Asking for Miracles

People tend to divide into two groups when it comes to asking God for favours: those who never do, and those who never do anything else. Prayer is more than just petition, but it does, at times, include petition. Sometimes people will say, ‘I’ll pray for others, but not for myself’ and then wonder why they are making such a bad fist of being Christian. We sometimes forget that conversion has to start with ourselves, and it is a grace we must ask for in prayer.

I have no difficulty asking God for favours. Indeed, right now, I am asking him for nothing less than a miracle. We have done everything we can to prepare the way but we have reached the end of doing. We ask with perfect confidence and trust, prepared for a ‘no’ as well as a ‘yes’, because the point about asking God for anything is that we ask not for our will to be done but for our will to be aligned with his. That alignment of will is the secret of Mary’s obedience, the heart of her prayer for the Church. Genoito moi kata ta rhema sou, Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. Let it be to me according to your Word. Amen.

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The Friendships of Jesus

Allow me a very large generalisation. For many centuries the Catholic Church has been a bit ‘undecided’ about friendship. Generation after generation of novices and seminarians were warned of the dangers of ‘particular friendships’ and encouraged to avoid any kind of emotional intimacy with others. Of course it didn’t work. People are too sensible not to realise that friendship is a gift, one that can bring people closer to God. Remember Aelred of Rievaulx and his insistence that Christ should be the centre of any Christian friendship? Quite.

Perhaps we would be less afraid of friendship, and readier to accept that the gift of friendship is not without its obligations and duties, if we spent more time thinking about the friendships of Jesus. The household at Bethany was clearly a place where Jesus was happy to be, where he could enjoy the company of Martha, Mary and Lazarus. The accounts in John’s gospel of his interaction with the three siblings are all interesting, but I think today’s account of the raising of Lazarus highlights something we too often forget: Jesus loved his friends, just as we do. It wasn’t a case of his being God in human form and therefore somehow immune to feeling. Jesus didn’t act a part, didn’t pretend to a grief he didn’t feel. He shed tears for Lazarus. He mourned his loss. Something of himself was gone when Lazarus lay in the grave. Yes, we know that he raised Lazarus to life, we understand, at least in part, the sign; but I think we misunderstand Jesus if we pass too quickly over the grief and the tears. A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, yes; one who has borne the grief of the whole world on his shoulders; one who can weep with us, not just for us.

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