In the Divine Praises, the series of responsive ejaculations traditionally recited at the close of the service of Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, we are invited to acknowledge the blessedness of the Name of Mary. But in the Old Testament book of Ruth [1.20] we are reminded that this name is a name of sorrow, of bitterness.

The traditional hymn (‘Daily, daily, sing to Mary), attributed to the 12^th Century Abbot of Cluny, St Bernard, testifies that ‘All our joys do flow from Mary’. The key is found in the exhortation she gave to incredulous servants at the marriage feast in Cana: ‘Do whatever he tells you’. [John 2.5] The words are redolent of the advice of the Egyptian Pharaoh to his countrymen as the land faced famine: ‘Do what Joseph tells you to do’. [Genesis 41.55] A demand for obedience crosses our wills, and inevitably that feels harsh and unkind to us. [cf Hebrews 12.5-6] Mary’s unexampled trust that whatever was asked of her would eventuate in peace and joy because a heavenly Father intended good for her [cf Luke 1.38] is the model for us. Her holy name of sorrow is the paradoxical sign of God’s blessing on her life. [cf Luke 8.21; 11.27-28] For us, learning from Mary means learning to see the burdens of our lives as the means a Provident God has set out for our sanctification. As we honour her not only in words but in deeds and most of all in our innermost hearts, our names, like hers, themselves become holy.

The story that Pope St Gregory the Great (c540-604), seeing British boys offered for sale in the Roman slave market, declared them “not Angles but Angels” is probably a pious fiction. Certainly, however, Gregory, who grew up in the wake of the dissolution of the western Roman empire, felt a compelling zeal to bring the Gospel to the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms.

Gregory was of patrician stock and entered upon a career as a civil servant, becoming Præfectus Urbi (“first man of the city”) by 573. After a period as Pope Pelagius’ legate to Constantinople, however, upon Pelagius’ death in 590 he was chosen to be Pope. Gregory complained that “an ape was being forced to become a lion” but eventually acceded to the office. He was undoubtedly the most formidable churchman at the hinge between the Patristic and the Middle Ages, and the popular acclaim for his immediate canonisation upon his death is evidence of his effectiveness and influence. Central to his life is his struggle to integrate the competing demands of action and contemplation. His theological and pastoral writings led to his being declared a Doctor (“teacher”) of the Church.

It used to be commonly put forward that the origin of the English word steward was the Anglo-Saxon term for a ‘pig-keeper’. Most etymologists today dispute that and find the roots of the word in words meaning the care and protection (-ward) of a house. In any case, the sense implies responsibility assigned to us for the protection of property not our own.

And in that sense stewards are found everywhere we look in both Old and New Testaments: unworthy stewards who must be removed from office [Isaiah 22.15-21]; crafty stewards who manage to implicate their masters in their own mischievousness [Luke 16.1-8]; prudent stewards who share in their master’s joy. [Matthew 25.21]

To be a steward of the mysteries of God is to guard something we couldn’t invent and don’t control. In Greek Christianity, what we know as Sacraments are termed the Mysteries. We inevitably must stand silently before the acts of God, and most of all before those acts of grace by which God has declared us his own.

In the Middle Ages a not-quite-official celebration was enacted in many Cathedrals on the 1^st of January called the Festum Stultorum or Feast of Fools. The central idea was a kind of momentary social revolution in which power, dignity and impunity was briefly conferred on those of subordinate position; Sub-deacons would take the liturgical roles of bishops, priests and canons. These celebrations were often denounced by Church authority, and appear to have largely died out by the 15^th Century.

St Paul, though, admonishes any one of you [who] thinks of himself as wise to learn to be a fool. It is probably salutary for those placed in positions of authority and grandeur to be reminded from time to time that these are simply roles into which someone else might easily have been cast. It is even more beneficial for all of us to come face-to-face with our essential poverty in comparison to the Wisdom and Majesty of God Almighty. God is not convinced by the arguments of the wise Paul reminds us. Both Old and New Testaments are replete with examples of men and women being made fools of; the wisest of them learn from these experiences to trust themselves less and to trust God more. You belong to ChristPaul consoles us. Neither the pratfalls of our own foolishness nor the deliberate trippings-up we endure from bullies and tormentors will separate us from Him.