Christmas 2022 Message - Archbishops of Armagh (joint RC & COI)

A highlight of the Christmas season is the solemn reading from the prologue of John’s Gospel with its memorable opening: “In the beginning was the Word …”

Commenting recently on John’s Gospel, the Irish scholar, David Ford, describes it as “the gospel of abundance” because it overflows with the “fullness” of God’s love for his creation – “grace upon grace”.

The Scripture readings at Christmas time leave us in no doubt that this Good News of abundance is God’s ‘Yes’ to the world he made, the climax of God’s plan for the world, the keeping of promises made by God down the centuries.

Of course riches and abundance will mean different things to different people. In the Ireland of today many of us think of those words in relation to material comfort – for most of us, after all, even the spiritual life requires a degree of material security to be sustainable. The problem comes when this one aspect of abundance overwhelms all others; a belief that the price of everything becomes the value of everything, which in turn hardens into an ideology of maximising consumer satisfaction which cannot do justice to the richness of personal life.

The current public understanding of abundance is incapable of healing the divisions in our society.  Society cannot be truly democratic without a strong sense of solidarity and community – something which can often be absent today. When seeking the nomination of the Democratic Party to run for President, the late Robert Francis Kennedy once said:

“The Gross National Product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages … it measures … neither our wisdom nor our compassion … it measures everything, in short, except that which makes our lives worthwhile”.

The Word who became flesh during the reign of the Emperor Octavian, when Quirinius was Governor of Syria, addressed himself to rulers as well as to individuals. His whole life witnessed to fundamental truths – that authority is the exercise of power which is morally justified; and, political life (although it takes very different forms in different ages) is not the servant of any economic or national ideology, but the pursuit of the common good of all people. The unfolding tragedy of what is happening in Ukraine is perhaps a result of ignoring these fundamentals.

We live in an age which has been described as one of “surveillance capitalism”. It is an age of algorithms and atomisation; a global system of behaviour modification which can threaten human nature itself. The coming of the ‘Word made flesh’ drags us back to both the primacy of persons and of their solidarity. The Light that came into the world at Christmas time enlightens every person who has been born or ever will be. Jesus Christ was the first person in the whole of history to have conceived of humankind as a unity, whose good he came to secure and who are secure in him.

But the manner in which he came into the world is crucial to his vocation and ours. As Phillips Brooks’ Christmas carol puts it, “how silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given”. He was born into an obscure Province and into a people despised by many. He avoided all ties of high office or public position. He was an austere man – mistaken by some for the stern old prophet Elijah – yet he had a heart to which children were instinctively drawn. We fear becoming poor; he dreaded that any person should be rich. Yet he had within himself all the riches of the Father’s goodness, enough for the whole world of every age and more besides.

For “… of his fulness we have all received, grace upon grace (John 1:16).”

+Archbishop Eamon Martin, Roman Catholic Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland.

+Archbishop John McDowell, Church of Ireland Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland. 

SOLEMNITY OF THE NATIVITY OF THE LORD

                                                      

HOMILY OF HIS HOLINESS POPE FRANCIS

St Peter’s Basilica
Saturday, 24 December 2022

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What does this night still have to say to our lives? Two thousand years after the birth of Jesus, after so many Christmases spent amid decorations and gifts, after so much consumerism that has packaged the mystery we celebrate, there is a danger. We know many things about Christmas, but we forget its real meaning. So how do we rediscover the meaning of Christmas? First of all, where do we go to find it? The Gospel of Jesus’ birth appears to have been written precisely for this purpose: to take us by the hand and lead us where God would have us go. So let us follow the Gospel.

It starts with a situation not unlike our own: everyone is bustling about, getting ready for an important event, the great census, which called for much preparation. In that sense, the atmosphere was very much like our modern celebration of Christmas. Yet the Gospel has little to do with that worldly scenario; it quickly shifts our gaze to something else, which it considers more important. It is a small and apparently insignificant detail that it nonetheless mentions three times, always in relation to the central figures in the narrative. First, Mary places Jesus “in a manger” (Lk 2:7); then the angels tell the shepherds about “a child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger” (v. 12); and finally, the shepherds, who find “the child lying in the manger” (v. 16). In order to rediscover the meaning of Christmas, we need to look to the manger. Yet why is the manger so important? Because it is the sign, and not by chance, of Christ’s coming into this world. It is how he announces his coming. It is the way God is born in history, so that history itself can be reborn. What then does the manger tell us? It tells us three things, at least: closeness, poverty and concreteness.

Closeness. The manger serves as a feeding trough, to enable food to be consumed more quickly. In this way, it can symbolize one aspect of our humanity: our greed for consumption. While animals feed in their stalls, men and women in our world, in their hunger for wealth and power, consume even their neighbours, their brothers and sisters. How many wars have we seen! And in how many places, even today, are human dignity and freedom treated with contempt! As always, the principal victims of this human greed are the weak and the vulnerable. This Christmas too, as in the case of Jesus, a world ravenous for money, hungry for power and pleasure does not make room for the little ones, for so many unborn, poor and forgotten children. I think above all of the children devoured by war, poverty and injustice. Yet those are the very places to which Jesus comes, a child in the manger of rejection and refusal. In him, the Child of Bethlehem, every child is present. And we ourselves are invited to view life, politics and history through the eyes of children.

In the manger of rejection and discomfort, God makes himself present. He comes there because there we see the problem of our humanity: the indifference produced by the greedy rush to possess and consume. There, in that manger, Christ is born, and there we discover his closeness to us. He comes there, to a feeding trough, in order to become our food. God is no father who devours his children, but the Father who, in Jesus, makes us his children and feeds us with his tender love. He comes to touch our hearts and to tell us that love alone is the power that changes the course of history. He does not remain distant and mighty, but draws near to us in humility; leaving his throne in heaven, he lets himself be laid in a manger.

Dear brother, dear sister, tonight God is drawing near to you, because you are important to him. From the manger, as food for your life, he tells you: “If you feel consumed by events, if you are devoured by a sense of guilt and inadequacy, if you hunger for justice, I, your God, am with you. I know what you are experiencing, for I experienced it myself in that manger. I know your weaknesses, your failings and your history. I was born in order to tell you that I am, and always will be, close to you”. The Christmas manger, the first message of the divine Child, tells us that God is with us, he loves us and he seeks us. So take heart! Do not allow yourself to be overcome by fear, resignation or discouragement. God was born in a manger so that you could be reborn in the very place where you thought you had hit rock bottom. There is no evil, there is no sin, from which Jesus does not want to save you. And he can. Christmas means that God is close to us: let confidence be reborn!

The manger of Bethlehem speaks to us not only of closeness, but also of poverty. Around the manger there is very little: hay and straw, a few animals, little else. People were warm in the inn, but not here in the coldness of a stable. Yet that is where Jesus was born. The manger reminds us that he was surrounded by nothing but love: Mary, Joseph and the shepherds; all poor people, united by affection and amazement, not by wealth and great expectations. The poverty of the manger thus shows us where the true riches in life are to be found: not in money and power, but in relationships and persons.

And the first person, the greatest wealth, is Jesus himself. Yet do we want to stand at his side? Do we draw close to him? Do we love his poverty? Or do we prefer to remain comfortably ensconced in our own interests and concerns? Above all, do we visit him where he is to be found, namely in the poor mangers of our world? For that is where he is present. We are called to be a Church that worships a Jesus who is poor and that serves him in the poor.  As a saintly bishop once said: “The Church supports and blesses efforts to change the structures of injustice, and sets down but one condition: that social, economic and political change truly benefit the poor” (O.A. ROMERO, Pastoral Message for the New Year, 1 January 1980). Certainly, it is not easy to leave the comfortable warmth of worldliness to embrace the stark beauty of the grotto of Bethlehem, but let us remember that it is not truly Christmas without the poor. Without the poor, we can celebrate Christmas, but not the birth of Jesus. Dear brothers, dear sisters, at Christmas God is poor: let charity be reborn!

We now come to our last point: the manger speaks to us of concreteness. Indeed, a child lying in a manger presents us with a scene that is striking, even crude. It reminds us that God truly became flesh. As a result, all our theories, our fine thoughts and our pious sentiments are no longer enough. Jesus was born poor, lived poor and died poor; he did not so much talk about poverty as live it, to the very end, for our sake. From the manger to the cross, his love for us was always palpable, concrete. From birth to death, the carpenter’s son embraced the roughness of the wood, the harshness of our existence. He did not love us only in words; he loved us with utter seriousness!

Consequently, Jesus is not satisfied with appearances. He who took on our flesh wants more than simply good intentions. He who was born in the manger, demands a concrete faith, made up of adoration and charity, not empty words and superficiality. He who lay naked in the manger and hung naked on the cross, asks us for truth, he asks us to go to the bare reality of things, and to lay at the foot of the manger all our excuses, our justifications and our hypocrisies. Tenderly wrapped in swaddling clothes by Mary, he wants us to be clothed in love. God does not want appearances but concreteness. Brothers and sisters, may we not let this Christmas pass without doing something good. Since it is his celebration, his birthday, let us give him the gifts he finds pleasing! At Christmas, God is concrete: in his name let us help a little hope to be born anew in those who feel hopeless!

Jesus we behold you lying in the manger. We see you as close, ever at our side: thank you Lord! We see you as poor, in order to teach us that true wealth does not reside in things but in persons, and above all in the poor: forgive us, if we have failed to acknowledge and serve you in them. We see you as concrete, because your love for us is palpable. Jesus, help us to give flesh and life to our faith. Amen.

Christmas message from Cardinal Vincent Nichols

 

As I look back on the year that is now drawing to a close, one moment stands out, full of impact and resonance. 

On 8 September, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II died. On that day, we mourned the loss of a unique and gracious mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. We cherished her life of unstinting service, her example of devotion to duty, her steadfast witness of faith in Jesus Christ and his promises.

From the moment of her death carpets of flowers, messages and mementoes grew by the day. People lined our roads to pay their respects as her coffin passed by. It is estimated that half of the population of the world watched the funeral service from Westminster Abbey. But the four days during which more than 350,000 people queued, for up to fourteen hours, to honour the late Queen at her lying-in-state in Westminster Hall were the most telling.

This procession became a pilgrimage. For many a personal sense of grief and loss was united in a communal movement and in a shared desire to find and give meaning to a unique and powerful moment. Suffering and death always challenge our sense of purpose and meaning. This unique death laid bare our longing for clear signposts by which to continue the journey of life.

It was a moment for facing the dreadful possibility that life is, ultimately, futile or - alternatively - for remembering an ancient hope. Many priests took part in that pilgrimage. They told how, while queuing, they heard many confessions and spoke and prayed with many of those whom they met. And theirs was an experience shared by many.

In a similar way the magnificent processions of those days lifted us out of personal reflection towards a greater horizon. With each person playing their own part with true selflessness, they showed us the vital importance of ritual in forging us into something greater. In those ten days vital human and spiritual needs, often hidden or ignored, became increasingly evident.

Like an underground stream bursting into the sunlight, we saw something of our deeper characteristics as people and a nation: our esteem for service, our desire for coherence, our wish for an answer to isolation. From birth to death, and at all the significant milestones in between, celebration, communal ritual and community matter. They matter whether we are religious or not. They matter because they speak to life itself in all its joy and griefs.

In this light we should rejoice in the wonderful gift of our Catholic faith, in our liturgical rites - especially the Mass - and in our spiritual traditions and devotions. Through them we understand ourselves and our world in the light of Christ's death and resurrection. We learn how to read our own lives into the great narrative of our redemption. We must treasure the rituals we receive and the reality they bestow. We always need to nourish and refresh them, handing them on to our children and those who will come after we are gone.

This faith makes us into a people of profound hope: immersed fully in this life, yet with hearts attuned to God's kingdom and to the truth and beauty of heaven. In this faith we can enter thoroughly into the ebb and flow of existence, with all its failings, sorrows and joys. We are not afraid.

Another lesson is to be drawn from those remarkable days. The Gospel we are commissioned to announce may be unfamiliar to many today. But we must never think of it as foreign or alien to those around us. On the contrary, the Gospel meets the deepest yearnings of the human spirit, yearnings which only to surface at times such as these.

Living as an adult human being means accepting the burden of mortality, with its suffering and death. Yet even these darkest moments rarely extinguish our profound longing that, in the end, nothing has been totally in vain. The Gospel tells us that what we long for is true. Every last drop of our effort, in weariness and tears, is brought to fulfilment in and through Christ Jesus. His promise is the response to the deepest instincts and yearning of humanity, a response that brings freedom and consolation to all who will embrace it. It is ours for the receiving.

These days of Christmas, then, give us great encouragement in the task of announcing this Gospel of Jesus Christ, for it is indeed the Good News for which humanity longs. Our shared humanity is the bedrock of the work of evangelisation. And it is our privilege to undertake that work every day. A very happy Christmas to you all, and may God bless you.

Wales: First joint Christmas Message Anglican and Catholic Archbishops

 

Wales' two Archbishops have come together for the first time to issue a joint message, inviting people to come back to church this Christmas.

The Anglican Archbishop of Wales, Andrew John, has joined with the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Cardiff and Bishop of Menevia, Mark O'Toole, to offer an invitation to church this Christmas, saying despite "difficulty and despair", this year, "there have been flickers of light in the darkness".

The two Archbishops offer examples such as, "The kindness of a neighbour continuing friendships that grew out of the pandemic… Millions of people honouring the memory of a self-less and dedicated Queen. Schools, churches and other community organisations welcoming refugees with open arms into their places of sanctuary."

The two Archbishops, both of whom are relatively new in their role, have struck up a good working relationship over the past year. They wanted to encourage the people of Wales, saying even though "we have met many challenges" over the year, "a warm welcome - Croeso - awaits you" at churches across the country.

Their message starts with a heart-warming tale of the writing of the well-known carol Silent Night encouraging people to remember that sometimes events which begin "tumultuously" or "in fear" can end "with a melody of peace".

Their statement ends: "The true message of Christmas can sometimes be forgotten in the lead up to the 25th December with the busyness of preparations, cooking, shopping and wrapping presents. Why not come to Church this Christmas to place the Prince of Peace at the centre once more?"

You can read the full message in Welsh (Cymraeg) here: www.cbcew.org.uk/neges-nadolig-gyntaf-ar-y-cyd-gan-archesgobion-anglicanaidd-a-chatholig-cymru/

Full Message

On 24 December 1818, Joseph Mohr, a young priest from a small town in Austria met with Franz Xavez Gruber, a local schoolmaster and organist, to share a poem he had written called 'Stille Nacht'. Fr Joseph had asked Gruber to put the words to music in the hope that the newly composed song could be performed later in the parish church as the townspeople celebrated the coming of Jesus Christ on Christmas Eve. Whilst Gruber managed to compose a melody in just half a day, when they reached the church, they realised that the organ had been destroyed by mice. There was no way that the organ could be fixed before the service. They were both in despair.

But in the quiet of the evening, after the church service was over, Mohr found a guitar and, in harmony with Gruber, they gently sang their song for the first time. The congregation, in awe of the arrangement, joined them as they sang the chorus: 'sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace'. An evening that began in disaster, ended with a melody of peace.

Much like the story of 'Silent Night', the Christmas story also begins tumultuously. When Mary and Joseph travelled the long and arduous journey to Bethlehem, with blistered feet, tired eyes, and a brand-new baby on the way, they needed somewhere to rest. In the Gospel of Luke, we hear that there was no room available for them. Yet, in the darkness of the night overlooked by an eastern star, God was made incarnate. An evening that began in fear, ended with the birth of Jesus, the Prince of Peace.

Over the past year we have met many challenges. People are still grappling with the effects of the coronavirus. Conflicts rage on in many countries across the world. Compounding this, the cost of living crisis is pushing many deeper into poverty as they struggle with day-to-day living costs. We mourned the loss of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

Still, in these moments of difficulty and despair, there have been flickers of light in the darkness. The kindness of a neighbour continuing friendships that grew out of the pandemic, buying groceries for someone down the road. Millions of people honouring the memory of a self-less and dedicated Queen. Schools, churches and other community organisations welcoming refugees with open arms into their places of sanctuary. Here in Wales especially we want to be known as a place of sanctuary, a land of peace. The true message of Christmas can sometimes be forgotten in the lead up to the 25 December with the busyness of preparations, cooking, shopping and wrapping presents. Why not come to Church this Christmas to place the Prince of Peace at the centre once more? A warm welcome - Croeso - awaits you. A Happy and Blessed Christmas to you all!

Archbishop Mark O'Toole
Archbishop of Cardiff
Bishop of Menevia

Archbishop Andrew John
Archbishop of Wales
Bishop of Bangor

The Most Reverend Andrew John was announced as Archbishop of Wales on 6 December 2021 and enthroned on 30 April 2022. The Most Reverend Mark O'Toole was installed as Archbishop of Cardiff on 20 June 2022.

The Church in Wales is an autonomous province of the worldwide Anglican Communion. The Archdiocese of Cardiff is the Catholic Metropolitan See which comprises of Wales and Herefordshire in England.

Westminster: Outgoing Nuncio's farewell address

 

His Excellency Archbishop Claudio Gugerotti, the outgoing Papal Nuncio to Great Britain, gave this farewell address in Westminster Cathedral on Monday, 19 December 2022.

Pope Francis has appointed Archbishop Gugerotti Prefect of the Dicastery for the Eastern Churches.

Farewell Address

Every human story has an end. Only God is eternal. And since his name is Love, only Love is eternal.

Your Eminence, dear brother bishops, priests, brothers and sisters, I have come to the end of my service in Britain as the representative of the Pope, our common father.

I am most grateful to Cardinal Nichols for arranging this celebration of Holy Mass as a sign of a farewell which, for every Christian, is a goodbye - if not on this earth, then in the Jerusalem of heaven. Thanks also to those who have travelled here this evening to join in this moment of prayer.

My time here has not been long. One part has been marked by the isolation of the pandemic, which has severely limited travels and meetings. In the remaining part, I have tried to accept the invitations to meet our beautiful Catholic communities, especially the students.

I found there an unmistakable fragrance, a marked identity, and the pride of having suffered for one's fidelity to God and the Pope. I said that even those who are not practising Catholics feel an indelible seal in their hearts. Here I became aware that being Catholic is not a biological given, but a daily choice that can cost a high price.

I met people in dire straits, especially victims of abuse and migrants. I have met a vast number of Catholics who, often in collaboration with those who belong to other confessions or religions, generously give their hearts, time and means to help their brothers and sisters in need. They do this with great simplicity and respecting the dignity of others with exquisite sensitivity.

I have prayed in communities that love the liturgy very much, honour singing as a true instrument of praise, and appreciate the beauty of gestures and objects.

I met the bishops, gathered in their assemblies and, where possible, individually in their dioceses. I thank them for making me feel like a brother and a friend.

I visited Catholic schools, an extraordinary resource, despite the present difficult times, for teaching a reason to live and to die, which goes beyond the myths that last one day and then die out.

I have maintained cordial relations with those who belong to the Anglican Communion, other confessions and religions. I greet them with respect and affection that has its foundation in faith. We often forget what importance faith has as a sure foundation of a healthy and honest civil life.

I visited the authorities. A privileged moment, one that will forever remain etched in my soul, was attending the funeral of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, a particularly dense moment in world history. There I realised how symbols matter no less than food for people's lives. A woman symbolising great values made us all more worthy, more noble, more interested in the common welfare, in high ideals, less vulgar and selfish. As His Royal Highness Prince William told me: 'I felt that my grandmother was, to a certain extent, the grandmother of the whole world'. And in the moved and sympathetic reaction of millions of people, I perceived that there is still a place for those who want to be worthy of the name of human being, and that each of us carries within oneself this desire and aspiration, even if it is often hidden or disfigured by fashionable ideologies and, above all, by the inordinate hunger for money. This excess is contrasted today by a shortage that worries everyone.

I thank God the Father for the gift of having been with you. I thank you, for having seen in me, beyond my limitations, the values of that and especially of him whom I have had the honour to represent. I have tried to express to you how much the Pope and the entire Catholic Church love and esteem you.

I apologise to all if I have failed to meet anyone's expectations or if I have not been able to give what was rightly expected.

I ask everyone to remember me in prayer, so that I may serve the Church also in the new task that Pope Francis has entrusted to me in the Vatican.

Thank you, my dear ones. May the Lord, who is Love, bless you all.