Message of Abbot Paul - Sunday - 4th February 2024
Abbot Paul • February 3, 2024
Yesterday, while visiting a garden belonging to friends, I cast my eye on a carpet of bright yellow beneath a tree. Thinking they were celandines, I rushed forward to take a closer look, knowing it was too early for my favourite wild flower. I was confronted by a flower I had never seen before. Winter aconite (Eranthis hyemalis) is native to woodlands of France, Italy and the Balkans, but is now widely naturalised across other parts of Europe, including the UK. The small yellow flowers pop their heads out very early in the year, which seems like an unusual tactic for a flowering plant. However, as with everything in nature, there’s method in the madness! It grows most abundantly in deciduous woodlands, and the strategy of flowering early enables it to take advantage of the maximum amount of sunlight penetrating the canopy without the leaves blocking the light. Being one of the earliest flowering plants, it has very little else to compete with for light and nutrients at this time of year. Interestingly, winter aconite is actually poisonous when ingested by humans, as it contains cardiac glycosides that affect the heart; if ingested in large quantities, it can cause irreparable heart damage. So this is not a plant to mess with! We see it flowering in the early part of the year, giving us a little burst of hope and spring on short, gloomy winter days.
This Sunday’s Gospel reading from Mark, (Mk 1: 29-39), takes us to Capernaum, the town of Peter and Andrew, James and John, and it’s a sabbath.
Mark writes: “On leaving the synagogue, Jesus went with James and John straight to the house of Simon and Andrew. Now Simon’s mother-in-law had gone to bed with fever, and they told him about her straightaway. He went to her, took her by the hand and helped her up. And the fever left her and she began to wait on them.” Jesus appears to be staying at the house of Peter’s mother-in-law. He is familiar enough with the house and family to go straight to her room, when he discovers that she’s ill with a fever. In those days, long before modern medicines, people usually died of a fever. Death was no stranger and simply an accepted part of life. Although it’s the sabbath, Jesus heals her, taking her by the hand and helping her up. No sooner than she’s recovered but she’s busy serving them at table, for hospitality is sacrosanct. The healings are set to continue. “That evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were sick and those who were possessed by devils. The whole town came crowding round the door, and he cured many who were suffering from diseases of one kind or another; he also cast out many devils, but he would not allow them to speak, because they knew who he was.” The scene is beautifully described by Mark. Word has obviously got around about Jesus’ ability to heal the sick and cast out spirits. All the sick and all the possessed are brought to him for healing. The whole town is crowding outside the door. You can imagine the chaos and hysteria and in the midst of it all, Jesus, from whom emanates the calmness and the silence of God and the healing balm of his love.
​“In the morning, long before dawn, he got up and left the house, and went off to a lonely place and prayed there.” Jesus reveals his divine Sonship in the miracles he performs and in his teaching the crowds with authority, but it is above all in his solitude and prayer, that intimate communion with his heavenly Father, that he manifests his Divinity. However, his opportunity for peace and quiet never lasts very long. Soon his disciples come searching for him. “Simon and his companions set out in search of him, and when they found him, they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you.’ He answered, ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns, so that I can preach there too, because that is why I came.’ And he went all through Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out devils.” So it is that Jesus sets off with his disciples to visit the neighbouring towns and villages. “That is why I came,” he tells them. Let us pray for his healing today. Lord, have mercy, we pray. Amen.
From Francis to Leo: A special event with Christopher Lamb of CNN in conversation with Austin Ivereigh who commentated for the BBC on the transition from Pope Francis to Pope Leo.
On 12th June an Ecumenical Service was held at Hereford Cathedral to celebrate the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicea.
Archbishop Mark O'Toole, of Cardiff-Menevia presided at the Requiem Mass for Bishop Mark, while Abbot Brendan conducted his burial. Cardinal Vincent Nichols preached a homily full of warmth and affection for Bishop Mark which is reproduced below.
Bishop Mark Jabalé OSB RIP Given at his funeral by Dom Alexander Kenyon Baby Jean Pierre (Mark) Jabale was born on October 16th, 1933, in Alexandria, Egypt. As he said, himself, his background could be considered “cosmopolitan”: his father was Lebanese / French and his Mother, British / Greek / French. He also reminded people that he wasn’t Egyptian. Through his mother, Arlette, he was related to St. Jean Vianney, so it was, perhaps, no surprise that he followed in his priestly footsteps. His father, Jean, was MD of Fiat and Simca cars Europe and, maybe surprisingly or not, he did love a car – not, however, Italian cars, but German; he loved his Audis. Perhaps we should begin today by remembering his mother and father, his brothers Christian and Paul and his nieces, here today, Aline and Nathalie and Isabelle and their families – they were so dear to him and he to them and I know they miss him enormously. Young Jean wanted to join the Navy and came to England, to Belmont Abbey school but the Lord had other ideas – he ended up joining the rather land locked monastery, our dear, late Fr. Raymund opining that he wouldn’t last a month. After a rather uninspiring course of priestly studies (his words, not mine) he studied for a Licentiate in French literature in Fribourg, then a Dip Ed at Strawberry Hill and played Rugby there – the Papist Witch Doctor as he was affectionately known. Teaching followed, at Belmont, Housemaster, acting Headmaster, then to Alderwasley, our prep school in Derbyshire as Headmaster, and then back to Belmont soon after as Headmaster. In 1983 he went to Peru to build our first monastery there only to realise there was little money. So, he returned to the UK to put in a stint of fundraising with his usual zeal and determination. With his mission accomplished he was asked by Abbot Alan to return to Belmont as his prior in 1986 – Peru remained close to his heart. In 1993 he was elected Abbot. In his time as Abbot, he had to preside over the closure of the school, necessary but no less painful for him. In 2000 he was appointed coadjutor Bishop of Menevia and succeeded Bishop Mullins in 2001. He retired as Ordinary in 2008 and “retired” to Chipping Norton as parish priest, then Hendon, saying Mass for the nuns and helping with confirmations. After a spell at Archbishop’s House, Westminster, living with his great friend Cardinal Nichols, he came home to Belmont – it was as though he had never been away and he loved being back in the monastery, particularly praying the Office with the community. That’s the list, of sorts, but it doesn’t really say “who” he was. I haven’t mentioned his outstanding contribution to rowing – the 1979 coxless, lightweight four gold medal at the world championships in Bled, which almost didn’t happen as, at the last minute, he was told there was no money to send the crew. He begged, cajoled and got them there – the video footage of the final is compelling. He transformed Henley Royal Regatta, writing a computer programme for the race results – he was well ahead of his time. He coached the Oxford Boat, ran the Heads of the River Schools Regatta, and more. What an achievement from someone who had never sat in a boat but learned on the job, as he said, “from books, mainly”. It was his determination, his commitment, his love of people and his drive to share what he had that is, perhaps, one of the key things to celebrate about him. And it was underpinned by his rock-solid faith – nothing overly pious, nothing showy, but a faith and a love of the Lord built on granite. Even his occasional lack of patience (sorry Mark) extended to that faith; ‘why won’t God call me?”. At the risk of being irreverent my response was always “would you want you?”. But God did want him, and he knew it. God had a purpose for his Apostle during his life and he now rests with Him in eternity. His purpose was, simply, to bring the joy of the Lord into the lives of others, in many and varied ways. A few weeks before Mark died, Pope Francis died. When the late Pope was seriously ill the son of friends of mine who entertained Mark and I to lunch regularly, was distraught at overhearing mum and dad say the Pope may die. He couldn’t stop crying. “But darling”, they said, “you don’t know the Pope, why so very sad?”. “We do know him” came the reply, “it’s Mark”. “No, Mark isn’t the Pope”. “Oh, so when the Pope does die will Mark be Pope then?”. Mark loved that one. When Mark himself did die said son would only be pacified by picking flowers from the garden and bringing them to church for him. He wanted to show how much Mark meant to him and wanted to give a little something back. That is the real biography – a man loved, respected, a man who shared what he had, above all his faith, a man who touched so many lives and made them better.  Rest in peace our dear friend.
Our brethren in Peru were delighted with the election of Pope Leo.
