Four days into the World Cup, there is a strange thing happening all over the country.
People who have never met the manager know exactly what he should do.
People who have never played international football know exactly who should be selected.
People sitting on sofas know exactly what went wrong.
People watching from the stands know exactly how the match should have been won.
And again, there is nothing wrong with that.
It is part of the fun.
But nobody ever won a World Cup from the stands.
Nobody ever lifted the trophy by analysing tactics in the pub.
Nobody ever scored a goal by shouting at the television.
The people who change the game are the people on the pitch.
And I wonder whether Jesus is making exactly that point in today’s Gospel.
Because He looks at the crowds and says:
“The harvest is rich, but the labourers are few.”
Not the supporters.
The labourers.
The people actually in the field.
And notice what He does not say.
He does not say the harvest is poor.
He does not say nobody wants God.
He does not say England is beyond saving.
He does not say faith is finished.
Quite the opposite.
The harvest is rich.
There are people searching for meaning.
People carrying guilt.
People terrified of death.
People trying to hold their families together.
People who desperately need Christ, whether they realise it or not.
The harvest is rich.
The problem is not the field.
The problem is the shortage of labourers.
And perhaps that is one of the most uncomfortable truths facing the Church today.
We have millions of baptised Catholics.
But how many labourers?
How many disciples?
How many people who actually know their faith, live their faith, defend their faith and hand on their faith?
Because for a long time we have quietly slipped into a dangerous habit.
We have become spectators.
We want the Church to flourish.
We want vocations.
We want young people in church.
We want England to become Christian again.
We want stronger Catholic schools.
We want children to keep the faith.
But wanting these things and working for these things are not the same.
Every supporter wants their country to win.
The players are the ones who train.
And that is where St Paul’s words strike like a thunderbolt.
He says:
“While we were enemies, Christ died for us.”
Enemies.
Not admirers.
Not supporters.
Enemies.
That is how serious sin is.
Modern people imagine that our problem is simply ignorance.
That we need a bit more education.
A bit more confidence.
A bit more self-esteem.
But St Paul says something much deeper.
Humanity had become separated from God.
The creature had rebelled against the Creator.
The sheep had wandered from the shepherd.
The child had run from the father.
And Christ entered the field to rescue us.
That is what the Cross is.
Not an inspiring example.
Not a moving story.
A rescue mission.
The Son of God stepping into the battle we were losing and winning it for us.
And that changes everything.
Because if Christ has done that for me, then Christianity cannot simply be something I admire.
It must become something I live.
And that is where today’s Gospel becomes very uncomfortable.
Because many Catholics have become lifelong spectators.
We attend.
We observe.
We comment.
We occasionally complain.
But are we actually disciples?
Do we pray every day?
Do we know our faith?
Do we go regularly to Confession?
Do we speak about Christ outside church?
Do we sacrifice anything for the Gospel?
Do we help form the next generation?
Or are we still in the stands?
And that brings me to something important happening in our parish.
Our new sacramental vision.
For many years there has been a quiet assumption that faith is somebody else’s job.
The school will teach it.
The priest will teach it.
The catechists will teach it.
The parish will teach it.
But imagine England preparing for a World Cup by seeing the players for one hour a week.
Imagine if the coaches said:
“Don’t worry about practising at home.”
“Don’t worry about touching a football between sessions.”
“Don’t worry about training.”
It would be ridiculous.
No one would expect success.
Yet that is often how people approach faith.
One hour a week.
No prayer at home.
No conversation about God.
No reading of Scripture.
No practice.
And then we wonder why faith disappears.
The Church has always taught that parents are the first and most important teachers of the faith.
Not because priests are unimportant.
Not because schools are unimportant.
But because children learn what matters by watching Mum and Dad.
Children notice everything.
They notice whether prayer matters.
They notice whether Mass matters.
They notice whether Jesus matters.
They notice whether faith is something real or merely something ceremonial.
That is why our new sacramental vision places parents at the centre.
We will provide the resources.
We will provide the materials.
We will provide the support.
We will walk alongside families.
But we cannot replace parents.
Nor should we.
Because the most important catechists in a child’s life are the people sitting around the kitchen table.
And perhaps that is exactly what Jesus means when He says:
“The harvest is rich.”
Look around.
The harvest is sitting in our homes.
The harvest is our children.
The harvest is our grandchildren.
The harvest is our neighbours.
The harvest is the people who no longer come to Mass.
The harvest is the generation growing up in a culture that knows footballers better than saints and influencers better than apostles.
The harvest is rich.
The question is not whether there is work to do.
The question is whether we are willing to do it.
Because the World Cup will soon be over.
The trophy will be lifted.
The headlines will fade.
The goals will become memories.
But the field Christ speaks about remains.
The field of souls.
The field of families.
The field of this parish.
And when Christ looks at us this morning, He is not asking whether we are supporters.
He is asking whether we are labourers.
Whether we are prepared to step out of the stands, onto the field, and help Him gather a harvest that will last forever.
St. Mary's, St. John Bosco and St. Edward's 