HIS MOST SACRED HUMANITY (Fanned into flame)

And I clearly see that if we expect to please him and receive an abundance of his graces, God desires that these graces must come to us from the hands of Christ, through his most sacred humanity, in which God takes delight.

(Teresa Of Avila)

Mondays I feel spent, not knowing what to do with myself, not knowing how to do nothing, yet not having the energy to do anything.

A walk is a good idea and it’s a beautiful day. And what a delight it is to meet Mary down the seafront walking her grandson. She always energises me, and we walk together chatting animatedly all the way up to London Road in St. Leonards.

From there it’s back to the Pier where I find a bench facing towards Hastings. In spite of the sunshine, the wind is cold against the back of my head, so I pull up my hood and sit there like a monk, pondering.

The Irish hymn, I arise today – based on the Breastplate of St. Patrick - is stirring in me. “Stability of earth…firmness of rock..” My gaze fixed on the West and East hills and the Old Town of Hastings hidden from view between. The street that has been my home for more than eight years.

The two Hills look like I’ve never seen t hem before, or maybe it is that I have never sat long enough observing them to notice how enormous they are. How solid. How firm.

And the people I encounter there – in the church and also on the street itself. The incredible mix of humanity that makes up the Old Town.

Humanity! The humanity of Christ. My teacher and protector St. Teresa of Avila speaks of the necessity of going through the humanity of Christ in order to receive the graces we need in life. The incarnate life of Him, flesh and bone and blood, as well as Spirit.

I find Him incarnate in everyone I meet. Everyone. Sometimes He is kept deeply out of sight, but He is there. We all belong to Him at some level of life.

So I have encountered Him this morning in Mary and her grandson, in my friendly barber, in Mao who calls out to me from her flower shop. In the elderly couple who stop to look curiously at the hooded figure that I am.

Walking the seafront the other evening I spotted two young me in the distance coming in my direction. They looked like Mormons, and I thought they will surely stop me. Yes and yes!

“Would you like to come to church on Sunday?” asked one. “I go to church every day” I replied, and they both looked shocked or astonished. “Every day?” they asked in unison, with looks of disbelief, “where?” “At Our Lady Star of the Sea in the Old Town” I explained. “I’m the parish priest there.”

They seemed to have nothing to say to that, so I asked where they were from. “Utah” said the first. “Tanzania” said the second.

“Safi” I said, and his eyes widened with delight. “You speak Kiswahili!” he said. “Ndio” I replied. “Nilikaa Tanzania zamani.” “Wapi?”

And we forgot about everything to do with religion and evangelizing, delighting simply in the familiar connections of language and country. It was humanity brought to life in a very beautiful way. The joy of the Lord was upon us!

God-given humanity!

On Instagram I saw this lovely video in which a man walks the street of a town, holding a bunch of flowers. He approaches an elderly lady who is bent over her walking frame.

“Madam” he says, “you look very beautiful!” She looks up in astonishment and smiles at the good of it, and he hands her the bunch of flowers. She is made up, straightened up, uplifted by the experience.

He repeats this with a number of other elderly women and in the course of a short video he has spread joy and delight into the lives of these beautiful women who might have thought they were no longer beautiful at all.

I think of this when St. Paul writes about fanning into flame the “gift that God has given you.”

We all have a gift and the capacity to fan it into flame to bring new life to others. The gift of faith, joy, love, or peace. We are called to this; it is the mission entrusted to us and we have what it takes no matter how small the gift we have may seem to be. However insignificant we may feel.

It is the power of the tiny mustard seed that Jesus speaks. The power of a spark to create a flame.

And this brings another memory from Tanzania. In light the Easter Fire on Holy Saturday, they do not us matches or lighters. They use two pieces of wood which they rub together until the friction creates a spark. It takes time and effort. When the spark happens, they place a small bunch of straw near it so that it catches fire. Then they add small kindling bits of tree and then larger pieces of wood until a great fire blazes up before us.

From dry wood a tiny spark emerges to become a great flame of fire. That is the possibility given to us.

This leads to a final memory of a parish priest we had in Mervue years ago. At the sign of peace he would tell people to turn to the next person and say something like you’re beautiful or I like your hat or your coat or something.

When I spoke about this at Mass this weekend it caused a stir of laughter and when it came to the sign of peace I said nothing more about it, but the place buzzed with the sound of people telling each other something that brought a sense of delight. A spark fanned into flame!

The Sacred humanity of Christ in which God delights, touching the humanity of every one of us.

"Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks to me..."