Blaise (who died around the year 316) was born in Cappadocia (modern-day Turkey) of noble, well-to-do parents.  He became Bishop of Sebastia (now called Sivas, Turkey) during the persecution of Christians carried out by the Roman Emperor Licinius.  Blaise was arrested and imprisoned and during his imprisonment he was visited by a mother and her son, who was choking on a fishbone.  At Blaise’s blessing the bone dissolved and the boy was rescued.  After being tortured with wool-combers’ irons Blaise was beheaded.

Apocryphal legends have it that Blaise had been renowned as a surgeon before his ordination and numerous stories were told of miraculous cures he effected on wild beasts.  He is venerated as the patron of sufferers from throat disease and is accounted one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers whose intercession was particularly invoked during the 14^th-Century ravages of the black death pandemic.  It is customary in many places to bless throats on this feast, using candles blessed the previous day at the Candlemas celebration.

This feast (commonly called Candlemas because of the ancient tradition of blessing the candles for liturgical use on this day), which brings the 40-day Christmas season to a close, offers a tapestry of themes and motifs: the Light that will enlighten all nations of which the aged Simeon sings; the long-awaited but terrifying Lord the ancient prophet declared would come into his Temple to purify it; an aged prophetess, Anna whose burbling elation contrasts the poverty and taciturnity of Joseph and Mary, seemingly overwhelmed by the magnificence of the Temple.  And the forty-day-old Christ child himself, who in the overture of his life contrasts with Simeon who apparently is near to his dying breath.

Simeon’s prayer has at least since the 4^th Century been sung by the Church at the close of each day, at once a prayer and a Creed: an acknowledgement that the Lord of our longing has come down from heaven for us and for our salvation, and a prayer to his Light would fill us and be transmitted through us.  Simeon stands as the pivotal figure between the Light and Joy of Christmas and the paradoxical Light and Joy of Easter as he declares that this Child is a Sign of God’s presence in the midst of his people that we must either cradle or reject.

Probably everyone in this country, whether they care much about either music or the monarchy or not, recognises the opening bars of George Frederick Handel’s anthem (written for the coronation of King George II in 1727 and sung at every coronation since) Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet anointed Solomon king. [I Kings 1.38-39] It wasn’t inevitable that they should do so, of course: Solomon was neither the eldest of David’s sons nor the strongest. But in the waning days of David’s reign, the king perhaps not wholly in possession of his faculties and the kingdom ruled by the wiles and intrigues of David’s closest counsellors and his many wives, one of those wives, Bathsheba, Solomon’s mother, persuaded David to signal that Solomon should succeed him.  Already Solomon’s elder brother, Adonijah, had been declared king by Abiathar the priest and Joab the commander of the army.  This ‘succession narrative’ of the first chapters of I Kings endeavours to establish Solomon’s legitimacy. (As a reward for his support, Zadok’s descendants came to hold exclusive right to the priesthood of the Temple, when it had been built by Solomon.  Known as the ‘Sadducees’, they dominated the Temple until its destruction by the Romans in AD 70.)

John Bosco (1815-88) was born near Turin in the Piedmont, during a period of drought and famine and in the era of reconstruction following the Napoleonic wars.  As a young boy he saw a travelling circus troupe and began to teach himself magic tricks.  He yearned to be a priest but lacked even the most basic of education.  A sympathetic priest began to teach him and he was finally ordained in 1841.  He devoted himself to alleviating the plight of poor boys who came to the city in quest of employment.  Working at first in borrowed premises, John Bosco taught the boys; eventually through his efforts the establishment included a school, a technical college and a church.  He gained a reputation as an eloquent preacher, often using the magic tricks he had learnt as a child to capture his listeners’ attention.  

In 1859, along with 22 companions, he established the Society of St Francis de Sales (better known as the Salesians), named for the 17^th Century Bishop of Geneva known for his gentle manner of teaching about the spiritual life and spiritual formation.  The new order was dedicated to continuing St John Bosco’s work of spiritual direction and education of boys; it soon spread to England, France, Spain, and Argentina.  With the help of St Mary Mazzarello St John Bosco also founded the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians, devoted to undertaking the same kind of apostolate to young girls.  

Absalom was a troublemaker, a thorn in the flesh for everyone around him, and, quite literally, a traitor.  Perhaps his father saw a bit of himself in him: his easy-going good looks, his ability to attract people to follow him unquestioningly, his derring-do.  David never stopped being a usurper, his kingdom always resembling the social dynamics of a terrorist band headed by a charming bandit.  Always the stability of his regime was in doubt.  So it is not surprising that malcontents might have seen in David’s charismatic son a possible replacement for him.

For David though, Absalom, whatever else he was, was his son.  At the announcement of his death—cut short in the midst of leading an uprising against his father—David showed something of his deepest, truest self: showed who he was at heart.  ‘O Absalom, my son! Absalom, my son!’ the king keened.  ‘Would that I had died in your place!’  Yet even a king could not do that—do someone else’s dying for them.  If he could have paid the price for his son’s betrayal of him, he would have paid it.  If he could have given his own life to bring his son back to life again, he would have given it.  But things like that can’t be done even by rich and powerful kings.  Things like that can only be done by a God.

The patriarchal stories of the book Genesis culminate in an extended family, the 12 sons of Jacob (who had received the new name ‘Israel’—meaning ‘He fought with God’—as a gift from God), together with their wives, children, grandchildren, living in Egypt.  The opening verses of Exodus make clear that the presence of this racially distinct family of dubious allegiance within Egypt was perceived to be a threat and the ‘Israelites’ were made slaves.

The remaining books of the Pentateuch make clear, though, that few of them thought himself an ‘Israelite’.  Their primary allegiance was to their tribe, the tribes being the descendants of those original 12 sons of the patriarch Jacob.  The slaves are brought miraculously out of Egyptian slavery into a land promised to them by God, but building a nation out of these fractious tribes was a lengthy project.  Nearly a millennium after the crossing of the Red Sea a monarchy was established to unite the 12 tribes into one nation.  

Saul, the first king, was of the tribe of Benjamin.  When David, of the tribe of Judah, became King (and the Bible tells several stories about the way that David came to displace Saul), the change wasn’t simply in the individual called ‘King’ but in the tribe of the 12 that had preëminence.   The remainder of the book called Samuel concerns the ways that David endeavoured to establish himself as the undoubted King of Israel, fending off challenges alike from members of Saul’s family and, ironically, from his own family as well. 

Timothy and Titus were converted to Christianity by St Paul, and became his companions and helpers. Paul entrusted Timothy with the care of the Christians in Ephesus, and sent Titus to Crete to look after the Christians there. He wrote them the so-called “pastoral” epistles, giving advice for pastors and people alike.

Typical of St Paul, but always worth reading again, are his letter introductions: St Paul clearly loved and cared for his missionaries!

Saul, for all the right reasons (so he thought) fiercely persecuted the early Christians. After all, they were a schism - a breakaway from the true faith and so presented a threat to the stability and cohesion which enabled Judaism to survive under Roman rule, despite all he odds!

And then, on the road to Damascus, Saul met Jesus - and just by being in His presence, was transformed and became the most ardent of believers. This is such an important event that it is told three times in the Acts - as Saul experiences it, and then twice as he tells it to the Jews in the Temple, and to the Roman appointed King Herod Agrippa.

Few of us will ever experience a 'road to Damascus' conversion experience - but enough have to witness to the power of Christ's call. But all of us come close to Jesus each week in Mass - and we need to listen to him calling us. Once we begin to do His will, not ours - we can be the change Jesus is calling us to be in the world.