symbol, it’s also a symbol of the universe. ‘We know’, wrote St. Paul, ‘that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now’ (Roms. 8:22) and can rightly believe that, at the heart of the universe is the Heart of Christ, the Creator.  Within the Cosmic Christ is a cosmic intimacy; the Creator we proclaim isn’t some majestic deus ex machina, but a power of Love, a love whose nature is constantly creative.  The universe is like a woman struggling in giving birth to an infant conceived in love. 

One of the reasons why devotion to the Sacred Heart is so important is that it declares that we were made in that image and if you want to understand what this human-being is all about, look at the Sacred Heart.  As Teilhard de Chardin wrote in The Heart of the Matter, this devotion gave him a sense of the ‘solidity of Christ … the immersion of the divine in the corporeal … a glowing core of fire … able to insinuate itself everywhere … to make love of the cosmic milieu.’  Such a realisation lies behind eucharistic living, living with a constant realisation of the loving, compassionate presence of God in all things.  As priests, we are not only those who preside at the sacraments, we need to enable others to live sacramentally as we deepen our own awareness of God’s loving presence in all things.

CONCLUSION

So as we come to the end of this meditation, let’s keep a few minutes of silence at the end of which I’ll read a reflection by the late Mother Osyth of Malling Abbey.

(Silence)

Wind, fire and flame

   the outward sign 

   but in the heart

   breath of the spirit

        love and light

   heavenly dew

of sanctifying grace

   God’s very presence hallowing the place

   restoring to his image

        the souls face

GOOD FRIDAY 2020 - Sermon for All Saints, Blackheath

O EVER-LIVING GOD,

let this mind be in us which was in Christ Jesus:

that as He from His loftiness stooped

to the death of the Cross,

so we in our lowliness may humble ourselves,

believing, obeying, living and dying

to the glory of the Father

and in the power of the Holy Spirit,

for the same Jesus Christ’s sake.  Amen

(Christina Rossetti)

INTRODUCTION

At the end of the 14^th cent there lived a Recluse – or Anchoress – in a cell attached to a tiny church on the outskirts of Norwich.  She had grown up during a time when the Black Death had ravaged the city and, on the 8^th of May, 1373, received a number of revelations which, for the next 20 years, she meditated upon until finally setting down her ‘shewings’ – her revelations – in a book.  The name of the hermit was never recorded, but she’s now known to millions by the name of the church where she lived: Julian of Norwich.   Her book, the Revelations of Divine Love, has become world-famous and what she reveals is especially relevant at a time when we’ve been affected by another plague.

There were sixteen shewings in all and they concerned the love of God realised through the crucifixion of Jesus.  She received them sometime after asking God to grant her three favours: to understand Christ’s passion; to share in his sufferings; and to have as God’s gift three wounds.  Ultimately all her wishes were granted; and, because of the depth and profundity of her desires, we are the richer.  The second of these, to share in the sufferings of Christ, was realised when, at the age of 31, she suffered from an illness that brought her close to death and received the Last Rites of the Church. 

Three days afterwards, whilst lingering between life and death, her parish priest was again sent for.  He held a crucifix before her eyes with the words, “I have brought you the image of your Maker and Saviour.  Look at it and be strengthened.”  It’s an image that any of us might benefit from gazing on when we’re suffering – why not find a crucifix now and spend some time in contemplation.  What happened when Julian did that, she records in these words…

THE FIRST REVELATION: THE CROWNING OF CHRIST

“And at once I saw the red blood trickling down from the crown of thorns, hot, fresh and plentiful, … At the same moment the Trinity filled me full of heartfelt joy, and I knew that all eternity was like this for those who attain heaven.  For the Trinity is God, and God the Trinity; the Trinity is our Maker and keeper, our eternal lover, joy and bliss – all through our Lord Jesus Christ”

What do we see when we look on the figure of the Crucified?  What did Mary and the disciples see when they stood before his Cross?  And the centurion, and the crowd of onlookers?   I imagine all saw something different: a suffering son; a dying friend; a terrorist rightly punished; yet another victim of foreign invaders.  Just another criminal.

A vulnerable human being. 

And what did God see? 

I pose that question because it was God-in-Jesus who was dying on the Cross.  We can believe that God ‘saw’ his own suffering and death; indeed, if he did not, then he could not have fully shared in this world-changing moment.   I believe he saw the love of his friends and the anguish of his Mother; the lack of insight in some, the superficiality of others.  The lack of interest in the onlookers and the fear of his disciples that they might get too involved. 

He saw it all, and more.  He saw the weakness and vulnerability of those around him: those who were scared and frightened of the consequences of being labelled his followers and friends. 

And he saw the depth of his own heart.  He saw love.  He saw his own fear yet, beneath that and stronger than that, he saw love.   And that’s why we come to the foot of the Cross on Good Friday; why we open ourselves to the love of God known through the death of Christ.

THE ETERNAL SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST

These Revelations occurred after three bouts of plague had ravaged East Anglia, yet nowhere in her writing does one get the impression that Julian doubted the love and mercy of God, became angry or disillusioned.  Quite the contrary.  What is evident is that she, like so many at that and other times, looked at the Crucified and gained immense re-assurance and comfort that God shared their sufferings. 

At one point in her contemplation she had a conversation with Jesus in which he told her that if he could have suffered more for her he would willingly have done so.  As she marvelled at this, she realised that – in her words – “though the dear humanity of Christ could only suffer once, his goodness would always make him do so – every day if need be.  If he were to say that for love of me he would make a new heaven and earth, this would be a comparatively simple matter; something he could do every day if he wanted, with no great effort.  But for love of me to be willing to die times without number – beyond human capacity to compute – is, to my mind, the greatest gesture our Lord God could make to the human soul.  This is his meaning: ‘How could I not, out of love for you, do all I can for you?’.” (‘Revelations of Divine Love’ Ch. 22: Ninth Revelation)

‘How could I not, out of love for you, do all I can for you?’  That is the truth of this moment in time, a truth upon which we’re invited to dwell.  Not how terrible is the suffering, yet that is true.  Nor how sad the fact that few will gather at the Cross, and that is true also; perhaps, if more did, they would realise why these three holy days, this Sacred Triduum is of such profound importance, for they teach us all there is to know about being human.  Why, then, are so many of our church’s normally half-empty today?  For the truth Julian discovered, and in which we need to share, is this: how could God not, out of love for us, do all he can for us.  For … me.   Not take away the suffering – for to live involves suffering – but to share in that suffering with us. 

Most didn’t see that; many standing there had come because they’d heard that this man had done great things – the man they’d welcomed with such enthusiasm into Jerusalem just five days before – might he do something spectacular and make something ‘happen’?  But, no: this healer (he may have healed them), teacher and popular leader was now hanging there on a cross, like a common criminal.  Perhaps he wasn’t such a great figure after all.  Just another Johnny-come-lately.  So, with a shrug, they’re off.  And God must see all that, too. 

Could he who made heaven and earth not have ended it differently?  Snapped his divine fingers, waved a majestic hand and sorted it – and himself – out?  If there is a God, why doesn’t he zap the virus?  Surely, that’s what gods are meant to do – to save us from trouble and not get too involved.  But this God got involved.  What nonsense, the reasonable ones say.  It’s all nonsense or, at best, just a story.  And, in a way, they would be right.  As St. Paul would later come to realise:  ‘Jews demand signs, Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ nailed to the cross; and through this is an offence to Jews and folly to Gentiles, yet to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, he is the power of God and the wisdom of God.’ 

CONCLUSION

The God who hangs before us on the Cross is not some all-mighty, ever-powerful Lord but a naked, vulnerable human being.  That is the uniqueness of our faith and the terrible consequence of the Incarnation.  For the God in whom we believe, the maker of heaven and earth, was prepared to know what it is like to be en-fleshed – to be weak, frightened and lonely.  That is why women and men down the ages have been drawn to and by this moment.  That is what has inspired the greatest artists, musicians and writers.  That is what moulded our culture, this insight into God-made-man hanging, dying, on the cross who unites himself with all who suffer and die.  That is what spoke to Julian.  And we?  We recognise the nonsense of it all yet are drawn by the vulnerability of this man. 

So those who have the eyes to see recognise in sweating, bruised, torn flesh; in fear and loneliness, vulnerability and passion, a glimpse of themselves.  We identify with our God, not in his majesty but in his broken humanity.  That’s why God had to do this.  Julian of Norwich, like every other saint, wanted to know Christ.  Not just to be one who, like the bystanders, came along, gazed around and went home.  Nor one who wanted God to do something.  But to know Christ in the depth of her heart.  “And at once I saw the red blood trickling down from the crown of thorns, hot, fresh and plentiful.”  This moment which seemed to be ending in death was, in fact, the moment of glory.  For it was at this moment that the truth of God was revealed.  This is the moment which reveals the paradox – that out of suffering comes new life.  As we live through an immense pandemic that is what we’re, even now, seeing, as people reach out with compassion; break down barriers that have restricted them; find reservoirs of creative living, and – after a period when we seemed to have become a broken, divided nation, experience a unity forgotten by many.

“At the same moment the Trinity filled me full of heartfelt joy, and I knew that all eternity was like this for those who attain heaven.  For the Trinity is God, and God the Trinity; the Trinity is our Maker and keeper, our eternal lover, joy and bliss – all through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

REFLECTIONS ON ST CHARLES OF JESUS’ ‘PRAYER OF ABANDONMENT’

Father,
I abandon myself into your hands;
do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do, I thank you:
I am ready for all, I accept all.

Let only your will be done in me,
and in all your creatures -
I wish no more than this, O Lord.

Into your hands I commend my soul:
I offer it to you with all the love of my heart,
for I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself,
to surrender myself into your hands without reserve,
and with boundless confidence,
for you are my Father.

__________________

Father, I abandon myself into your hands. 

To be abandoned is a terrible thing, 
an act of carelessness 
that takes no account of what may happen to the one abandoned.  
Only an adult can abandon themselves, 

a child does not have the ability to make this reckless act.  

For it not to be reckless requires trust in another 

and a belief that the process of abandonment has a purpose. 

Jesus abandoned Himself into the hands of His Father;

He did so with faith in the One whom He had come to know and trust.

Every aspect of who I am I gift to You with no strings attached. 

I cut all ties; I entrust myself to You and let go of myself in Your absolute care. 

I place myself before You as a child before its Father, leaving myself at the doorway of your house. 

I hand over all power to You and entrust my future to You whatever happens.

do with me what you will. 

As I give myself to Him, God tells me to trust Him, 

trust that in saying ‘thy will be done’ I will be held safe 

and that God will never desert me whatever may happen. 

What matters is to live in the present moment. 

I need to turn to my Father as a child might turn to theirs and look into His loving eyes. 

There is something liberating in living in the Divine Will, whilst needing to resist evil – 

‘Jesus, I trust in You’.

To know God’s will means turning to Him in prayer, and simply saying

 ‘Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven’.

Whatever you may do, I thank you:. 

Let me live thankfully, eucharistically, whatever may happen to me. 

And when my heart becomes overwhelmed by sadness and anxiety, 

or desolation begins to cast a shadow over me, 

inspire me to give thanks that the darkness may be turned into light.

In all places and in all things let me see your hand and give thanks. 

In every blade of grass and every mountain peak may I see your glory and give thanks.

And when I cannot see you or sense your presence, teach me to thank and praise you.

I am ready for all, I accept all.

I know that both good and evil will come my way; teach me to accept them

with a necessary detachment and not be blinded by them. Teach me to love through them.

Give me a freedom of spirit to greet them and wisdom to know how to respond

as you responded to those who were the cause of your Incarnation, Passion and Death. 

Grant me gratitude and patience, courage, fortitude and detachment in the face of good and evil.

Let only your will be done in me, and in all your creatures -
I wish no more than this, O Lord.

My one will and desire must simply be this: ‘thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven’.

For in that prayer is encompassed all that God desires and it expresses all that we can desire:.

that the divine good might be accomplished in me and all that exists.

It is what Jesus taught us to pray for and we can pray for no more or less than that:

‘Thy will be done’.

Into your hands I commend my soul: I offer it to you with all the love of my heart,

Take, Lord, and receive all that is your own

For I long to live in you,

to be enfolded in your love,

for my love to be your love

that I may flow with you.

Take my heart and mould it into the form of your most Sacred and Compassionate Heart.

for I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself,

‘From Love in Love the leaping flame of Love is spread,

for none can love except by Love possessed.

The love that is outpoured was first Love’s gift of love.

Give, give, and give again is Love’s own song.

For Love is giving love and there is no end to Love.’ * 

 Lord, you continually awaken love in my heart; you who are the source of love and life.

When I gaze upon your revelation in Jesus

my heart is moved and I so want to give myself to you,

to let love flow through me –

love for the one I love and love for the whole of your creation,

especially the most unloved.

Yet it is hard to love those who seem unlovely

and only by your grace can I do this.

Let me gaze on all things with your inner eye of Love

as you gaze upon me and all things

that I may give myself to all that I encounter.

* Fr. Gilbert Shaw: A Pilgrim’s Book of Prayers