RECTOR'S JOTTINGS
Fr Bruce-Julian reflects on the significance of Candlemas and how this has inspired his own sacred journey.
1 February 2025
Candlemas, or the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, has deep personal resonance for me. Not only my profession of oblate vows in Single Consecrated Life that I celebrated yesterday, on the eve of this great feast, but in 1996 I was one of six postulants of the Society of St Francis, the Anglican order of Franciscan Brothers and Sisters, to be clothed as novices on this feast day.
To present ourselves to Christ, on the day commemorating the event whereby Joseph and Mary presented Jesus in the temple, seems very significant indeed. Whilst I didn’t stay in the community, I remain so very grateful for that opportunity to test a vocation which in turn was an invitation to offer my life to Christ at that time, to learn more about who I was, and all this in the light of the knowledge that I had been expected, and looked forward to by God, and was embraced and cherished in my value as his loved child, and in my uniqueness.
In these next few minutes I’d like to explore with you these three themes a bit deeper if I may: offering our lives, learning our name, and being looked forward to by God.
The act of offering is deeply meaningful, and is at the very heart of our Christian faith, as it mirrors something of God offering himself to us in Christ. When we offer something, we are making an act of trust which allows us to be as generous as we can at that moment. This may be about our baptism or our confirmation; a wedding or the commitment of a civil partnership. It may be the moment we surrender ourselves to the news that we are going to be a parent or grandparent, or say yes to taking care for a friend, relative or other loved on. The act of laying aside what we had been planning to do, or hoping to achieve, and make that space available to the uncertain future that God is inviting us into is an act of sacrificial love.
Words from St John’s gospel are often read at such liturgies of commitment: unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains a single grain. But is it dies, it grows up to eternal life.
That grain, in falling to the ground, allows itself to fail, to let go, to offer control to the Creator God. It is in that same vein of offering that we too find life, and Candlemas reminds us of this.
And Candlemas is a festival of light: light helps to show us things, to reveal things, and make them to be seen. My time spent in a religious community in my mid twenties was a massive gift to me. In modern times, the Society of St Francis has not denied the fact that community life, especially before the more accepting decades in which we now live, is going to be a place where people who identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community are likely to seek a home. I felt very welcome in my seeking.
St Francis welcomed all, and the community of those who follow in his way, were creating a space where young people like me could sit still and comfortable in the loving gaze of God, basking in a light that the church more generally tends to struggle to allow to shine through.
I’m sure that had it not been for this opportunity to learn my true name, and welcome into myself who I am created to be, I could not have moved on to the rich and fulfilling life that has been my great privilege to live, and which has brought me to the new commitment I have just made.
We all struggle to inhabit a truth about ourselves at some time in our lives. To have the transforming light of Christ flood in, and turn the darkness of our hearts into the radiant glow of love is a theme of Candlemas that we celebrate today. And this can be a point of encouragement and inspiration for churches, that they too may be places of welcome, acceptance and love, where this light can very gradually draw members into a deeper freedom in God. Jesus was presented in the Temple by his parents, and his true identity began to be revealed.
It is in the words of Simeon that it is revealed to us that Jesus was expected. He and Anna were in the Temple at prayer for most of their life, waiting to see the promises of God take flesh. In the joyful relief of Simeon and Anna, we see something of the father embracing the prodigal, as he who was looked forward to, and was hoped for and expected, was welcomed home.
We must remember that our uniqueness that is cherished in the mind and heart of God is not only about us and our freedom in living in our skins that little bit more comfortably and authentically; but it is also about God, whose unity is somehow that little bit more complete. When that little unique part of him is brought back together with the whole on our return and embrace.
And lastly, this great feast of light, so welcome on a dark February day, is not necessarily comfortable. To offer ourselves, to know ourselves and embrace the truth of ourselves, will always involve suffering of some sort. Something has to be given away, to be let go of, for that which is new to take its place. This was promised to Mary in Simeon’s words “And a sword will pierce your heart too”.
Just as it was Jesus’ vocation to suffer as he did, it was Mary’s lot to suffer alongside, watching on powerlessly. It was this that was part of her own uncertain future that she was saying yes to living out as joyfully as she could when she accepted God’s invitation in the tidings of Gabriel.
Mary said yes! She offered herself, and in so doing knew herself to be hoped for, expected and loved, God cherished her uniqueness and generosity. Can we do the same today, and offer ourselves, with our doubts and our hopes, or gifts and our failings, to the God whose light we celebrate this great feast day.
Amen
Click below to watch a video of the Mass celebrating Fr Bruce-Julian's vows in Single Consecrated Life
Fr Bruce-Julian reflects on
Calling, Vocation and the Authentic Self
23 January 2025
Dear friends,
The feast of the Baptism of Jesus, celebrated the Sunday before last, is a central aspect of the Epiphany season which continues until Candlemas next week. After he is named and baptised, Jesus is called into the wilderness, and beyond into his active ministry. This is his authentic life, living out who he is - God’s Son. Not an easy life, certainly, but an authentic life.
The scriptures are full of other examples of those called by God, called by name, to live out a particular way of life authentic to their identity in him. Examples are very numerous, but prophets like Jeremiah and Isaiah come to mind, charged with a message to deliver. This charge is about being someone, doing something, which only they can do.
And this is also important for the one whose name is called. We might all look at our own lives and imagine a number of roads we could have taken. And it may be that we recognise that the road travelled has been the true and authentic one. Or we may be aware that through circumstance we were not able to travel the authentic way, and may feel sorrow or regret. And it may be that,, whilst it felt like this at one time, a new authenticity is discovered.
But we must remember that what we are called to be may not necessarily be easy. If we are a parent, whilst we may feel we could never imagine not being one, there are likely to be many days when we think that another route in life may have been less hard, a life without the worry, hurtful bruises that parenthood must be full of, as well as the love and reward of nurturing those who come after.
In Christian terms we may call what I am talking about vocation. The vocation of Jesus is called out at the Jordan, as we heard in the gospel; he models for us the possibility of finding our own vocation, our own name, in God..
To use an example, albeit a bit churchy, a nun may say that she can easily imagine being a mother and a wife or partner, and knows that a huge part of herself would just live such a life and bring many gifts and talents to it. But she also knows that somehow, not to have followed the life she is living would somehow be second best; some particular treasure she experiences would not have been hers, a life not fully lived.
If you will permit me to speak personally for a moment, I am experiencing something of this myself. As many of you know, for twenty three years I experienced great happiness with my life partner Trevor, who died of cancer in 2021. Since then, I have been exploring deepening life commitment as a Julian Oblate. An Oblate is a monastic living that particular life outside of a monastery in the world of work and other commitments. For two years I have taken a temporary vow to the Single Consecrated Life, one in which I am choosing to place my love on God and Christ, forfeiting the possibility of a life with a new partner and placing my love there. This continues to feel life enhancing, and I look forward to, God willing, making the vow again at Candlemas, on Saturday 1st February, and invite you to a Mass at HPC at 6pm that day to celebrate. You are welcome to join in if you can and would like to.
To me, this feels like where my name now resides, and to inhabit who I am at this stage in my life requires my response when that name is being called. This does not detract or devalue anything that has gone before; but it is the reality of the current phase.
You may have experienced in your life something similar. You may have been called to change tack, either by choice or implied circumstances, and found that a bit more of who you truly are, and are called to be, is exposed and offered.
A little story to conclude:
Rabbi Yehuda Loew Ben Bezalel was the greatest rabbi of his age in Europe, the man who, in his house in Prague, created the Golem, the animated form of a man, to which he gave life by putting under its tongue a little slip of paper bearing the Unutterable Name of God. One night, Rabbi Yehuda had a dream: he dreamt that he had died and was brought before the throne. And the angel who stands before the throne said to him, “Who are you ?”.
“I am Rabbi Yehuda of Prague, the maker of the Golem,” he replied. “Tell me, my lord, if my name is written in the book of the names of those who will have a share in the kingdom”. “Wait here ,” said the angel, “I shall read the names of all those who have died today that are written in the book,” And he read the thousands of names . At last he finished reading, and Rabbi Yehuda’s name had not been called, and he wept bitterly and cried out against the angel.
And the angel said, , “I have called your name.” rabbi Yehuda said, “I did not hear it.” And the angel said, “In the book are written the names of all men and women who have ever lived on the earth, for every soul is an inheritor of the kingdom. But many come here who have never heard their true true names on the lips of man or angel. They have lived believing that they know their names; so when they are called to their sharein the kingdom, they do not hear their names as their own. They do not recognise that it is for them that the gates of the kingdom are opened. So they must wait here until they hear their names and know them. Perhaps in their lifetime one man or woman has once called them by their right name: here they shall stay until they have remembered. Perhaps no one has ever called them by their right name: here they shall stay till they are silent enough to hear the King of the Universe himself calling them.”
At this, Rabbi Yehuda woke and, rising from his bed with tears, he covered his head and lay prostate on the ground, and prayed, “Master of the Universe! Grant me once before I die to hear my own true name on the lips of my brothers.”
With the assurance of my love and prayers
Fr Bruce-Julian
If you would like to discuss any aspect of your own sense of vocation, the clergy are here for you. Also, sometimes it can be useful to reflect on a part of our life that we are struggling to link to our faith - we would be happy to help with that too. Please let us know.
