May Procession Homily
The Homily of Fr John George OSB at the May Procession
One thing that Fr James and I have learnt in the sixteen months since arriving at St Francis Xavier’s,
Hereford, is that the parish doesn’t half like a good feast. Nothing gets us together quite like sharing
food: whether a curry, a Filipino or Nigerian spread, Lent lunches, the parish summer party or parish
BBQ – I believe tapas is also on the menu soon! Feasting, it seems, is something of a defining mark of
Catholic life – or, as Hilaire Belloc so memorably puts it:
“Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!”
It shouldn’t surprise us, then, that the first miracle performed by Jesus took place at a wedding. This is
the first of many stories suggesting that Jesus was always welcome among those having a good time. Jesus
didn’t spoil the good time, and in the Jewish culture of that day a wedding was the best party of all. To
fail, therefore, in providing adequately for the guests would involve social disgrace. In the closely knit
communities of Jesus’ day such an error would not be easily forgotten. Moreover, many rabbis
considered wine a symbol of joy. Therefore, to run out of wine would almost have been the equivalent
of admitting that neither the guests nor the bride and groom were happy. So, it seems incredible that
the wine should run out, but it does; that’s life.
“They have no wine.” With those words Mary speaks a truth about our lives, a truth that at some point
we all experience. There comes a day when the wine gives out. The glass is empty. The party is over. On
that day life seems empty and dry. Mary’s words hold before us some serious questions and wonderings.
When has the wine run out for you? What parts of your life are dry and empty today? In what ways has
life become sour or colourless and tasteless? This isn’t only about us, however. We can see and name
other people who “have no wine” and places in which “the wine gave out.” It’s happening in our lives,
our institutions, our country, and our world.
When the wine gives out life is dying on the vine and we are no longer intoxicated by a holy spirit. We
may not have said it in the same way but we’ve all echoed Mary words for ourselves, for another, for the
world. “They have no wine.” I’ve said those words to Jesus, haven’t you? Every prayer of petition is
telling Jesus about where the wine has run out. And more often than not we tell Jesus exactly what kind
of wine we need; a nice cabernet, not too dry, with a hint of berries and chocolate. Mary, however,
doesn’t do that.
Mary does not set out any expectations. She doesn’t tell Jesus what to do. She offers no suggestions
about the wine they need. She just names the reality. She lets the reality of the situation call to and
invite Jesus to respond. Mary is simply holding open the door for something to happen, the door to a
new possibility, the door to a new life, the door of hope. Isn’t that really what we are doing every time
we pray? We’re holding opening the door to our life, another’s life, the life of the world, and
hoping Jesus will walk through, hoping he will show up and do something.
Sometimes we need to be more Mary-like and name the empty and dry places even when we don’t know
how they will be filled up. “Lord, they have no food, no justice, no security.” “Lord, I have no vision or
direction for my life.” “Lord, my family has strayed far from you.” “Lord, they have no wine.”As we spent time with Our Lady, the Gospel highlights for us her great role as an intercessor. Mary intercedes for the people at the wedding feast, who symbolize the entire people of God—who, elsewhere in John’s writing, are invited to a much greater “marriage supper of the Lamb” (Rev. 19:7-9).
It is a Christian tradition that no one who is devoted to Our Lord’s Mother is ever lost. Venerable
Fulton Sheen (who is to be beatified in September) tells a story to the effect that one day, as Our Lord
was walking through the courts of heaven, He saw some souls who seemed to have won heaven quite
easily. “Peter,” he asked pointing to the souls, “how did these souls gain entry into my Kingdom?” Peter,
looking exasperated, answered: “Don’t blame me, Lord” he said, “every time I close a door, Your Mother
opens a window.” And so for us. It might just be that not a few of us in this Abbey church will need to
rely on Mary, refuge of sinners, keeping that window open for us.
Mary, then, is not on the sidelines of salvation history. She is right there at the heart of it—at the
beginning of Jesus’ life, at the beginning of his ministry, and ultimately at the foot of the Cross. Now,
here’s something worth noticing: this is the first of Jesus’ signs. The beginning of his public ministry.
And it happens, not in a synagogue or a grand public setting, but at a family celebration—and it happens
with Mary’s gentle intervention.
One of the privileges of being a priest is being asked to bless the home of parishioners – funnily enough
these often involve food, particularly being served rather nice curries. One thing I notice is how Our
Lady, Queen of families, becomes part of the home in a very natural way. Maybe it’s a statue in the
corner, an icon on a bookshelf, a quiet prayer at the end of the day: “Hail Mary…” Sometimes it’s
simple, sometimes even a bit chaotic—children getting distracted halfway through the rosary, or
someone wondering how many Hail Marys are left! But she’s there, gently drawing us closer to Christ,
even among chaos. We need not despair, but to trust in her. As St Carlo Acutis said: “The Rosary is
the shortest ladder to heaven.”
There’s something beautifully reassuring about this Gospel: Mary cares about the small things. That
means nothing in our lives is too small to bring to her. The everyday worries, the family tensions, the
quiet hopes we carry—Mary sees them. And she brings them, in her own way, to her Son. And perhaps
that’s the gentle invitation of today’s Gospel: to let Mary take her proper place in our lives. To turn to
her with simplicity. To trust her intercession. And to listen to her words: “Do whatever he tells you.”
Because in the end, that’s where she always leads us—not to herself, but to Jesus, who alone can
transform the ordinary “water” of our lives into something rich, joyful, and full of grace. And maybe,
just maybe, the next time something small goes wrong in the house—when the milk runs out, or the
plan falls apart—we might smile and think of Cana… and say, “Mary, could you have another quiet word
with your Son for us?”
Mother of Hope, pray for us! Amen.
