Scripture Reflections Seeking Understanding

A Feast for the Unknown Saints Each year on November 1st the Church celebrates the Feast of All Saints. A day of prayer directed to and for those that have gone before us ‘ marked with the sign of faith .’   In his letters to the early Church communities Paul used the word saints to refer to all the faithful – those that had accompanied him in his teaching, those who carried on his missionary work, and all those who witnessed to their faith . In other words, those who strove to live according to the teaching and example of Jesus, as best they could. In time, a saint was someone whose goodness was recognised widely as an example for others to follow. Some were acclaimed by the Church, others were hailed by local communities, their stories inspiring many to continue striving for holiness in their own lives. Today the process of making saints is formalised by the Church with thorough investigations conducted at a diocesan level, and a Vatican Dicastery devoted to examining ...

The Day When Jesus wasn't the Main Character In this Sunday's Gospel, something unusual happens. Not just the healing of the blind beggar by the side of the road - there are similar stories to be found elsewhere in the Gospels - but in this case the man pleading for Jesus to have pity on him has a name. Right from the start of the story, before he first calls out to Jesus, Mark identifies him as Bartimeus. But why?  Can we assume then that the early Christian community knows him? And that this is in fact Bartimeus' origin story.  Let's take a quick look at what happens to him. Bartimeus starts out on the sidelines in this story, but nonetheless cries out, "Son of David, have pity on me!"   And among others, the disciples tell him to be quiet. In fact the text says that they scolded him.  "But he only shouted all the louder."   What a great, matter of fact description of Bartimeus' determination. He calls on Jesus and when he doesn't seem to g...

Grime Over Glory (or, Leading on Your Knees) When I was twenty or twenty-one, a good friend’s younger brother asked me to be his confirmation sponsor. On the night of his confirmation we all gathered together in the Church, candidates, sponsors, family and friends. Everyone but the bishop.  No-one knew where he was, and mobile phones still weren’t a thing, so no-one knew how to find him. A call to his house told us that he’d left on time. And as it should have been a twenty minute drive, even on a wet night like this, we started to worry that something might have happened to him.  Almost half an hour after Mass was due to have started, the Bishop walked into the sacristy, soaking wet and with hands covered in grime. Could he have a place to wash his hands and run a towel over his head, he asked. Then he’d be ready to go.  It turned out that, on his way, the Bishop had stopped by the side of the road, where a mother with three children in the car was stranded with a flat t...

In a past life I was a rugby league referee and, towards the latter end of my career, became a referees coach responsible for helping those who were starting out to learn their craft. As a coach, it was common that we would end up counselling new referees on their penalty counts and how freely they used the sin-bin. You see, having just completed their rules exam and finding themselves with a whistle, they became very legalistic, and would penalise everything strictly according to the law. The job of the referees coach was to help cultivate in them a feel for the game.  In this Sunday's Gospel we hear the story of a wealthy man who knows and has kept the law all his life and hopes that it is enough. He has come to Jesus hoping to be affirmed. And yet he still asks, 'What must I do?' Somewhere, deep inside, he knows that it is not enough.  Throughout the Gospel, Jesus speaks to us of a God that loves extravagantly. One that doesn't overlook our sinfulness but, as Jesus d...

Early in the final year of my teacher training at Mount Saint Mary's I fell in love. Within months I had decided that this girl was the one. By the end of that year I was off to the country as a beginning teacher, leaving her behind in Sydney to complete her own studies.  For the next three years I lived alone in small flat next to the local footy oval. I involved myself in sport, community service and work, and kept myself very busy. I enjoyed it all, but without her, it was never home.  In the latter part of my third year, I was applying for four or five jobs a week, longing to get back to her. After what must have been twenty-five or thirty applications a principal asked me straight out in an interview why I was so determined to come back to the city. I told him the truth, and within fifteen minutes of the interview, he offered me the job. I called my mum, and then I called Shayne.  My experience of long-distance love (and telephone bills) is why the opening line of th...