Homilies are in many ways the centrepiece of most church services. A typical mass has the ritual celebration of the Eucharist as its climax, but that part of the service is indeed ritual, in that it does not change from service to service. The first part of the service consists of readings from scripture and then the homily, where the presider tries to interpret the readings of, if they prefer, offer some other message.
The homily is the part of the service that can surprise and inspire. Nowadays I find myself in several churches across two Christian denominations, and one advantage is the chance to listen to many different celebrants. As children, most of us remember homilies (or sermons) as insufferably long and boring, and indeed many still are. It is hard to be inspired by an admonishing lecture, nor by a discourse on obscure theology, nor by some boilerplate provided by a Vatican website or elsewhere.
But fortunately the dull is no more common than the inspiring. A good homily requires certain basic attributes: seven minutes is a good length; it needs a beginning a middle and an end; and it must be delivered clearly at a steady pace. I often compare a homily to a blog, for they have many similarities.
However, in my experience the key ingredient in a good homily is some courage. It should make some connection between scripture and issues facing us in the present day, and not just with generic messages like helping the poor. Sadly, in my experience most Roman Catholic homilists, especially in the US, are frightened, whether by the Vatican or some more proximate part of the hierarchy, and that courage is missing or suppressed. A glorious exception was our pastor in The Hague, Sjaak de Boer: he had a position where he exercised a certain freedom from the stifling bureaucracy, and he used it to full effect. His homilies are so good that three books of them have been published.
I find many of the Episcopalian homilists here rather more inspiring. Their leadership must be more tolerant – though I don’t recall much tolerance in the Anglican Church of the UK, to which they are affiliated. I haven’t heard any evangelical homilies yet, and I’m not sure I’d like to either, for the hypocrisy implied by many of their positions seems indefensible, at least to me. Probably, I should seek out some such churches, in a spirit of being ready to understand and learn and to challenge my own assumptions.
I like the new young priest at the old people’s home where I volunteer. Homilies at his midweek masses are very short – it must be an encouragement to brevity when most of the congregation is nodding off. I was there on All Saints Day, and his homily included a simple statement that set me thinking. He referred to the saints as simply a few examples, suggesting that there is less of a boundary between canonised saints and the rest of us, in both directions: many canonised saints will have had flaws, and all of us have some saintly qualities. Then he stated that most of us have had people in our own lives that we are able to look to as our own saints.
Well, I thought, that is a nice concept, but I can’t think of many off hand. Perhaps his assumption was that most of us had a parent or early mentor we thought of in saintly terms. Not me. I smiled recently when my sister said that the longer the time since our mum died, the more able she was to appreciate some of her qualities. I feel the same, and sadly she may have to be dead a hundred years before either of us will allow her to enter the pantheon of sainthood, God bless her soul.
Then I thought of all the rest of my family, then my schoolteachers, my college friends, and even my bosses. This was quite a long list, but I could not identify a single candidate. Everyone had some deep flaw, and I could identify nobody who I had witnessed show consistent kindness to others when such kindness carried no personal benefit. That kindness became my benchmark for beatification: built on respect, offered without selfishness or need for gratitude, exhibited often. Building on the message of the priest, we don’t need to be conspicuous heroes to be saints, just kind souls.
Wow, I thought, perhaps this helps me to understand myself. I’m pretty sure that nobody on the same list would classify me as any sort of saint either. Indeed, I recall a lot of gratuitous feedback, especially at work, where people appreciated my intelligence and candour but blanched at my unkindness. Well, we love to blame our parents for everything, and we need to take responsibility for our own behaviour, but it appears that I lacked many positive role models.
I became more encouraged when I expanded my search into more recent times. Both of the families that I have married into have some wonderfully kind characters. Since I’ve started attending church, I’ve come across a few great examples, not usually the clergy but other kind souls. More recently, at the nursing home, a few of the residents and many of the nuns fill me with awe at their kindness.
But my real ah ha moment came when I thought about some of the younger people I’ve been exposed to over the last fifteen years or so. A few of my peers and many of my subordinates in my last period in Shell came to mind. So did a number of the young musicians I have sung with recently. These young people show respect and kindness naturally and seem to live in an environment that supports such behaviour. A little of it may even have rubbed off on me.
With this trail of thought I was able to draw a few general conclusions. First, I wondered what got in the way of all those who fail to meet the criteria. Common factors appear to be confidence and competence, a key part of which seems to be mental health. If you are anxious or out of your depth or drowning in some way, it is harder to consistently consider others. These factors condemned most of my bosses and many relatives. One way to grow confidence and mental health may be to drastically simplify life, in the way the nuns choose to.
Next, it is clear that sainthood begets sainthood. I have even witnessed that in a small way myself. If we are surrounded by positive influences, we can slowly learn to follow. If our lives are full of suspicion and fear and unkindness, it becomes very hard to overcome those burdens. This is just one more way in which inequality becomes embedded in society. This insight helped me to appreciate those many role models, usually maternal figures, who are able to act in a saintly way within tough African American communities.
And my last lesson is the familiar one about progress. If my own experience is in any representative and not a function of my own delusion or wishful thinking, then humanity seems to be becoming more saintly. Otherwise, how come so many of my personal saints are millennials? Sainthood begets sainthood, and this can work for individuals or for whole societies.
It may be ironic that the first generation to largely reject organised religion might be the first to be able to live closer to the values promoted by those religions. Even so, the thought is a profoundly uplifting one. And, for me, that is a great example of why many homilies are well worth listening to.
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