Homily preached by The Most Reverend Vincent Nichols, Archbishop of Birmingham at the Funeral Mass for Bishop Augustine Harris, Wednesday 12th September 2007 in St Mary’s Cathedral, Middlesbrough
Recently, as many of you will know, the broadcaster and journalist John Humphreys published a book about the religious sensibilities of the people of this country. It is titled ‘In God we doubt’ and it is full of evidence and anecdotes about the fascination people have with the things of faith. Nowhere is this more clear than in our anxiety and questioning about the fundamental purpose of our lives, our beginnings and our death. This, of course, is not a new quest. Indeed it is as old as the human race, as enduring as our experience of death, particularly the death of those we have known and loved.
Today as we come to pray for the repose of the soul of Bishop Harris, the words of Psalm 89 have been going through my mind: ‘Our life is over like a sigh, our span is seventy years, or eighty for those who are strong’. Bishop Harris was strong, in this biblical sense, and was blessed with a full and long life. But as we ponder this mystery of death, we must not forget those, like little Rhys Jones, whose lives, also lived in God’s providence, are so much shorter.
In moments such as these we appreciate again, with great thankfulness, the gift of faith. Our sense of loss is shaped and tutored by a clear and consoling faith. We hear the wonderful words of the prophet Isaiah who expresses the promise of the Lord, fulfilled in Christ, in such wonderfully vivid and appealing imagery:
‘The Lord will wipe away the tears from every cheek; he will take away his people’s shame.’
‘The Lord will prepare a banquet of rich food.’
He is the one in whom we put our trust: in him and no-one or nothing else.
This is the faith which first shaped the life of the young Augustine Harris, at home, in SFX School and at Upholland College. This is the faith which he explored and applied throughout his rich and rewarding life. ‘Serve the Lord with gladness’ was his chosen Episcopal motto; it is also a description of the motivation of each day of his life.
Gus Harris began his formation for the priesthood, at Upholland, in 1933. He was one of a large intake – a large and talented group of young men who became a great presence within the presbyterate of the Archdiocese of Liverpool. One of his class-mates, Mgr Tom Barry, was one of the first young priests I remember. Another, Fr Tom Cummins, was my first parish priest, at St Mary’s in Wigan. They would share stories about their seminary days. I learned, for example, that one day Gus Harris took out a group of young junior seminarians. One of them fell into a quarry, full of water. Gus acting quickly and with great aplomb – as you would expect – dived in after him. The only trouble was that Gus couldn’t swim. The boy got out easily, but Gus had to be rescued and carried back to college, with the help of a wheelbarrow.
Later, it was Bishop Harris who gave me my first appointment. I remember the moment vividly. He sat me down and spoke about my time as a student at Manchester University and assured me that it was for this reason he was sending me to be a Sixth Form College Chaplain. Frankly, I couldn’t quite see the connection. But now I recognise the technique, only too well!
Throughout his years Bishop Harris had such a zest for life, for the faith, for the Church. And that zeal increased in the face of all the difficult challenges of the day. He took delight in his prison ministry; he loved to debate bio-ethical dilemmas and did so with a desire to understand every side of the argument. He relished his roles in the Bishops’ Conference, as President of the Commission for Social Welfare in which he did such sterling work with Mgr Michael Connelly and Mr Nicholas Coote. This, of course, carried over into his Chairmanship of the Department for Christian Responsibility and Citizenship where he tackled the difficult issues of the pastoral care of those of a homosexual orientation; where he led our first and creditable response to the revelation of the abuse of children within the Church and, of course, continued to lead our work on every aspect of prison ministry and reform.
In this work he won distinction. He loved those high-powered meetings: the UN Congress on Crime in London in 1960; in Stockholm in 1965 and many others besides. I remember him saying – more than once, and always with a mischievous grin – that he was invited to another such international meeting in Acapulco, but couldn’t go because he had confirmations in Knotty Ash!
In that choice can be seen the unquestioned priority that he kept. He was first and foremost a priest and bishop; a priest immersed in the ministry; a bishop serving his diocese. The phrase central to this morning’s Gospel passage brings us to the heart of the matter: ‘It is the Father’s will’. Ready and joyful obedience to that will of the Father moved him to want to tackle these problem areas so that, in the words of Jesus, ‘I should lose nothing of all that he has given to me’. His teaching and preaching, always well prepared and gracious, was aimed at fulfilling that will, so that ‘whoever sees the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life’.
Indeed, he recognised that communicating this message lay at the heart of his ministry. He had a light and original touch that appealed to the professionals and listeners alike. He gave much time to working with the media, as broadcaster and critic, as President of UNDA, the association of Catholic broadcasters and as a member of the religious advisory bodies for the BBC and the IBA.
Yet he also recognised all the other ways in which the Church tries to communicate the loving presence of God in our world. Here in the Diocese he took many initiatives to make real the attractiveness of faith: his work with the schools, the establishment of four diocesan pastoral centres, his writings and the monthly diocesan newspaper, his bond with the community of Ampleforth, and, of course, this Cathedral Church itself. There has surely not been another bishop in this country for many generations who had the task and privilege of opening and consecrating two cathedrals. Yet here, and in Liverpool, the Cathedral stands as a clear proclamation of the greatest mystery of all: the incarnate presence of eternal love, in our midst.
So it is right that we celebrate this Mass in this Cathedral. Herein lies our hope, our consolation. Here we again move into the very centre of the mystery announced to us by St Paul: ‘If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord, so that alive or dead we belong to the Lord’.
The living and dying of the Lord is precisely what we celebrate in these sacred mysteries. And Paul tells us the importance of what we do: ‘this explains why Christ both died and came to life: it was so that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living’. And so he is; and so he is! This is our faith and our greatest gift. By this faith we live and, whether we are eleven or eighty-nine, this faith rescues our death from the grip of anxiety and the shadow of nothingness.
Archbishop Kelly was surely right when, in announcing the death of Bishop Harris, he said quite simply: ‘A friend has died’. At this moment we might also spare a prayer for his cousin, Monica O’Brien, who looked after him so very faithfully for many, many years. She died just five years ago, on the 9th September. And Bishop Kevin O’Brien, too, should be in our prayers today.
Priests constantly speak of Bishop Harris’ kindness and willingness to be of assistance. Those who knew him well appreciated his desire to help and to give clear leadership. And these characteristics lasted until the end. I last saw him just after Easter. He was at home in Ince Blundell Hall and, as I entered, he immediately asked me if I had read the papers for the Low Week Meeting! He had! I hadn’t! He said: ‘You bishops are getting it wrong. You will have to be much more on the front foot, on the offensive’! ‘Thank you, Gus’ I said in reply!’
But it was this diocese that was uppermost in his thoughts. He constantly prayed for you all. Indeed, he was making plans to come and celebrate Mass with and for the other retired priests of this diocese later this month. But the Lord had other plans. So Gus died, literally, with his hat and coat on. He was waiting to return home from a day visit to hospital when the call came. Now, at last, he can lay down all duty, and enter fully, we pray, into the presence of the Lord. Eternal rest give unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him, may he rest in peace. Amen.