We Preach Presence, Memory and Hope

The magical film-fable Chocolat culminates with an Easter Sunday homily given by the young parish priest. On that paschal mom, the strict and pietistic keeping of Lent enforced by the mayor upon his small French village comes undone as quickly as the foil is tom from Easter eggs. The mayor believes he has a gift for preaching, and insists upon writing the priest's sermons for him. In truth, the words that the mayor wishes to share haye very little to do with proclaiming the Good News. He makes the gospel small, focussing on self-denial and the sins of others. He is found asleep in the window of a chocolate shop, having gorged himself throughout the night. He is unable to write the young priest's Easter words for him.

The next scene shows the priest mounting the steps to the pulpit and telling the assembly he does not know what he will say. He says that he wants to focus on Jesus' humanity, and how he lived his life here on earth. Goodness, he continues, cannot be measured by what we don't do, or what we deny ourselves or resist, or by whom we exclude. Goodness is measured by what we embrace, what we create and whom we include. The narrator then completes the story and observes that it was not the young priest's most fiery sermon, nor his most eloquent, but the parishioners felt a new sensation - a lightening of the spirit, and a freedom from the old tranquillité ... their impassive spirits had been touched by words of joy. They experienced the Resurrection. Even if these words were not the most profound that could be said on an Easter Sunday morning, the young priest did what all preachers and presiders hope to do: to point to Jesus and lead people into a larger and more gracious world.

There is only one proclamation: Christ has died (past), Christ is risen (present), Christ will come again (future). All Christian preaching begins with this. All Christian preaching rests on this. All Christian preaching reaches in hope towards this. True preaching is not the voice of certainty, but a life of conviction. It is not filling the silent spaces with words, but allowing the Word to fill the silent spaces.

St Francis was right when he said, Let all preach. .. with their deeds. But we are people of the Book, and we also need words to help guide our deeds. St Francis was aware this too. The oft attributed quote to St Francis - Preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary use words - is not really Francis at all. This quote begins to surface some two centuries after Francis, and while these words capture his spirit, it only tells part of his expectation of his brothers. Francis was one who understood that the proclamation of gospel stands at the heart of the Church, but he also understood that preaching was not an unbridled free-for-all. His movement was a lay movement and he expected his brothers to haye the proper permissions and formation when it was time to use words. Francis knew that liturgical preaching is a ministry of the Church.

Preaching in the name of the Church implies that one's own faith, hope and love mirror the faith, hope and love of the gospel. In the Church's liturgy, the preacher's words are not just his or her own, but they speak of the faith of the Church carried forward to the eager and indifferent alike. Every act of Christian preaching, with or without words, on a street or in a school, is a Spirit -filled action of the Church, continuing Christ's mission to announce the healing love of the Triune God to all the world. Liturgical preaching is this in a more precise setting. Liturgical preaching is faith put into words and the task of these words is to open the space in every human heart and mind which has received, and yet still eagerly awaits, the Word of God. The preacher thus speaks of the Word who has come into human history, speaks of the Word who is still living within and among us, and speaks of the Word who has promised to come again (and again and again ... ).

The gospels leave us with one sentence of the liturgical preaching of Jesus. Luke (4:16-21) recounts how Jesus, returning to Nazareth, went to the Synagogue, and found the place in the scroll where Isaiah proclaimed the Lord's year of favour. With all eyes fixed on him, Jesus added his one line homily: Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. What follows can be of no comfort to preacher or hearer alike. After a few more exchanges, the disturbed crowd was filled with rage and ruthlessly wanted to hurl him off the cliff. In the end, Jesus slipped by. This is the danger of every homily. That single sentence serves as a blueprint for every homily: here and now (today), these words that we have proclaimed (this scripture) are words in which we can place our trust (has been fulfilled) if we are willing to welcome and be transformed by the good news (in your hearing).

Historically, Christian preachers haye not been known for being quite so concise. St. Paul has the distinction of being the first to bore someone almost to death in the famous story of Eutychus at Troas, who fell both asleep and out the window as Paul went on and on (Acts 20:7- 12). However Paul was brave and audacious. Despite the abundance of words that Paul has left behind, he was not known as an eloquent speaker. 'Content was good, but the delivery boring' seemed to be the general critique, which Paul mentions himself as he battles away with Corinthians: It is said, 'His letters are weighty enough, and full of strength, but when you see him in person, he makes no impression and his powers of speaking are negligible.' (2 Cor 10:10). Springing to his own defence, he adds: Even if there is something lacking in my public speaking, this is not the case with my knowledge, as we have openly shown to you at all times and before everyone. (2 Cor 11:6) From the earliest days of preaching the Christian story, there is identifiable tension between substance and style, doctrine and delivery. This tension continues in our experience of Christian preaching today.

It is interesting that of all the changes to Catholic vocabulary since the Second Vatican Council, the term 'homily' is one that has been readily accepted as part of general Catholic language. People across all spectrums rarely use the term 'sermon' any more, even though most would not be clear on the distinction between the two. The liturgical reforms of the Council restored the practice of the ancient homily, which draws its focus and formulation 'from the sacred text itself' (SC 53). Proclamation of scripture regained a greater emphasis within the liturgical life of the Church and the homily was again highly esteemed as part of the liturgy. Just as every sacramental celebration is not only an act of worship but also a proclamation of the Gospel, so too is the proclamation of the gospel an indispensable part of every sacramental celebration and act of worship.

The word 'homily' comes from the Greek word homilia which means simply 'familiar conversation'. While this definition might make a homily sound rather casual, there are few liturgical failings worse that a preacher who is doing no more than having an aimless chat with like-minded friends. The homily is integral to the liturgy itself because it functions both as an external bridge between the Word and the world, and as internal bridge within the liturgy itself between proclamation and thanksgiving; linking scripture, feast and praise into a unified whole. The familiarity implied here is not one of informality but rather one that emerges from the confident, prayerful, sincere convictions of the preacher, which in turn echoes, awakens and nourishes the faith of the assembly. In that sense we can ask: a liturgical homily is a familiar conversation about what, with whom, and for what purpose?

Firstly, a homily is a familiar conversation about scripture. This implies that the preacher is familiar with scripture: scripture in general and the scripture specific to that liturgical celebration and cycle. It means that the preacher is at home with scripture through both study and prayer. St John Chrysostom, the patron saint of Christian preachers, believed that preaching does not come by nature, but by study. If preachers are going to speak of the holy then they must first be shaped by the holy. Irish theologian, Michael Paul Gallagher, gets to the heart of the matter: The majority of people around who have abandoned regular contact with Church have not done so because of some intellectual argument against faith. They have drifted away because their imagination was left untouched and their hopes unawoken by their experience of Church. They leave less in anger than in disappointment with hollow words that claim to speak of the holy ... The language of the churches seems stuck in an older mode and unable to speak imaginatively to the desires of now. People need to feel themselves part of a larger Story. Like the parables of Jesus, what is needed are traps for depth, moments of human poetry that give voice to the language of desire (Dive Deeper: the Human Poetry of Faith, p.122). Scripture is the place where we are connected to a larger a story, and if that connection does not first happen in the heart of the preacher, it is unlikely to happen in the hearts of the hearers.

Secondly, a homily is a familiar conversation with the gathered assembly. Only in rural communities would a minister know the majority of the names and faces before him or her, but knowing everyone's name and family history is not what is implied here. Good preachers are first and foremost fellow human beings, ones who are not distant from ordinary daily human struggles or ignorant of their own sinfulness. They know first-hand the joys and pitfalls of contemporary Iiving. The Church knows that the gospel needs to be preached, not through lofty theory, but with down-to-earth wit and wisdom: Preaching is often very difficult in the circumstances of the modern world. In order that it might more effectively move people's minds, the word of God ought not to be explained in a general and abstract way, but rather by applying the lasting truth of the Gospel to the particular circumstances of life (Ministry of Priest, 4). One priest would write the words 'So What!?' at the top of each page of his homily to remind himself that his words were meant to land somewhere amid the reality of people lives.

Thirdly, a homily is a familiar conversation for the purpose of building up the Church and encouraging all in their baptismal calling. Specifically within liturgy, the homily links the Liturgy of the Word to the Liturgy of the Eucharist, and it also links that liturgical celebration to the bigger view of the liturgical cycle. Each season of the Church's year has its flavour. Christ is the direction and purpose of every homily, but the liturgical circumstance of every homily is different. Much happens in the world, and in people's lives, in the three years between each lectionary cycle. Baptisms, weddings, funerals, Easter and Christmas draw together different crowds from the Sunday regulars. According to circumstances, homilies sometimes exhort, sometimes inspire, sometimes comfort, sometimes challenge, sometimes question, sometimes energise, but always are meant to lead people deeper into Christ so that they can see what hope his call holds for them (Eph 1:18). Good homilies open the door to building a healthy collective and personal spirituality. Homilies are the most crucial way in which the spirituality of ordinary believers is shaped and sustained. Preachers have a precious duty: like midwives, they help liberate what God is bringing to birth, in individuals and communities.

On a Sunday, a homily is not directed towards the faithless but to the faithful. Homilies proclaim faith, give voice to faith, name faith and nourish it - their faith, the faith of the Church throughout the ages. It happens Sunday after Sunday after Sunday, like the familiar conversation of family around the meal table. We are shaped by the conversations that we have forgotten as much as the ones that we remember because we were there and had a place at the table as the familiar conversation swirled around us. Preachers should never be surprised by the words that people remember.

A famous comic once said: 'People think that by getting up and telling a funny story at their niece's wedding that they are a comedian. That's not being a comedian. Being a comedian is getting up on stage after you have received bad news from home, or had a fight with your wife, or you feel sick and tried ... being a comedian is being funny when you don't feel like laughing'. The same observation can be said of preaching and presiding. One good homily or spiritual reflection does not make a good preacher. Preaching is day after day, week after week, year after year of grappling to find new ways of talking about Jesus. Preaching is proclaiming the Word of God even when your own words sound hollow.

Good homilies begin and end in silence. They begin in the silence of the reverential contemplation of Scripture as the source and starting-point, and continue throughout the week in the silent contemplation of reading and study (even a little is beneficial), of ruminating upon conversations, experiences, people and events as the stimulus and energy for homiletic material. Good homilies end in the communal silence where the words of the homilist dissolve into the Word of God and, whether hearing God for the first time or after countless times, the hearer is moved to see life in a different way. It is in silence that the truest word will be spoken.

The best homilies leave our spirits uncluttered, our minds sharpened and our hearts ready to move from the table of the Word to the table of the Eucharist and from there to the table of the world. Good preaching, like good liturgy, strengthens our faith. Poor preaching, like poor liturgy, weakens faith. Despite all the demands of parish ministry, preaching remains the highest priority. It is the responsibility of all entrusted with this ministry to give time to prayer, preparation, reading and reflection, for, whatever other gifts one might have in style and public speaking, without commitment and dedication these will come to nothing before the profound and subtle Wisdom of God. No matter how we say it, there is only one proclamation and it is this: the redemptive love of the Trinitarian God made visible in Jesus Christ. We preach about the Word that has come and made a home in us. We preach so that the Word might come and make a home in us. We preach presence, memory, and hope. We preach this for our sake and for the sake of the world.

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This article was originally published in Liturgy News ​Vol 37(3) September 2007. Reprinted with permission.