If you enter our church and look at our sanctuary you will see a bunch of eccentrics — the images of the saints, of course. Our Lady and St Joseph are quite respectable, but if you came across John the Baptist in the street, you would probably cross over to the other side when you saw him. Then there’s St Cuthbert who, when he wasn’t walking around carrying St Oswald’s head, would be standing in freezing cold water up to his waist. And that’s only the stained glass. Half of the statues show the saints proudly carrying the weapons that were used to kill them. There is St Charles shown as he walked the streets of Milan with a noose around his neck. There are hooded monks and veiled nuns oblivious to the world around them, lost in heavenly contemplation.

We have a tendency to think of the saints as weirdos, as exceptions, as special people. They’re not like us. As Saint John Henry Newman said so incorrectly about himself, “I have nothing of the saint about me.” We think that sainthood is something beyond our reach. But God has made each and every one of us in order for us to be saints. Sainthood is an invitation to people “from every nation, race, tribe and language.” (Rev. 7:9) Our Holy Father St Philip wanted all of his spiritual children to become saints. Not canonised saints — we should love to be unknown. And as Blessed Dominic Barberi said, that’s too expensive. But we should all be saints nonetheless. Because a saint is quite simply someone who is in heaven.

Those saints on our sanctuary are all different. And the fact that they’re slightly weird shows also that they are not boring. So many people make the mistake of thinking that being holy has to make us dull. But to be focused on getting to heaven does not mean we have to abandon our unique personalities and become clones of each other. We need many saints to show us that there are many ways of following Christ to heaven — in fact, as many different ways as there are people. There will be some saints that we relate more too, that we have more in common with, who inspire us on the way. But when you do reach heaven, you will be the first person to get there by exactly your path. And you will arrive in the spot that God has prepared before all eternity precisely for you. And nothing about that idea is boring.

Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, “Let me take the speck out of your eye,” when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.

Matthew 7:1-5

How well we know these arresting words of our Lord. And arresting is what they are meant to be: quite literally they should stop us in our tracks, causing us to pause and take a brief look at ourselves and see how we measure up in their light. For the truth is, we do judge other people, and sometimes quite harshly, pouring forth pronouncements from a lofty position of our ‘rightness’, often fuelled by indignation and rage. When we do this, we fail signally to listen to the voice of Jesus trying to make his voice heard over our anger, urging us to take note of our own failings and sins, which are sometimes greater than those which have made us so angry. Christ wants to compare the speck in our brother/sister’s eye with the log in our own. The warning is that what we mete out to others will be ladled out to us in return. Remember the beatitude: “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.” It is important to keep this promise in mind when we are tempted to be merciless!

It was a method of our Lord to make his teaching vivid by using the language of metaphor or proverb. Think of some of his sayings, such as: “If a man strikes you on one cheek you are to turn to him the other,” or the teaching which bids us pluck out the eye or cut off the foot or hand that offends or causes us to sin. Are these meant to be rules applicable to all occasions, or are they sayings embodying a principle? The principle here is that love is to be so absolute, so demanding upon us, that no limit can be placed on its manifestation.

So the words of Jesus that we are not to judge anyone also embody an important principle, but they do not lay down a universal rule. On occasion, he himself passed judgement. He judged St Peter when he tried to deflect him from the Passion; he judged Herod as “that fox”; he had some pretty harsh words for the Pharisees, those “whited sepulchres” and blind leaders. Remember too, how he told us to “judge righteous judgements” (John 7:24). Furthermore, the Lord gave to his Apostles and to his priests the function of “binding and loosing” the sins of penitents in the sacrament of Reconciliation (John 20:23).

Jesus’ command not to judge is given to us in the context of the parable of the speck and the log, a timely warning that not one of us may judge another until we have first examined or judged ourselves — until we have allowed the Holy Spirit to search out the secret places of our heart and purge us of our own guilt and sin. This is something which might be inferred from the direction given by Jesus to the men who so eagerly readied themselves to stone the adulterous woman in John 8: “Let him who is without sin, cast the first stone.” A thorough examination of conscience would surely restrain us from extreme or harsh condemnation of another, and if our position in society calls upon us to make a judgement, we should do so in a spirit of meekness, understanding and love, in accordance with the truth. When our Lord commands us to refrain from judging, he would have us bear in mind our imperfections, our tendency to pass judgements that are not helpful, proceeding from motives of bitterness or jealousy or wounded pride.

None of us can pronounce a final judgement on another. That prerogative belongs to God alone, for it is only to him that “all hearts are open and all desires known.” Besides, we aren’t always in full possession of the facts nor can we fully comprehend the motives of another person’s actions. In truth we can sometimes get it wrong. St Paul tells us that we cannot even judge ourselves (1 Corinthians 4:3). If we do, it is likely that our judgement will fall far short of that given by God in his merciful and just love. Maybe we should simply leave the business of judgement to the Lord, committing ourselves and all others into the hands of him who judges righteously.

Today, Wednesday 16 October, a private member’s bill is being introduced to Parliament that seeks to make assisted suicide legal in our country. This is not a debate that starts and ends today, and will continue for a number of months before the final vote. It does, however, raise crucial questions about the fundamental dignity of every human life, and the care and protection that society should provide.

Cardinal Vincent Nichols, Archbishop of Westminster, has written a pastoral letter that was read out in his diocese this past weekend. The Cardinal offers three key points for Catholics to consider as this difficult debate begins.

Firstly, the Cardinal writes, we should be careful what we wish for: legislation permitting euthanasia in certain extreme cases is a slippery slope to far greater moral evil:

The evidence from every single country in which such a law has been passed is clear: that the circumstances in which the taking of a life is permitted are widened and widened, making assisted suicide and medical killing, or euthanasia, more and more available and accepted. In this country, assurances will be given that the proposed safeguards are firm and reliable. Rarely has this been the case. This proposed change in the law may be a source of relief to some. But it will bring great fear and trepidation to many, especially those who have vulnerabilities and those living with disabilities. What is now proposed will not be the end of the story. It is a story better not begun.

The Cardinal’s second point is that the slippery slope goes from a right to die to a duty to die, and that by removing laws that prohibit an action in favour of laws that permit something we change the attitudes of society — that which is permitted is often and easily encouraged:

Once assisted suicide is approved by the law, a key protection of human life falls away. Pressure mounts on those who are nearing death, from others or even from themselves, to end their life in order to take away a perceived burden of care from their family, for the avoidance of pain, or for the sake of an inheritance. I know that, for many people, there is profound fear at the prospect of prolonged suffering and loss of dignity. Yet such suffering itself can be eased. Part of this debate, then, must be the need and duty to enhance palliative care and hospice provision, so that there can genuinely be, for all of us, the prospect of living our last days in the company of loved ones and caring medical professionals. This is truly dying with dignity. The radical change in the law now being proposed risks bringing about for all medical professionals a slow change from a duty to care to a duty to kill.

Legalising euthanasia would profoundly change the relationship between doctors and nurses and their patients. It would also damage trust within families. The sick and elderly often worry that they are a burden on others or on the NHS, and could easily feel pressurised into asking for help to end their lives. It is a fact that in countries where euthanasia is legal, resources for palliative care hospices and funding for research into better treatments for those nearing the end of their lives have been tragically reduced. The much-publicised pressures on existing healthcare services, and the national cost of living crisis, are only going to make the slope more slippery, despite the best motives of politicians.

The final point Cardinal Nichols makes is that being forgetful of God belittles our humanity:

The questions raised by this bill go to the very heart of how we understand ourselves, our lives, our humanity. For people of faith in God, the first truth is that life, ultimately, is a gift of the Creator…  Every human being is made in the image and likeness of God. That is the source of our dignity and it is unique to the human person. The suffering of a human being is not meaningless. It does not destroy that dignity. It is an intrinsic part of our human journey, a journey embraced by Christ Jesus himself. He brings our humanity to full glory precisely through the gateway of suffering and death.

One of the fundamental concerns — and awful warnings — surrounding this bill is that it will give a person of sound will and mind the right to end their life:

We know, only too well, that suffering can bring people to a most dreadful state of mind, even driving them to take their own lives, in circumstances most often when they lack true freedom of mind and will, and so bear no culpability. But this proposed legislation is quite different. It seeks to give a person of sound will and mind the right to act in a way that is clearly contrary to a fundamental truth: our life is not our own possession, to dispose of as we feel fit. This is not a freedom of choice we can take for ourselves without undermining the foundations of trust and shared dignity on which a stable society rests.

So what can we as Catholics, as people of faith, do?

Firstly, we can and must pray. We pray for those facing the end of their lives with much pain and suffering, that they may receive the care and support they need to live their final days with respect for their dignity. We pray for our politicians, healthcare professionals, and our country, that wisdom and compassion may guide their decisions.

Secondly, we should become better informed about the serious moral issues associated with the legislation of assisted suicide and the need for better palliative care for the dying. We should urge all Catholics and people of goodwill to do the same, and be willing to have discussions with our family, friends and colleagues.

Thirdly, we can write to our local MPs to express our concerns. We cannot fulfil our vocation to be salt, light and leaven in the world if we are not prepared to stand up against error and evil, and call our society back to the Lord, who is the way, the truth and the life for all people.

Letters are more effective than emails, and so you can address your letter to:

[Name of MP]
House of Commons
London SW1A 0AA

“Philip, my holy Patron, teach me by thy example, and gain for me by thy intercessions, to seek my Lord and God at all times and in all places, and to live in his presence and in sacred intercourse with him.”

St John Henry Newman is often remembered through his titles of Cardinal and theologian. However, he was first and foremost an Oratorian, a son of St Philip Neri who sought the inspiration of his patron throughout his life. While St John Henry produced deeply intellectual theological works throughout his life, these stand in strong contrast with his meditations and devotions written to be used in the Oratory. These prayers are simple, deeply honest and profound, composed for parishioners (who for the most part were Victorian Birmingham factory workers), and offered clear insights into the essentials of Christian life. They reflect Newman’s pastoral care, which is often overlooked by the focus on his theological works, and they stand on a foundation of love and admiration for God, Our Lady, and St Philip.

The admiration St John Henry had for St Philip’s habit of prayer is palpable throughout his own meditations. The English saint remarks about St Philip with great fondness that “the servant of God gave himself up to prayer, until he acquired such a habit of it, that, wherever he was, his mind was always lifted up to heavenly things.” Prayer was a way for St Philip to get closer to heaven while on earth, to be able to connect the worldly to the heavenly. With St John Henry’s description of prayer as speaking and listening to God, we reach a somewhat obvious but often forgotten conclusion: in order to grow in personal holiness and to strengthen our relationship with God we must, quite simply, be in constant communication with him. Newman makes St Philip’s advice on prayer his own: “When one of his penitents asked him to teach him how to pray, he answered, ‘Be humble and obedient, and the Holy Spirit will teach you.’” 

Newman’s meditations and devotions are not, therefore, simple because of their intended audience; they are simple because prayer is meant to be a simple but constant exchange of heart speaking to heart. And to make this exchange with even greater love, he invoked this assistance of his holy Father: “O my God, when shall I learn to love nothing else but thee? Gain for me, O Philip, a pure love, a strong love, and an efficacious love, that, loving God here upon earth, I may enjoy the sight of him together with thee and all saints, hereafter in heaven.”

St John Henry Newman now sits in heaven, together with our Holy Father St Philip, enjoying the sight of God. We pray that we may be inspired to love God in the same simple way that St John Henry was inspired by St Philip, so that, one day, we may also sit in heaven with them and enjoy that same sight.