A Homily for the Memoria of St Lucy

A homily prepared for a Mass in St Peter's Basilica marking the Memoria of St Lucy and the anniversary of a friend's admission to the Church. Those who attended the Mass received a rather confused version of the homily as I managed to leave my notes in the sacristy.

We celebrate today the feast of St Lucy. According to the old calendar, this was the shortest day of the year; you will have noticed the darkness as we made our way to the basilica. There is therefore a certain irony in this celebration because Lucy's name means light.

This virgin-martyr of Syracuse is particularly celebrated in the northern countries, which makes it is fitting that this day be the one on which we should also be celebrating with Q the anniversary of her admission to the Church because of her Scandinavian heritage.

I have mentioned the irony that we should be celebrating this feast of Lucy, the woman of light, in the depths of winter. However, the Church’s liturgical year plays itself out over the course of the solar year, and a certain relationship of harmony and counterpoint exists between the two. What better time to mark the arrival of Christ the light of the world, than the time when the light offered to us by the world is at its dimmest? Our celebration of St Lucy, the saint of light, should remind us that Christians are guided by a light which is not of this world.

Those of you who are familiar with the traditional iconography will know that St Lucy is frequently depicted with her eyes on a platter. This is because the early accounts of her martyrdom tell us that prior to being killed her eyes were gouged out. However, despite this she remained firm. The fact that the eyes of her body were dimmed casts into greater relief that there is a higher form of seeing, and another sort of vision. By her blindness, St Lucy showed herself to be stronger and more farseeing than her persecutors. By keeping the eyes of her soul fixed on the light of Christ, her perseverance and her bravery, the example of her faith and her chastity give a testimony which shone forth like a light and won the admiration of Christian and pagan alike.

And so it should be for us. We are Christians living in the world, but as Pope Benedict reminds us, the great hope of our life is not of this world. Our calling is to find the light which guides our steps in the child of Bethlehem, born into the darkness of a winter in obscure provincial town, seemingly bringing little to the world. Compared to the great men of his time and judged by the standards of the world, the birth of this baby must have seemed an irrelevance. However, these great men are now by and large forgotten, whilst the Child of Bethlehem has marked human history in a way unequalled by any other.

And yet, despite His importance by the standards of secular history, the true significance of God made man is not at all evident to worldly eyes. Only by the eyes of our faith can we understand and see His true significance. This is the centre of our lives as Christians. This contemplation of Christ, this allowing ourselves to be guided by the hidden light is what is important. Let us never allow the demands and noise of this world get in the way of it. This is no abandonment of the world however – rather it is central to the Church’s work of bringing sanctification and salvation to this world. She shines as a beacon bringing the light of Christ to the world the more she contemplates her Saviour. We see this written large in the martyrdom of St Lucy. Her dedication to Christ and her resolve to walk by His light alone meant that her steadfastness and bravery shone forth and was recognized by the world. Her devotion to Him allowed his flame to set fire to other hearts. May we never forget that the more we concern ourselves with the Christ who is hidden rather than with our own affairs, the brighter it His light will shine in the world.