An excellent piece from the pastoral constitution on the Church in the modern world of the Second Vatican Council and very appropriate on the eve of another Lenten season. While we do not like to talk about death and try to avoid at all costs, Death is the result of sin and is universal. Sooner or later it will claim us and all those whom we love. Death is part of the result of the curse that God our Creator placed on this world as a result of Adam and Eve’s first rebellion (Genesis 3.1-19). It is appropriate for Lent because during Lent we focus on doing our part in repairing our alienated relationship with God the Father, the Giver of Life, our life support. God, of course, has acted first on our behalf to achieve this reconciliation by becoming human to die for our sins that we might have life. The Father did this because he loves us more than we love ourselves. The excerpt below reminds us of this reality of Death and serves as a wake up call for us to get our minds right by getting our relationship with the Lord right, and that of course requires humility on our part. There is only one solution to the problem of Death and that solution is Jesus Christ because only Christ has died and conquered Death. It’s the paschal (Easter) mystery talked about below. Those who poo-poo all this are delusional and setting themselves up for the eternal destruction they fear most. Please don’t be among them or let them con you. Don’t ever be ashamed of the gospel. Ever. For those with ears to hear, listen and understand.
In the face of death the enigma of human existence reaches its climax. Man is not only the victim of pain and the progressive deterioration of his body; he is also, and more deeply, tormented by the fear of final extinction. But the instinctive judgment of his heart is right when he shrinks from, and rejects, the idea of a total collapse and definitive end of his own person. He carries within him the seed of eternity, which cannot be reduced to matter alone, and so he rebels against death. All efforts of technology, however useful they may be, cannot calm his anxieties; the biological extension of his life-span cannot satisfy the desire inescapably present in his heart for a life beyond this life.
Imagination is completely helpless when confronted with death. Yet the Church, instructed by divine revelation, affirms that man has been created by God for a destiny of happiness beyond the reach of earthly trials. Moreover, the Christian faith teaches that bodily death, to which man would not have been subject if he had not sinned, will be conquered; the almighty and merciful Savior will restore man to the wholeness that he had lost through his own fault. God has called man, and still calls him, to be united in his whole being in perpetual communion with himself in the immortality of the divine life. This victory has been gained for us by the risen Christ, who by his own death has freed man from death.
Faith, presented with solid arguments, offers every thinking person the answer to his questionings concerning his future destiny. At the same time, it enables him to be one in Christ with his loved ones who have been taken from him by death and gives him hope that they have entered into true life with God.
Certainly, the Christian is faced with the necessity, and the duty, of fighting against evil through many trials, and of undergoing death. But by entering into the paschal mystery and being made like Christ in death, he will look forward, strong in hope, to the resurrection.
This is true not only of Christians but also of all men of good will in whose heart grace is invisibly at work. Since Christ died for all men, and the ultimate vocation of man is in fact one, that is, a divine vocation, we must hold that the Holy Spirit offers to all the possibility of being united with this paschal mystery in a way known only to God.
Such is the great mystery of man, enlightening believers through the Christian revelation. Through Christ and in Christ light is thrown on the enigma of pain and death which overwhelms us without his Gospel to teach us. Christ has risen, destroying death by his own death; he has given us the free gift of life so that as sons in the Son we may cry out in the Spirit, saying: Abba, Father!
Culled from various sources from Logos Bible Software. The tendency to secularize Shrove Tuesday is typical of our fallen human condition and the spirit of Protestantism has done it little good. Would that we recover some of its penitential/confessional aspects for our own day and age. For those with ears to hear, listen and understand.
Historical Background Shrove Tuesday emerged in medieval England as a day devoted to confession of sins in preparation for the onset of Lent. The term itself derives from the Old English verb “shrive,” which refers to the practice of imparting penance and absolution.
Initially, the observance carried profound spiritual weight. Shrovetide functioned as a season for confession, absolution, and reconciliation before the solemnities of Lent and Passiontide and Easter. However, the character of the celebration shifted over time. As Lent itself became devoted to confession and repentance throughout the entire season, the specific emphasis on pre-Lenten confession diminished, and Shrove Tuesday increasingly centered on feasting and merrymaking—practices that would be restricted during the forty days ahead.
This transformation reflects a broader European pattern. Shrovetide paralleled the Continental tradition of Carnival, which also originated in the Middle Ages as a pre-Lenten period of feasting and frivolity culminating on the Tuesday before Lent. The eating of cakes, pancakes, and pastries became central to these celebrations as a practical means of consuming eggs, butter, milk, and sugar—foods historically forbidden during Lent—and Shrove Tuesday’s French designation “Mardi Gras” (Fat Tuesday) and English name “Pancake Day” both reflect this culinary history.
Beyond food consumption, Carnival evolved into a broader “farewell to flesh” involving indulgence and loosened social restrictions; Renaissance Europeans threw projectiles at one another, and by the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, masked performances and temporary role-reversals—where lower classes dressed as nobility—became common features. The Protestant Reformation later discontinued Carnival celebrations due to their tendency toward overindulgence, though the observance of Lent itself persisted.
Theological Significance Shrove Tuesday’s theological significance centers on this penitential dimension—a structured opportunity for spiritual self-examination before the forty-day season of Lenten observance.
The practice traces back to at least 1000 A.D., when it was originally observed as a day of confession and penitence in preparation for Ash Wednesday and Lent. The custom emphasized receiving absolution through the sacrament of penance in readiness for the liturgical season ahead. This penitential focus remains theologically central: the day offers an excellent opportunity to reflect on one’s thoughts, words, deeds, and behaviors over preceding months, a valuable self-examination that fosters spiritual growth.
However, the observance has undergone significant transformation. In recent centuries, Shrove Tuesday shifted toward feasting in preparation for Lenten fasting, as people needed to consume restricted foods like sugar, leavened flour, and eggs before the fast began. Shrove Tuesday is now known as Mardi Gras in many areas and has largely lost its significance as a day of repentance. What originally involved confession gradually transformed into consuming rich foods and eventually into sports and merrymaking.
From a Protestant perspective, since the Bible does not mention Ash Wednesday or Lent, Shrove Tuesday is not a biblical observance, and these days are not required of Christians—their observance remains entirely a matter of personal conviction. Yet any day to remember Christ and His sacrifice holds spiritual value, making Shrove Tuesday potentially meaningful for those who observe it as a deliberate moment for confession, repentance, and renewed commitment before entering Lent’s contemplative season.
Shrove Tuesday Traditions Shrove Tuesday traditions reflect a fascinating evolution from penitential observance to festive celebration. Originally observed in medieval England as a day for confessing sins before Lent began, the day’s name derives from the practice of receiving absolution. However, as the entire Lenten season became devoted to confession and repentance, Shrove Tuesday and the week preceding it shifted toward feasting and merrymaking—activities restricted during Lent itself.
The most enduring tradition involves food. In the Middle Ages, people abstained from meat and animal products during Lent, including milk, cheese, and eggs, so families prepared pancakes on Shrove Tuesday to deplete their stores of eggs, milk, butter, and fat. This practice explains both the French name “Mardi Gras” (Fat Tuesday) and the English “Pancake Day”.
Beyond pancakes, Carnival traditions—Shrove Tuesday’s European counterpart—involved consuming cakes, pastries, and other rich foods to use up ingredients prohibited during Lent. At its medieval height, Carnival included satirical performances and mask-wearing, with lower classes sometimes dressing as nobility in humorous role-reversals. People throughout Renaissance Europe threw projectiles like mud, flour, and eggs at one another. In England specifically, sports and football games were common, while nobility celebrated Shrove Tuesday evenings with plays and masques.
By the nineteenth century, wilder customs evolved into flower battles, masked balls, and parades—variations found today throughout Europe and the Americas, including New Orleans’s famous Mardi Gras celebrations. The religious dimension persists as well: Pope Benedict XIV instituted the “Forty Hours of Carnival” in 1748, during which prayers were offered before the exposed Blessed Sacrament, with a plenary indulgence granted to participants.
How Shrove Tuesday Relates to Lent Shrove Tuesday functions as a threshold moment between ordinary time and the penitential season of Lent. The relationship between the two observances has shifted significantly over time. As Lent itself became devoted to confession and repentance throughout the entire season, the urgency to confess specifically on Shrove Tuesday diminished, and the day transformed into a period emphasizing feasting and celebration—activities that would be restricted during Lent. This reorientation reflects a practical concern: the eating of cakes, pancakes, or other pastries served as a way of consuming eggs, butter, milk, and sugar—foods once prohibited during Lent. The French name “Mardi Gras” or “Fat Tuesday,” along with England’s “Pancake Day,” both capture this history.
Lent comprises 40 days preceding Easter and recalls Jesus’s 40-day wilderness sojourn. while it serves as a time of repentance and preparation for marking Christ’s death and resurrection, marked by prayer, abstinence, and charitable acts. Shrove Tuesday thus occupies a liminal space—the final opportunity for indulgence before entering this austere period. After fulfilling the obligation to confess, the faithful were permitted to engage in amusements on the eve of Lent, creating a deliberate contrast between the revelry of Shrove Tuesday and the discipline that follows. The two observances define each other: one celebrates what Lent restricts, while Lent gives meaning to the temporary license Shrove Tuesday permits.
Sermon originally preached on Transfiguration Sunday A, March 2, 2014. As always, before reading the sermon it will be helpful for you to read the lectionary texts below by clicking or tapping on their links. For those with ears to hear, listen and understand.
Lectionary texts: Exodus 24.12-18; Psalm 2.1-12; 2 St. Peter 1.16-21; St. Matthew 17.1-9.
In the name of God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In our gospel lesson this morning we heard the strange and amazing story of Jesus’ Transfiguration. But what are we to make of it with its description of his amazing transformation in appearance? It’s clear from the root of the Greek word that St. Matthew uses, metamorphoo, from which we get our word, metamorphosis, that Jesus’ change in appearance was not caused by some external source of energy. And what are we to make of the cloud and the Voice? It all seems utterly impossible to some of us because, well, things like that just don’t happen and our science simply cannot explain any of this (we say in all of our 21st century enlightened arrogance). That’s why many struggle to believe stories like the Transfiguration and the other so-called mighty acts of power that Jesus demonstrated, e.g., walking on water, turning water into wine, feeding the multitudes, making the blind see, and most of all, Jesus’ body being raised from the dead. We will return to this shortly.
But before we do, we must understand that if we focus on these questions or on the supernatural aspects of the Transfiguration exclusively (the change of appearance, the cloud, the Voice, etc.), we will surely miss the deeper story St. Matthew and the other NT writers are trying to tell us. It is the story of how God is reclaiming his fallen and sin-sick world through Jesus the Messiah, and it is ultimately a story of our destiny as Christians.
God’s rescue story begins with Israel and eventually focuses on Moses, who led God’s people from their slavery in Egypt. And with its echoes from our OT lesson this morning, one of the things St. Matthew surely wants us to see is that Jesus is like Moses who will lead his people in a new exodus from our slavery to evil, sin, and death. But St. Matthew also surely wants us to see that Jesus is much more than just a new Moses, precisely because the stakes are so much higher. This is not to diminish the importance of the exodus in which Moses led God’s people because it remains a dramatic example of God’s faithful love for his people and his ability to deliver on his promises to rescue his people from all kinds of slavery. But in Jesus’ transfigured glory, we are given a preview of what Jesus’ post-resurrection glory will look like, a glory that we as Jesus’ people will share with him in the new creation, precisely because he has rescued us from our alienation from God and the death the necessarily results when we are cut off from our Life Source.
And while it would be easy for us to focus on the resurrection and God’s glory revealed in Jesus in this wonderful event, it seems that St. Matthew is also inviting us to reflect on exactly what Jesus’ path to glory would entail because there is a remarkable series of parallel shared similarities and contrasts between Jesus’ Transfiguration and his crucifixion that is surely more than coincidental. For example, in the Transfiguration narrative, God himself declares Jesus to be his beloved Son (St. Matthew 17.5). In the crucifixion narrative we see a pagan soldier declaring to his surprise that Jesus is God’s Son (St. Matthew 27.54). Both narratives include the number six (St. Matthew 17.1; 27.45). Could St. Matthew be pointing us to the themes of creation/new creation in a way similar to what John does in his gospel (cf. St. John 20.1,19)? And only in these two narratives does St. Matthew tell us that the participants were terribly afraid (St. Matthew 17.6; 27.54).
These similarities take place within a series of dramatic contrasts. For example, Jesus is glorified in the Transfiguration (St. Matthew 17.2ff) and shamed at his crucifixion (St. Matthew 27.27ff). In the Transfiguration, a bright cloud sheds its brilliant light on the participants (St. Matthew 17.2). At the crucifixion, darkness covers the whole land (St. Matthew 27.45). At his Transfiguration, Moses and Elijah, who represented the law and the prophets and who were two of the greatest heroes in Israel’s history, stand beside Jesus (St. Matthew 17.3). At his crucifixion, two criminals, perhaps representing how far rebellious Israel had sunk, hang beside Jesus (St. Matthew 27.38). There are other examples, but you get the picture. There are some parallels that St. Matthew clearly intends for us to reflect on. What does Jesus’ path to glory look like as well as our own?
At this point some of us will want to throw our hands up in the air and ask rather impatiently, “Then why doesn’t St. Matthew just come out and say that?” This response is not unlike high school students who, after struggling to wrap their minds around a difficult and complex topic, often get frustrated and blurt out, “Just give us the answer so we can get on with it!” But just giving the answer will not result in the deeper and more satisfactory kind of learning that comes when we have to wrestle with issues and stories and think them through on a far deeper level than our desire for superficiality often demands, a desire that stems from the fact that we too just want to get on with it. And if Scripture really is God-breathed as St. Peter claims in our epistle lesson, then it should not surprise us at all that the biblical writers were capable of writing nuanced and subtle stories that demand deeper thinking and more than just quick, superficial answers.
All well and good you say. But returning to our initial questions, how do we know the Transfiguration actually happened? And what’s the point behind all the comparisons between the Transfiguration and crucifixion? Both excellent questions that will allow me to finish this sermon in a timely manner! How can we trust the narrative despite the fact that it seems too fantastic to believe? Because fortunately we have an eyewitness to the Transfiguration and we need to pay attention to what St. Peter says in our epistle lesson. Evidently there were doubters and scoffers in St. Peter’s day as well as our own because he states emphatically that the Transfiguration is not some cleverly devised myth. Why? Because he was an eyewitness to it and can testify that it happened. And if we think about it, if God really does exist as we believe, and if he really is omnipotent, stories like this should not surprise us at all, even if they are beyond our understanding and boggle the mind, because nothing is too hard for God. Nothing. So unless we are willing to call St. Peter and the other apostles liars or crazy (or worse), we have no reason to doubt that the Transfiguration really happened as described.
Based on that, and on who Jesus was, St. Peter goes on to tell us that this confirms the whole world of biblical prophecy was true, messy and diverse as that world was. In other words, based on St. Peter’s experience with Jesus it all made sense in retrospect. God had indeed rescued his people in and through his Messiah, but not as they had expected. The Lord of glory had become human and rescued his people by hanging on a cross for our sake. And Jesus’ resurrection, which the Transfiguration previewed, proved it. Perhaps this is why Jesus warned his disciples on the way down from the mountain not to tell anyone about what they witnessed until after he had been raised from the dead. There are some things we just cannot understand without the proper perspective, and the perspective of Easter is certainly necessary to help us reflect on the meaning of Jesus’ Transfiguration.
But there is more than just future hope in the Transfiguration. When we take stories like the Transfiguration and resurrection seriously, St. Peter reminds us that they become like a light shining in the darkness to help us navigate the difficult waters of our mortal life with all its doubts, fears, and uncertainties. To fail to take the stories of Scripture seriously and reflect on them continuously effectively removes the light contained in Scripture, including especially the light of Jesus, so that we are enveloped by the darkness once again.
This all helps us make the connection between the Transfiguration and the crucifixion because like Jesus’ path to glory, our path to glory is also through faithful imitation of Jesus’ suffering love. If Jesus really is the prophet (and more) who is to follow Moses so that we are to obey him (cf. Deuteronomy 18.15)—and if we believe what St. Peter has just told us, Jesus most certainly is that prophet (and more)—it becomes necessary for us to take seriously Jesus’ command to us to take up our cross and follow him. How is Jesus calling you to take up your cross and follow him?
Whatever that looks like, remember this. Jesus partook of God’s glory on the mountain of Transfiguration and through his suffering obedience to the Father. And Jesus gives us this same glory when we give our lives to him. In practical terms this means that it is possible for us to actually obey Jesus’ command to us to take up our cross. We do not have to live in the darkness of our sin and brokenness (there’s that exodus theme again). Because we can partake in the divine nature through the power of the Spirit, it is possible for us to have, e.g., goodness, knowledge, self-control, godliness, and love. To have these attributes means that we are truly walking in the light of God’s love and presence right here and now. This also means that we can give up our programs of self-help or self-improvement, programs that are utterly futile, and let the One who can accomplish all things work his way and will in us to utterly transform us in the way we’ve just described, a way not unlike the metamorphoo Jesus experienced.
Think on these things, then, especially as we prepare to enter the season of Lent this coming Wednesday. The Transfiguration reminds us that resurrection and life is our destiny and that because it all really happened, that same power is available to us right now as we struggle to live faithful lives, i.e., as we struggle to take up our cross. Take advantage of that power right now and learn the story of your salvation thoroughly because doing so will allow you to really take hold of the Good News that is yours, now and for all eternity. To him be honor, praise, and glory forever and ever.
In the name of God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
This is worth your read, especially if you are one who considers yourself to be “spiritual” but not “religious.” Excerpted from The Joyful Christian.
Everyone has warned me not to tell you what I am going to tell you… They all say “the ordinary reader does not want Theology; give him plain practical religion.” I have rejected their advice. I do not think the ordinary reader is such a fool. Theology means “the science of God,” and I think any man who wants to think about God at all would like to have the clearest and most accurate ideas about him which are available. You are not children: why should you be treated like children?
In a way I quite understand why some people are put off by Theology. I remember once when I had been giving a talk to the R.A.F., an old, hard-bitten officer got up and said, “I’ve no use for all that stuff. But, mind you, I’m a religious man too. I know there’s a God. I’ve felt him: out alone in the desert at night: the tremendous mystery. And that’s just why I don’t believe all your neat little dogmas and formulas about him. To anyone who’s met the real thing they all seem so petty and pedantic and unreal!”
Now in a sense I quite agreed with that man. I think he had probably a real experience of God in the desert. And when he turned from that experience to the Christian creeds, I think he really was turning from something real, to something less real. In the same way, if a man has once looked at the Atlantic from the beach, and then goes and looks at a map of the Atlantic, he also will be turning from real waves to a bit of colored paper. But here comes the point. The map is admittedly only colored paper, but there are two things you have to remember about it. In the first place, it is based on what hundreds and thousands of people have found out by sailing the real Atlantic. In that way it has behind it masses of experience just as real as the one you could have from the beach; only, while yours would be a single isolated glimpse, the map fits all those different experiences together. In the second place, if you want to go anywhere, the map is absolutely necessary. As long as you are content with walks on the beach, your own glimpses are far more fun than looking at a map. But the map is going to be more use than walks on the beach if you want to get to America [from England].
Now Theology is like the map. Merely learning and thinking about the Christian doctrines, if you stop there, is less real and less exciting than the sort of thing my friend got in the desert. Doctrines are not God: they are only a kind of map. But the map is based on the experience of hundreds of people who really were in touch with God—experiences compared with which any thrills or pious feelings you or I are likely to get on our own way are very elementary and very confused. And secondly, if you want to get any further, you must use the map. You see, what happened to that man in the desert may have been real, and was certainly exciting, but nothing comes of it. It leads nowhere. There is nothing to do about it. In fact, that is just why a vague religion—all about feeling God in nature, and so on—is so attractive. It is all thrills and no work; like watching the waves from the beach. But you will not get to Newfoundland by studying the Atlantic that way, and you will not get eternal life by simply feeling the presence of God in flowers or music. Neither will you get anywhere by looking at maps without going to sea. Nor will you be very safe if you go to sea without a map.
An excellent theological writing from Father Mullin. I especially appreciate his thoughts on the significance of Christ’s Presentation at the Temple for us as Christians. The good Father is clearly not ashamed of the gospel and faithful to it. Well done, good and faithful servant. Well done. For those with ears to hear, listen and understand—and be blessed by it if you do have ears to hear.
THERE are two great festivals in the Church’s calendar to lighten this season of darkness and lockdown. We have celebrated Epiphany already. Next comes Candlemas or The Presentation of Christ in the Temple, or, as the Book of Common Prayer also says, The Purification of St Mary the Virgin. The Americans celebrate something called Groundhog Day on February 2 in respect of their quaint belief that if the groundhog casts a shadow on that day, the winter will be prolonged. Which just goes to demonstrate the truth of Chesterton’s saying that when a man stops believing in God, he doesn’t believe in nothing: he believes in anything.
So, what is this ceremony with the baby Jesus and Mary his Mother about? They were of course a Jewish family and, according to the Law of Moses, women who had given birth were obliged to be ritually purified. This is ironic because Mary is the Immaculate Conception and so the only human being – female or male – who needed no purification, ritually or otherwise. Families presenting their offspring made a sacrifice of a lamb, if they were well off; if they were poor a pair of turtle doves or two young pigeons.
When Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus entered the Temple, there took place a dramatic scene. Simeon, an old man, had been given the gift of prophecy from God. He was devout. The gospel tells us he was waiting for the consolation of Israel. That means the coming of the Messiah, the Christ. God had promised him that he would not see death before the Christ came. As soon as the prophet Simeon recognised Jesus as the Christ, he took him up in his arms. There must have been something strikingly holy about Simeon for Mary to let him hold the child. With the infant Jesus in his arms, Simeon utters those words which we repeat at Evensong as Nunc Dimittis:
‘Lord, now lettest thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.’
Notice how radical Simeon’s prophecy is. Here they are in the most Holy place in all Israel, the Temple in Jerusalem, devout Jews strictly performing a Jewish rite of passage. And yet Simeon prophesies that the Jewish Messiah, the Christ whom he has just recognised at a few days old, is to be the Light of the Gentiles.
What did Mary and Joseph make of it all? St Luke’s gospel in the Prayer Book version says, And Joseph and his mother marvelled at these things which were spoken of him. That’s putting it mildly. The original Greek word for marvelled is thaumazontes – shocked to the core, overwhelmed by the wonder of it. A thaumaturge was a wonder-worker, someone who worked by spells and enchantment. So, when the gospel says they were thaumazontes it was as if they were enchanted.
…Candlemas, a Christian holiday that remembers when Mary presented the Christ child at the Temple in Jerusalem and performed her purification (see below). Candlemas is also called the Festival Day of Candles, in which the parish priest would bless candles for use in the local church for the coming year and would occasionally send some of them home with his parishioners for them to use. It is one of the earliest known feasts to be celebrated by the Church.
Candlemas falls 40 days from the birth of Jesus because that is the day Mary would have completed her purification process as prescribed by the Law, which means that Candlemas always falls on February 2. It is the midpoint between the winter solstice and spring equinox and before there ever was a Groundhog Day (also observed on February 2), tradition held that when Candlemas fell on a sunny day, there was more winter to come. But when it fell on a cloudy, wet, or stormy day, it meant that the worst of winter was over. Check out the two Candlemas poems below and see if you recognize anything familiar in them:
If Candlemas be fair and bright, Come, Winter, have another flight; If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, Go Winter, and come not again. (Anonymous English poem)
If Candlemas day be dry and fair, The half o’ winter to come and mair, If Candlemas day be wet and foul, The half of winter’s gone at Yule. (Anonymous Scottish poem)
For you Christmas junkies out there, tradition also holds that any Christmas decorations not taken down by Twelfth Night (January 5) should be left up until Candlemas and then taken down. Candlemas also officially marks the end of the Christmas and Epiphany seasons, seasons in which the Church celebrates Christ as being the light to the world.
The Fortieth Day after Epiphany [Candlemas, February 14] is observed here with special magnificence, On this day they assemble in the Anastasis [Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem]. Everyone gathers, and things are done with the same solemnity as at the feast of Easter. All the presbyters [priests] preach first, then the bishop, and they interpret the passage from the Gospel about Joseph and Mary taking the Lord to the Temple, and about Simeon and the prophetess Anna, daughter of Phanuel, seeing the Lord, and what they said to him, and about the sacrifice offered by his parents. When all the rest has been done in the proper way, they celebrate the sacrament and have their dismissal.
Spot on and full of humility. For those with ears, especially church leaders and theologians, listen and understand.
The catechism is not enough, theology is not enough, formulas are not enough to explain the Unity and Trinity of God.
We need loving communication, we need the presence of the Spirit.
That is why I do not believe in theologians who do not pray, who are not in humble communication of love with God.
Neither do I believe in the existence of any human power to pass on authentic knowledge of God.
Only God can speak about himself, and only the Holy Spirit, who is love, can communicate this knowledge to us.
When there is a crisis in the Church, it is always here: a crisis of contemplation.
The Church wants to feel able to explain about her spouse even when she has lost sight of him; even when, although she has not been divorced, she no longer knows his embrace, because curiosity has gotten the better of her and she has gone searching for other people and other things.
The revelation of a triune God in the unit of a single nature, the revelation of a divine Holy Spirit present in us, is not on the human level; it does not belong to the realm of reason. It is a personal communication which God alone can give, and the task of giving it belongs to the Holy Spirit, who is the same love which unites the Father and the Son, who is the same love which unites the Father and the Son.
The Holy Spirit is the fullness and the joy of God.
It is so difficult to speak of these things. We have to babble like children, but at least, like children, we can say over and over again, tirelessly, “Spirit of God, reveal yourself to me, your child.”
And we can avoid pretending that knowledge of God could be the fruit of our gray matter.
Then, and only then, shall we be capable of prayer; borne to the frontier of our radical incapacity, which love has made the beatitude of poverty, we shall be able invoke God’s coming to us, “Come, creator Spirit!”
For those with ears to hear, listen and understand the beautiful Truth about which he speaks.
Christ is bathed in light; let us also be bathed in light. Christ is baptized; let us also go down with him, and rise with him.
John is baptizing when Jesus draws near. Perhaps he comes to sanctify his baptizer; certainly he comes to bury sinful humanity in the waters. He comes to sanctify the Jordan for our sake and in readiness for us; he who is spirit and flesh comes to begin a new creation through the Spirit and water.
The Baptist protests; Jesus insists. Then John says: “I ought to be baptized by you.” He is the lamp in the presence of the sun, the voice in the presence of the Word, the friend in the presence of the Bride-groom, the greatest of all born of woman in the presence of the firstborn of all creation, the one who leapt in his mother’s womb in the presence of him who was adored in the womb, the forerunner and future forerunner in the presence of him who has already come and is to come again.
“I ought to be baptized by you;” we should also add: ‘“‘and for you,” for John is to be baptized in blood, washed clean like Peter, not only by the washing of his feet.
Jesus rises from the waters; the world rises with him. The heavens like Paradise with its flaming sword, closed by Adam for himself and his descendants, are rent open. The Spirit comes to him as to an equal, bearing witness to his Godhead. A voice bears witness to him from heaven, his place of origin. The Spirit descends in bodily form like the dove that so long ago announced the ending of the flood and so gives honor to the body that is one with God.
Today let us do honor to Christ’s baptism and celebrate this feast in holiness. Be cleansed entirely and continue to be cleansed. Nothing gives such pleasure to God as the conversion and salvation of human beings, for whom his every word and every revelation exist. He wants you to become a living force for all humanity, lights shining in the world. You are to be radiant lights as you stand beside Christ, the great light, bathed in the glory of him who is the light of heaven. You are to enjoy more and more the pure and dazzling light of the Trinity, as now you have received—though not in its fullness—a ray of its splendor, proceeding from the one God, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory and power for ever and ever.
For those with ears to hear, listen and understand. For those of you who are already baptized, remember your baptism today (and everyday) and be thankful that the Lord is merciful, gracious, and kind beyond measure.
That Jesus should come and be baptized by John is surely cause for amazement. To think of the infinite river that gladdens the city of God being bathed.in a poor little stream of the eternal; the unfathomable fountainhead that gives life to all men being immersed in the shallow waters of this transient world! He who fills all creation, leaving no place devoid of his presence, he who is incomprehensible to the angels. and hidden from the sight of man, came to be baptized because it was his will. And behold, the heavens opened and a voice said: “This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased.”
The beloved Father begets love, and spiritual light generates light inaccessible. In his divine nature he is my only Son, though he was known as the son of Joseph. This is my beloved Son. Though hungry himself, he feeds thousands; though weary, he refreshes those who labor. He has no place to lay his head yet holds all creation in his hand. By his passion [inflicted on him by others], he frees us from the passions [unleashed by our disobedience]; by receiving a blow on the cheek he gives the world its liberty; by being pierced in the side he heals the wound of Adam.
I ask you now to pay close attention, for I want to return to that fountain of life and contemplate its healing waters at their source.
The Father of immortality sent his immortal Son and Word into the world; he came to us men to cleanse us with water and the Spirit. To give us a new birth that would make our bodies and souls immortal, he breathed into us the spirit of life and armed us with incorruptibility. Now if we become immortal, we shall also be divine; and if we become divine after rebirth in baptism through water and the Holy Spirit, we shall also be coheirs with Christ after the resurrection of the dead.
Therefore, in a herald’s voice I cry: Let peoples of every nation come and receive the immortality that flows from baptism. This is the water that is linked to the Spirit, the water that irrigates Paradise, makes the earth fertile, gives growth to plants, and brings forth living creatures. In short, this is the water by which a man receives new birth and life, the water in which even Christ was baptized, the water into which the Holy Spirit descended in the form of a dove.
Whoever goes down into these waters of rebirth with faith renounces the devil and pledges himself to Christ. He repudiates the enemy and confesses that Christ is God, throws off his servitude, and is raised to filial status. He comes up from baptism resplendent as the sun, radiant in his purity, but above all, he comes as a son of God and a coheir with Christ. To him and to his most holy and life-giving Spirit be glory and power now and forever. Amen.
A superb critique of Saint Athanasius’ apologetic on a topic quite appropriate for the season of Advent with its emphasis on Christ’s two comings. I especially appreciate his emphasis that Athanasius was concerned for the reclamation of creation from the ravages of human sin and the myriad Evil it unleashed. This is what real Christian theology looks like. Ignore it at your own peril. For those with ears to hear, listen and understand.
The fourth-century African theologian Athanasius is known for standing contra mundum, against the world. When much of the church had turned toward Arianism, he stood firm on the truth that Jesus is, and always has been, fully God. For this, Athanasius endured opposition and exile. Yet he never wavered.
Contra mundum, however, doesn’t capture the fullness of Athanasius’s approach to the world. He was against the world for the sake of the world. He opposed the idolatry, heresy, and injustice of the world because he was for the redemptive flourishing of the world.
In a culture shaped by compromise and confusion, Athanasius shows us what it looks like to hold fast to Christ with courage and love.
Hostile Environment
To understand Athanasius’s apologetic, we must begin with his context. He wasn’t writing from history’s sidelines but from the heart of one of the world’s most influential cities.
Alexandria was the cultural capital of the Roman Empire, a bustling crossroads of trade and ideas. Home to the greatest library in the ancient world and filled with representatives from every major school of philosophy, Alexandria was a melting pot of cultures, religions, and competing worldviews. To be a bishop there was to be at the center of global conversations about truth, meaning, and power.
As bishop, Athanasius faced constant attack. His opponents launched theological challenges, political schemes, and personal accusations. These battles often forced him into exile, five times in all, equating to nearly 20 years away from his church. Yet those exiles shaped him as a theologian. In the deserts of Egypt and in the cities of the empire, Athanasius found both refuge and perspective. Cut off from his familiar responsibilities, he wrote many of his most enduring works, sharpening his vision of Christ and clarifying his defense of the gospel.
Athanasius’s apologetic wasn’t abstract. It was forged in the crucible of cultural diversity, political pressure, and personal suffering. His life in Alexandria taught him to engage competing ideas with clarity. His years in exile gave him space to reflect and to write for the good of the wider church. Out of this unique context came an apologetic that was both deeply theological and profoundly pastoral.
Vision of the World Re-Created
If Athanasius stood against the world, it was only because he believed so deeply in God’s good purposes for the world. Unlike theologians shaped by Gnostic instincts that see salvation as merely spiritual, Athanasius began with the goodness of creation itself, affirming that the world was made through the Word and intended for life with God.
He was equally clear-eyed about sin’s ravaging effects. For Athanasius, sin is not only disobedience but de-creation. It unravels God’s design, corrupts human dignity, and sets the world on a path toward death and nothingness. Salvation, therefore, can never be reduced to forgiveness alone or escape from the material world.
In Christ, God entered creation to re-create it. The incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus weren’t a detour from creation but the renewal of creation. As Athanasius put it, “The renewal of creation has been wrought by the self-same Word who made it in the beginning.” Redemption is nothing less than the re-creation of God’s good but fallen world.
This vision fueled Athanasius’s apologetic. He was against the world’s distortions precisely because he was for the world’s flourishing in Christ.
A good article, appropriate for the season of Advent, worth your time and reflection. For those with ears to hear, listen and understand.
The fact that death is coming for all of us, raises the inevitable question of how we should view it. Is it something we should be afraid of, or not?
In the Anglican Christian tradition to which I belong, a classic answer to this question is provided by the homily, or sermon, ‘Against the fear of death’ which was authorised for use in parish churches by the Church of England in the sixteenth century.
This homily explains why there are three reasons why ‘worldly’ (i.e. ungodly) people commonly fear death:
‘…. one, because they shall lose thereby, their worldly honours, riches, possessions, and all their heart’s desires; another, because of the painful diseases, and bitter pangs, which commonly men suffer, either before or at the time of death; but the chief cause, above all other, is the dread, of the miserable state of eternal damnation, both of body and soul, which they fear shall follow after their departing, after the worldly pleasure of this present life. ‘
However, none of these causes should make a Christian afraid of death. This is because:
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