Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time - Reflection on the readings* 8 October 2023 Photo credit: Andrea Cairone - https://unsplash.com/photos/ lzM3pbQim70?utm_content= creditShareLink&utm_medium= referral&utm_source=unsplash In this Sunday’s Gospel passage, continuing on from last week, we find Jesus in combat mode. His actions and authority have been questioned by the chief priest and elders of the people and he responds to their challenge, not with an answer but with further questions, posed in the form of parables. Here, he tells the second of three parables (last Sunday, we heard Jesus relate a shorter one, next Sunday will complete the triad). Unlike most parables, these first two at least seem to be easily interpreted - clear in their meaning and in their application. Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel echo those of Isaiah, words we listen to in the first reading this Sunday. Those who heard them as Jesus spoke them in the Temple were familiar with the prophet’s words. ...
Tonight, we set our clocks back an hour. Autumn is reaching its end. Winter is approaching. The sun is further away from us each day and its warmth lessens. The trees are ever more rapidly shedding their vividly-coloured tapestry of leaves. The migrating birds are gone. Outside my window, our two squirrels are hoarding horse chestnuts all day long. The light is changing and colours are fading. Nature is entering into its time of rest. We've come to the point of the year when the nights are longest, when we have more time in darkness than in daylight. This year, perhaps, we are each living that longest night with a greater intensity. These are dark times in the life of each and every person. This long, seemingly endless, time of pandemic and repeated lockdowns, is not easy. And my spirit is jangled - often. Tonight, as I sat in our convent chapel in the darkness, my spirit was not at peace. I cried. I told God what God knows already. In a quiet whisper, I poured ...
Four words towards the end of today’s reading at Mass really stood out: 'you are God's farm' (1 Corinthians 3:9). While the surrounding phrases are so familiar I could almost recite them verbatim, until today I have never noticed these four words. Of all days, they were particularly meaningful today. On the third anniversary of his death, my uncle Timmie was very much in my heart. At morning prayer, I prayed in thanksgiving for his beautiful personality. So why did these words of St Paul’s strike me? Because my uncle Timmie was a farmer, because I grew up next door to his farm, because I spent hours in his company, in his home, on his land. St Paul reproaches the Corinthians for being ‘still unspiritual’, for missing the point: we are ‘co-workers with God’ but only God matters. It is God who makes things grow. This is something my uncle was keenly aware of and passed on to us. Were St Paul to meet him, he would surely recognise in Timmie a man who was ‘of the Spirit’, someo...
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you for reading my writing. I'm interested to hear your thoughts - please share.