In this post-Easter period, the Book of the Acts of the Apostles provides us with the principal reading of the day. This book was written by St. Luke, the same one who wrote the Third Gospel. In fact The Acts of the Apostles began life as Part 2 of Luke’s Gospel, a book that would today be called something like: “A History of the rise of Christianity.” It was written around 64 A.D. Luke sets out to tell us how the young church developed, how disputes were settled, how leaders were appointed, how different racial groups were integrated, how tasks were allotted, iWe Irish Catholics have fifteen hundred years of tradition behind us. Each generation is born into the faith, wrapped in a baptismal garment woven by their own people. This is indeed a blessed beginning. Tradition, like age, has its own dignity. Sure of its step, it is impervious to fickle fashion. But, as the sage noted, we ride on the shoulders of our ancestors rather than walk in their steps. As a mode of travel, this can be comfortable and undemanding. But it has its own hazards: the bearer (tradition) may grow tired and weary, the believer may grow as smug and presumptive as any free-riding passenger. But the case is reversed in our Irish experience: tradition has grown smug and presumptive the passengers have grown weary and bored. Our second reading today assures us: You are a chosen race, a people set apart to sing the praises of God'. Our type of travel seems to favour the owl; the skylarks have departed to make their own way. We have a surfeit of wisdom, and a dearth of song. But tradition plods blithely on, blandly presuming that all are aboard and alert. The bland leading the blind!

We barely recognize the young Church of 'Acts', with all its youthful characteristics: enthusiasm, boundless energy, rapid growth, clear motivation and a great deal of restlessness. We detect too that oversensitivity found in young people and in minority groups: the Hellenists felt that their people were being ignored. The reaction of the young Church was as generous as it was sensible. They sat down and took stock: 'It is not right for us to neglect the word of God so as to give out food'. While 'mission' is given top priority, 'maintenance' is not neglected. There is a variety of needs, but there is also a variety of gifted helpers. As the names of the seven new helpers imply, they were all Hellenists, members of the group that lodged the complaint originally. Clearly, the decision was no mere ploy to silence their carping. The 'founding fathers' readily recognized that these people had something to offer. The impulse to control bowed to the superior demands of service and involvement. There are many rooms in the Father's mansion, earthy no less than heavenly.

As an Irish Church - of teachers, sisters, brothers: priests, readers, leaders - we must recognize and mobilize our gifted servants. A wealth of energy and talent lies untapped. Our culture, the way we have been moulded as a people, constricts us. We priests have been burdened by our people's expectations. And some of us rush with tasteless glee to embrace the burden. Admittedly, it simplifies things. But it leaves an awful lot of spectators at large. And the critical faculties of the spectator sharpen with practice. In time he grows to be an astute critic, a 'hurler on the ditch'. And we Irish are widely renowned for that craft. In fact our ditches are dangerously over-crowded. And when a man's best hurling has been done on the ditch, he is not easily coaxed to 'take the field'. But the Hellenists deserted the ditches and went straight to the leaders. They didn't simply demand action. They offered themselves as actors. When conducted in this way, criticism can be positive. Otherwise, it has all the attractions of scratching yourself: an enjoyable but ultimately futile exercise. But if a man likes scratching, he won't thank you for removing the itch.

The community depicted in our first reading knew Jesus in the flesh. Perhaps that accounts for their enthusiasm. But Jesus assures us in today's gospel: 'Whoever believes in me will perform even greater works than I'. So faith, rather than an historical accident of birth, explains their energy and drive. We in the Irish Church, both people and priests, could do with an infusion of their energy and vision. But we must first root out those elements within that sap our energy and cloud our vision. Otherwise, we are doomed to plod on as we are, our tradition impeding us as a millstone, rather than serving us as a precious cornerstone. It should serve all as a solid foundation; it is experienced by far too many as 'a stone to stumble over, a rock to bring men down'.

Home