Today is Candlemas, a pivotal point in the year. Traditionally it was when winter began to close up, supplies of food were maybe scarce, spring was still a few weeks away but the ground would begin to thaw sufficiently to be worked and thoughts of seeds and planting were in the minds of farmers. Old wisdom tells us that the weather on Candlemas predicts the season to come – Americans call it Groundhog Day. Whatever you call it, today is the day when the end of winter is enough of a possibility that we can begin to anticipate spring.We are also at a pivotal point of the churches year, Christmas in every sense of the word is now over and we turn not simply from cradle to cross but from cradle through cross to the empty tomb, already visible, albeit dimly through the darkness still to come. Following Jesus is not just about Christmas; not just about Good Friday. Following Jesus is also about the hope and freedom of Easter.Holding all of that together in one piece can be very difficult – but perhaps we don’t have to. Our liturgical year offers us seasons in which one or the other piece takes primacy in our worship. And our own lives offer us seasons in which one or the other takes primacy in our faith and in our experience. Sometimes, those match up with the liturgical year and sometimes they don’t – in which case our worship serves as a valuable reminder that what we are living is not the whole of God’s story.I am in Alnwick, where it is cold and windy, but the East coast is often light and brighter than the West, particularly around this time of year, when the long views over the North Sea bring the reflection of the sun for longer than on our side. It reminds me of the coming of God to Abraham and Sarah, the long and unavoidable shadows coming to their camp, bringing God who brings change, challenges and a long journey of faith and the leaving behind of that which is comfortable and familiar.Simeon’s song begins with a declaration of the end of his work, perhaps even his life: “Lord, now let your servant go in peace”. His task has been fulfilled; he has born witness to the arrival of the infant Messiah, seen the salvation of the world. That season is over, a new season has begun. His work is complete.I wonder how Simeon felt when he woke up the day after meeting Jesus and seeing the truth of what his future would hold. I wonder if he woke up thinking, ‘today might be the day!”, before he remembered that yesterday had been the day and that he would have to find something else to do today, a way of using up the life left to him knowing that his purpose has been beautifully fulfilled – the promise of God came to him and now he has to look to meeting God, not in the form of the infant Jesus, but on the day of his judgement. Not many people will have beheld their judge as a baby!What then did he do? I imagine he lit a candle, in the quiet of that winter morning, and prayed that the light of the world would break through the darkness and reveal to him the continuation of God’s promise. Let that be our prayer, also, as we journey through the seasons of the year and of our lives.Have a blessed day, and if I come back, we can keep on moving forward together, and if I do not, well, we will move forward anyway, because that is the only direction that we can travel in, as St Augustine said ‘sing alleluia and keep on walking!’
We tend to blame things that we do on things we have not done. Hence I sat on a bus in London some years ago listening to someone being utterly horrible about someone sitting near them and about the driver and anyone who dared look at her, before announcing loudly ‘my chakras are not aligned properly, so you can all go to hell’ – or something similar. I do not think she knew what a chakra was, and to be fair nor do I, but blaming whatever they are on being in a foul mood seems stretching it a little.We do tend to find excuses, or to create dualisms or divisions. So we perceive opposing forces of good and evil at work around us and blame them for anything from being short changed to being unpleasant. Human beings are seen as being made up of a body and soul working in duality, and to a great extent perceiving dualisms or divisions is probably not a wrong thing to do. However, as is often the case, taking matters to extremes leads to the breakdown of our balance, or if you like, a misalignment of body and soul.We are today finishing the week of prayer for Christian unity. Unity is certainly seen as a virtue and a command of Christ ‘may they all be one Father as you and I are one’ . To be one is good. To be divided is bad, although in the Trinity there are here specific entities. At the same time though, it is untruthful, and therefore unhelpful, to pretend there is one church, when there is in fact, two or many. In Christian ecumenism, there is always a tension between recognising the scandal of division and valuing the Gospel work of individual churches and traditions, or pneumatologically there is value in recognising the gifts of the Spirit, the Kingship of Christ and the creative force of the Father. They are distinct but also one, and maybe a model for Christian Unity rather than pursuing one denomination which would be beige and inoffensive and we would not like it very much, because all the people who sulk when anything changes would leave and quickly form another church which would splinter and then we would be back in the same place again, looking as foolish as we do now.This model of duality can be applied elsewhere, specifically, to popularly perceived dualisms. First we have the human anthropology of body and soul. Much traditional theology gives us the image of the human person made up of body and soul. An image that is very useful because it makes it easier to talk and distinguish between the physical and spiritual. Fair enough. However, it is not correct to think we are talking about two separate entities, that the human person is not a unity. It is important to keep in mind that the body and soul are two aspects of one unity. Then there is the popular dualism of good and evil. There are certainly some aspects of the world that we want to describe as good and others we want to see as evil. However, that is not the same as thinking that are two existing principles, one good the other evil, that are the same in nature but directly opposing in direction. Such an understanding undermines the very unity of God. Good is the force of creation. There is no force of uncreation. Existence is good. There is no thing that is non-existent. To equate evil with goodness undermines the unity and pervasiveness of goodness in creation and existence.A further division human beings like to make is between ‘thinking’ and ‘doing’. There is a lot more to Christianity than intellectual assent. Sitting at home believing in God does not get the believer, or anybody else, anywhere. We have to be doing something as well. The thinking and the doing have to become a unity. Thinking and doing has to be become a one unified activity in such a way that the thinking and the doing become inseparable. This unity is what the theologian, Edward Schillebeeckx, calls the Christian ‘praxis’. The Christian praxis is action that redeems and saves people, bringing them to the ultimate unity with God.We only need to look at today’s Gospel to see what that activity is. At the beginning of his ministry Jesus announces what he going to do — bring good news to the poor, free captives and the oppressed, and cure the ill. These actions are all about fulfilling people’s humanity, making them whole, and making them one. With any dualism, we have to make sure we see the unity behind it. Otherwise: we are scandalised by a divided Church rather than appreciating the Church’s achievements; we become obsessed with the body or the soul at the expense of our wholeness; we exaggerate evil and underestimate the goodness of creation; and our religion becomes reduced to thought and no redeeming action occurs. If we keep division in perspective and fully appreciate the unity around us, then Christ’s saving work will take place.
Imagine a special parish event—a joyful occasion, perhaps even a visit from the bishop. Everything’s going well. We’ve had a lovely Mass, and now we’ve gathered in the parish hall. The table is beautifully set, the conversation is flowing, and the atmosphere is one of celebration. But then, halfway through the evening, as the bishop returns to the buffet for another round of those vol-au-vents he’s quite taken a shine to, you suddenly notice something alarming: there might not be enough to go around.That sinking feeling creeps in. It’s not just about food; it’s about hospitality, about showing care and generosity to your guests, and avoiding the embarrassment of falling short. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Worried about things not going to plan, anxious about letting others down.Perhaps that’s why the wedding at Cana speaks so powerfully to us. It’s not just a story of Jesus’ first miracle—it’s a moment that resonates with our human fears and concerns. And yet, it’s also a Gospel narrative layered with meaning. It speaks to the abundance of God’s grace, the unfolding of Christ’s mission, and the ways in which God transforms not only our moments of anxiety but the very fabric of our lives.At Cana, it’s Mary who notices the need. “They have no wine,” she says, bringing the problem to Jesus with quiet confidence. And when He responds in a way that might seem dismissive—“My hour has not yet come”—she doesn’t argue or plead. Instead, she turns to the servants and says, “Do whatever He tells you.”Yet again, Mary’s words are a profound act of faith, she doesn’t know exactly what Jesus will do, but she trusts that He will act. Her words are a call to action, not just for the servants at Cana but for all of us. “Do whatever He tells you”—these are words to live by, words that invite us to trust in God’s plan even when we don’t fully understand it.In our first reading from Isaiah, we hear of God’s joy in His people, likening Jerusalem to a bride adorned for her husband. This wedding imagery echoes the setting at Cana and points to the deeper reality of God’s covenantal love. Just as a bride and groom enter into a life-changing union, so too does God invite us into a transformative relationship with Him.The miracle at Cana reveals a God who works through the ordinary, transforming water into wine in the midst of a wedding feast. It’s a reminder that Christ meets us where we are—in the mundane and the messy, in the joys and challenges of everyday life. In my chaplaincy work, I’ve seen this time and again. I’ve sat with patients and families in moments of fear and uncertainty, and I’ve witnessed how Christ’s presence can transform those moments, bringing peace and hope where there was previously anxiety. Just as the water at Cana was transformed, so too can Christ take the ordinary and make it extraordinary.The Church Fathers saw this miracle as rich in symbolic meaning. Saint Augustine understood it as a shift from the old covenant to the new—the water of the law giving way to the wine of the Gospel. For Thomas Aquinas, it was a sign of how God’s grace elevates and perfects nature, infusing human life with divine holiness. These reflections remind us that Christ doesn’t just meet our needs—He exceeds them, offering us not just enough, but abundance.This abundance is echoed in the second reading, where Saint Paul speaks of the diversity of gifts given by the Spirit. Just as Christ transformed water into wine, so too does the Spirit transform our lives, taking our unique talents and turning them into something extraordinary for the common good. But notice: this transformation requires a response. It requires us, like the servants at Cana, to listen and act. “Do whatever He tells you.”What might Christ be asking of us today? Perhaps He is asking us to step out in faith, to trust in His provision, to serve others with generosity and compassion. In moments of doubt, Mary’s words are a guide, calling us back to the simplicity of faith and obedience.The miracle at Cana also foreshadows the Eucharist, where Christ transforms bread and wine into His Body and Blood. At the altar, we are invited to partake in the abundance of His grace, to be nourished and transformed so that we might go out and share that grace with the world. Every act of service, every prayer offered, every moment of kindness becomes a participation in Christ’s ongoing work of transformation.Mary’s role in this Gospel is a model for all of us. She doesn’t perform the miracle herself; she simply points others to Christ and trusts in His care. Her faith sets the stage for the miracle, reminding us that our role is not to have all the answers but to trust and to act.As we reflect on this story, let’s remember that Christ continues to transform our lives. He meets us in our need, He invites us to trust, and He calls us to follow. And as we go forth, may we carry Mary’s words in our hearts: “Do whatever He tells you.”Closing PrayerGracious God, You who transformed water into wine,pour out Your grace upon our lives. In times of doubt, grant us the faith of Mary,to trust in Your provision and to act with confidence.In moments of service, may we reflectYour love and compassion.And in all things, may we do whatever You tell us,so that we may share in Your abundant joy. Amen.
We can point at things and wait for things for a long time, and sometimes get ourselves so occupied in the action of so doing that we can forget what we are pointing at. We take things out and we put them back in again. We change colours of vestments and choose seasonal hymns, we look forward to Easter and then we look back to Christmas, each occasion necessitating a different kind of cake or drink t accompany it – in other words, we have succeeded in accomplishing the enormous feat of domesticating the creator of the universe, even making little statues of Him to put in the crib or on the altar. This may seem utterly shocking or not, depending on your point of view.I am firmly in the ‘not shocked’ camp, but with caveats. I like to think that the domestication of divinity is a human essential – we cannot spend our time lost in the awesome wonder of eternity not because it would be a waste of time to do so, but because we have a divine mandate to go forth and baptise all nations, and to tell of the wonderful news we have heard, and it is hard to do so while staring into space, indeed the disciples were told off by the angel for doing just that on the day of the Ascension of Christ ‘men of galilee, why are you standing there staring into the sky?’ before being reminded to go back to Jerusalem, where the greatest concentration of people were, and begin the Church of God.It is therefore useful to have ways of reminding ourselves about the faith, and to share those with others. As long as the colourful fabrics and the music and the statues and the icons and all the rest of it do not become a burden and a distraction to the practice of the faith, then all well and good, and we must remember, those of us who are in church often, that for most people they only see this for an hour a week, if that, so it is right that we make the effort, for them if not always for us. There are expectations laid upon us by God and by our fellow human beings and one of them is that we are here, reminding a forgetful nation that there is something else, something greater.The Baptism of Christ is a reminder to us of just that, and like all practical reminders, it also contains an inherent truth in its teaching. We hear the account from Luke this year, which is short, and made shorter by editing, and patchy on details, therefore we should pay attention to the things it does tell us, as they are the sparse but rich details that Luke wishes us to know. Verses 18 – 20 are edited out of the reading today, and interestingly they relate to John the Baptist alone, and so we are left with a completely Christological narrative of astonishing and awesome simplicity.To prepare us for this, we listen to Isaiah prophesying, as prophets do, about the person of John the Baptist, saying that one day someone will come, a joyful messenger to announce the Messiah – note though that the text of Isaiah, even though it is detailed about the Precursor, John, culminates with what the Messiah will do, once He is announced. The messenger will say ‘here is your God’ and then the blessings of God will come. This is pivotal to what happens in the Jordan today but, like our churches year, it points to things without being in itself a fulfilment of them.It is remarkable that Christ is baptised, as He has no need of it. Instead, He cleanses the water by His immersion into it, in the same way that He cleanses the world by His incarnation and overturns the sin of Adam by being a second, greater Adam, a new man, a new birth for the world. On rising out of the water, as he rose from the womb of Mary, He brings forth fountains of grace and hope to our world, and as at His birth the angels brought forth shepherds and magi, here this allegorical second birth brings forth something greater – His teaching ministry is birthed in the Jordan and brings forth the voice of God the Father and the descent of the Holy Spirit – a manifestly clear sign of the salvation yet to come.But, like our own pointing and waiting, we are not there yet. What, in this perspective, makes the Baptism great as a festival of the Church is that in this way it is the prefigurement of the Crucifixion. The whole destiny of Jesus is contained within it. It is the culmination of Christmastide because it is the source of the impetus that will carry us on to Easter, this is the beginning of His ministry and that ministry will end on the cross, a second and greater cleansing.This is what the Byzantine icons tell us. Christ goes down into the Jordan as on Calvary he will sink into the chaotic waters of death, to redeem them and to banish death. The river is dark with the murk of evil, but the shimmering light which surrounds the figure of Christ cleaves it like a sword. It is a reminder to us of his Sacrifice when on the Cross he will enter the darkness again and this time transform it into the radiance of the Resurrection light, offered to us all as joy and peace in the Holy Spirit.So we do not have a little figure of Christ to dip into a little bucket today, because statues and costumes only point the way, as John pointed to Christ. Now our salvation is begun, and the work of witnesses to that begins and never ends until He comes again. We mark the seasons, keep the feasts, because it is a way to evangelise, but for us who have come to believe, today we enter the mystery which no chalkware or damask can imitate – the life of the world and the Triune Godhead stand in the water, and command our attention. Our work today is not in singing or in costume, but in listening and living according to this dynamic event which, more than Christmas, is what Isaiah was looking to, what all God’s faithful people longed for – and it has come to you in Baptism, when we made vows which, now, we will make anew.
