Learning to Read & Write

2nd Sunday of Lent (C)

Readings: Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18; Psalm 26 (27):1, 7-9, 13-14; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 9:28-36

Picture: By Elements5 Digital on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is it like to learn to read and write in a given language? Don’t we have to begin with a process of recognition? With learning to make connections? We are shown some marks on a page, and taught to recognise their connection with something else. A… is for apple, B… is for boy, C… is for cat, and so on. And as we keep reading and writing, doesn’t transformation take place in, around and through us? Not only do we gain new knowledge, our brains get rewired. The ways in which we see and relate to the world are changed. Our lives take on a different shape. And we, in our turn, are better able to mould our environment for the common good. Actually, aren’t recognition and transformation key aspects, not just in learning to read and write in a new language, but also in acquiring and expressing our faith? Isn’t this what the scriptures show us today?

How does Abram grow in faith? In the first reading, we’re told that God shows him the stars in the sky, and teaches him to recognise, in their huge number, the multitude of descendants the Lord will grant him. God also instructs Abram to perform a sacrificial ritual, which the Lord then teaches him to connect with the promise of a gift of land. God even allows Abram to undergo an experience of darkness and terror, out of which Abram receives signs of a new covenant. A fresh expression of God’s loving and steadfast commitment to him and his family. And we know that, as Abram continues to grow in faith and trust in God––as he keeps learning to recognise and submit to God’s presence and action in his life, even and especially in dark times––transformation takes place in, around, and through him. His name will be changed to Abraham. He will become the father of Isaac, whom he will later be asked to offer to God in sacrifice, and through whom Abraham will eventually become our father in faith.

Recognition and transformation. Don’t we find these in the gospel too? Most clearly, of course, in the change in Jesus’ own appearance. But why does the Lord lead Peter, James and John up the mountain in the first place? As we will be reminded shortly, in the Preface to the Eucharistic Prayer, it’s to show… by the testimony of the law and the prophets, that the Passion leads to the glory of the Resurrection. By allowing his disciples to witness his own glorious Transfiguration, while he speaks prayerfully with Moses and Elijah about his passing… in Jerusalem, the Lord is helping the disciples to recognise, in his own sacrificial Death, the path to fullness of Life. He is teaching them, and us, to connect the shadow of the Cross, with the brilliance of heavenly glory.

And isn’t this connection between darkness and glory made especially clear when the three disciples find themselves engulfed by a shadowy cloud? It’s precisely out of the cloud’s terrifying darkness that God’s consoling and illuminating voice is heard saying, This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him. And doesn’t this instruction prompt us to recall the challenging words that Jesus had addressed to his disciples just before going up the mountain? If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me (9:23). Just as reading and writing start with the ABCs, so too does following the Lord begin with learning to recognise the close connection between the cross we are called to carry everyday, and the glory of the Lord’s Dying and Rising. And as we keep learning to make this connection, transformation happens. As the second reading tells us, the Lord Jesus Christ… will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body.

But isn’t there something important that remains to be said? Just because we know our ABCs doesn’t mean we have to read every book ever printed, or write down every thought that happens to float into our minds. If that’s even possible. No, we need to choose what and when to read and write. Similarly, just because we recognise the Cross of Christ as the way that leads to life-giving transformation, doesn’t mean we have to carry all the crosses that burden the world. No, as followers of Christ, we’re expected to bear only the cross that’s actually meant for us. Which means we need to learn to recognise, or discern, the one that’s truly ours to bear. And to be humble enough to let the others go. Even if letting go may sometimes be as, or even more, painful. Just as it’s painful for the family of an addict to witness their beloved’s suffering, while refusing to enable the addiction… So recognition, discernment and transformation… Aren’t these among the graces we fervently desire in this beautiful season of Lent? And by desiring them, aren’t we imitating the psalmist, in seeking the face of the Lord in the land of the living?

Sisters and brothers, in addition to teaching us the precious ABCs of our faith, how might the Lord be uncovering to us the glory of his scarred yet beautiful face this Lent?

Marking Memories

1st Sunday of Lent (C)

Readings: Jeremiah 17:5-8; Psalm 1:1-4, 6; 1 Corinthians 15:12, 16-20; Luke 6:17, 20-26

Picture: katiebordner on Flickr

My dear friends, what happens when we take off a watch, or a ring, or a pair of glasses that we’ve worn for some time? Don’t each of these things often leave a mark on our skin? The watch on the wrist, the ring on the finger, the glasses on the bridge of the nose. The body bears a memory of the burden it once carried. Of course, marks like these often fade with time. But some do not. Like how our muscles retain the memory of riding a bicycle. So that once the skill is acquired, it’s not easily lost. Which is fine, when it’s something helpful, like cycling. But what if it’s something harmful? What to do when, for example, the body is marked by trauma or addiction, leaving painful memories that refuse to go away?

Isn’t this the question Moses is helping the Israelites to address in the first reading? For generations, they had suffered the trauma of harsh slavery in Egypt. Until God heard their cry of distress, and sent Moses to rescue them. But even after the yoke of oppression was lifted, Israel continued to bear its ugly marks. The people kept acting like slaves. Resisting the guidance of the Lord, and even begging to return to Egypt. Isn’t this why their journey to freedom took so long? Forty years of wandering in the wilderness. And now, even as they finally arrive at the doorstep of the Promised Land, the people are still marked by slavery. Which makes their destination a dangerous place for them. For the land doesn’t just flow with milk and honey. It’s also occupied by many other peoples, who worship foreign gods. Gods by whom the Israelites could easily allow themselves to become enslaved. What to do? To counteract the effects of the old memories of slavery, Moses helps the people form new memories of freedom. He prescribes rituals for them to observe, including the one in the reading: the offering of the first fruits of the harvest. Which includes a pronouncement with the lips, an offering with the hands, and a bow––a sign of the heart’s submission to God. Through these rituals Israel allows her body to be inscribed with the moving memory of all that her merciful God has done for her. The Lord heard our voice and saw our misery… the Lord brought us out of Egypt…. He brought us here and gave us this land…

With the Israelites, we Christians share a similar spiritual itinerary. We too have been rescued from slavery. Not the oppression of Egypt, but the burden of sin. By his Passion, Death and Resurrection, Jesus mercifully leads us from the slavery of sin to the freedom of God’s kingdom. But again, like the Israelites, we too continue to bear the marks of oppression. We remain prone to enslavement by false gods, like money and popularity. We need to allow our bodies to be inscribed with the life-giving memory of what Jesus has done for us. Isn’t this why he allows himself to be led by the Spirit through the wilderness? By fasting for forty days––just as Israel wandered for forty years––the Lord shares our experience of vulnerability, and shows us the way to safety. By suffering temptation, Jesus also helps to uncover for us the devil’s devious tactics. Showing us how evil keeps trying to turn good and beautiful things toward crooked and ugly ends. Good things like the ordinary human appetite for food, the Lord’s own precious identity as Son of God, and his merciful mission to establish God’s kingdom on earth. All these the devil tries to subvert into an idolatrous quest for control. Control over one’s surroundings (tell this stone to turn into a loaf), control over others (I will give you all this power and the glory of these kingdoms), and even control over God (He will put his angels in charge of you to guard you). In contrast, what Jesus models for us isn’t control, but utter submission, and trust in God.

Still, it’s not enough for us simply to listen to this consoling story of the temptation of Christ. We also need to let it be inscribed in our bodies through practice. Isn’t this the deeper significance of the season of Lent? Traditionally a time for catechumens to prepare more intensely for baptism, and for us the baptised to dispose ourselves to renew our baptismal promises. Through bodily disciplines––like signing our heads with ash, and kneeling for the Stations of the Cross, curbing our appetites, and assisting those in need, along with many others––we allow the Lord not only to draw close to us, but to actually become part of our very bodies. Isn’t this what St Paul means when he says that, in order to be saved, we have only to confess with our lips that Jesus is Lord and to believe with our hearts that God raised him from the dead?

Some of us may still recall these words from an old song: In your time, in your time, you make all things beautiful in your time. Lord, my life to you I bring, may each song I have to sing, be to you a lovely thing, in your time… Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another allow the Lord to transform all the ugly marks, left in our bodies by trauma and sin, into beautiful memories of his love and mercy this Lent?

Of Dependence, Deprivation & Habit

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Jeremiah 17:5-8; Psalm 1:1-4, 6; 1 Corinthians 15:12, 16-20; Luke 6:17, 20-26

Picture: By Saurav S on Unsplash

My dear friends, how is an addiction uncovered? Whether it’s chocolates or cigarettes, Pokémon or pornography, overwork or gambling, alcohol or narcotics, how do we tell when an occasional indulgence, a mere guilty pleasure, has become something more problematic? Well, addictions are typically born of habit. Behaviour is repeated to the extent that it becomes compulsive. The addict becomes so dependent on the drug as to even experience withdrawal symptoms when deprived of it. Addictions are cultivated as habits, and experienced as dependence, which is then revealed through deprivation. Isn’t this why we rightly tend to be sceptical whenever someone engaging in addictive behaviour claims to be able to stop whenever they want to? They just never seem to want to. Without being deprived of the drug, it’s hard to tell whether we are actually addicted to it or not. I imagine that it’s sort of like playing Jenga. That popular game where wooden blocks are stacked up to form a stable tower. Players then take turns to remove a block and place it on top of the tower, making the structure ever more unstable, until it eventually collapses. The tower’s collapse reveals how much it had depended on that last-removed block to prop it up.

Dependence is revealed by deprivation. This is true not just of addiction, but also of what we find in our scriptures today. Both the first reading and the psalm present us with a striking contrast between two kinds of people. Those who trust in things of flesh, and those who place their hope in the Lord. Those who keep restlessly chasing after material things, versus those whose hearts seek and find their rest in God. The first type of people are cursed, and the second are blessed. But how to tell one from the other? How to uncover what is often kept hidden deep within a person’s heart? Again, dependence is revealed by deprivation. In a time of trial, those who hope in the Lord are like a tree by the waterside. They continue to thrive and even to bear fruit. While those who trust in the flesh are like dry scrub or winnowed chaff. The winds of adversity blow them away.

Dependence is revealed by deprivation. Could this be why it’s precisely those who are deprived in some way, whom Jesus proclaims happy or blessed? The poor and the hungry, those who weep, those who are persecuted on account of the Son of Man. And the second reading would have us include even those who are deprived of their very lives. Those who have died in Christ, hoping in the Lord’s Resurrection. Could it be that all these people are blessed, not so much because of the deprivation they suffer, but because of what that deprivation reveals? Their dependence on the Lord. In contrast, it is those who never suffer deprivation who are cursed. Why? Could it be it’s not so much because riches and satisfaction, laughter and popularity are sinful in themselves, but because their continual enjoyment serves to conceal one’s dependence or even addiction to them? And didn’t Jesus himself choose the path of poverty and humiliation over that of riches and popularity? And hasn’t Pope Francis reminded us that (i)n the Beatitudes, we find a portrait of the Master, which we are called to reflect in our daily lives (GE, 63)?

So what are we to do, particularly if we happen to live lives of relative comfort, and even luxury? Could it be that this is where it’s helpful to recall something else we considered earlier? Dependence is not only revealed by deprivation, it’s also cultivated through repetition. So could we not intentionally cultivate a habit of learning to accept our trials as opportunities to trust more in the Lord? And could we not also consciously try to depend more on God? Such as by repeating simple acts of self-denial, perhaps to benefit those in need. Not to build up our own pride, but to learn humility. To better recognise how much we need God. And to do this, not just as individuals, but also as families and communities, as a parish, and as a whole Church, the living Body of Christ. For scripture scholars remind us that when Jesus uses the words yours and you in today’s gospel, he is using them in their plural form, meaning you all. Rather than a bunch of individuals, the Lord is really speaking to his disciples, to us, as a group. Which may lead us to ask ourselves this important question: Even as many of us may work hard to build up our own families and communities, our own parish and the whole Church, what version of these realities are we really building? One that’s rich and satisfied, laughing and popular? Or one that’s poor and hungry, weeping and persecuted, because it stands and speaks on the side of the Lord? Following faithfully and courageously in his steps. Reflecting the portrait that he paints for us in the Beatitudes.

Sisters and brothers, if it’s indeed true that dependence is both revealed by deprivation, and cultivated as habit, then what kind of dependence are we really cultivating? Upon what foundation is our Jenga tower standing today?

Keeping Water Pipes Clean

5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 6:1-2, 3-8; Psalm 137 (138):1-5, 7-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Picture: By Paul Wolke on Unsplash

My dear friends, what happens when we turn on a tap that hasn’t been used for a very long time? Apart from hearing the old pipes groan and complain as we rouse them from sleep, aren’t we also likely to see dirty brown water flowing out of the tap? It’s only after we’ve let the water run for some time, that it eventually becomes clear again. Isn’t this interesting? Most other things––like pots and plates, for example––need to be cleaned only when we use them. But pipes are just the opposite. As long as they’re used, as long as the system is running, the pipes stay clean. It’s when they are not used, and the system is asleep, that problems arise.

This interesting feature of water pipes can help us ponder a curious point in our scriptures today. As we may have noticed, in each of our readings, God draws close to someone, and calls and commissions him for a particular work. In the first reading, it’s the prophet, Isaiah. In the second reading, it’s the pharisee, Paul. And in the gospel, it’s Simon Peter, the fisherman. All these persons react to God’s closeness in the same way. Before the holiness of God, each one is overwhelmed by his own unworthiness, his own need for purification… I am a man of unclean lips, Isaiah exclaims, and I live among a people of unclean lips… (S)ince I persecuted the Church of God, Paul writes, I hardly deserve the name apostle… And, very dramatically, Peter falls at the knees of Jesus saying, ‘Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man’…

But there is also a difference. God responds to Isaiah’s unworthiness by cleansing him straightaway. An angel touches the prophet’s lips with a live coal, saying, your sin is taken away, your iniquity is purged. But we find no mention of cleansing in the other stories, except when we’re told that Peter and his fellow fishermen were washing their nets, the way we wash our pots and plates after using them. Jesus responds to Peter’s confession of sinfulness by simply saying, Do not be afraid; from now on it is men you will catch. The Lord seems to assume that just by remaining close to him, by following him, and by sharing in his God-given mission of catching people for the kingdom, Peter and his companions will somehow be made clean. Which is also what Paul seems to imply when, despite his own unworthiness, he says that, by God’s grace, he has not only become an apostle, but the most hardworking one. So although Isaiah, Peter and Paul all feel unworthy, it seems only Isaiah is cleansed before being sent. How to understand this?

Could this be where our discussion of water pipes may be helpful? Could it be that, for us Christians, Jesus is the One who purifies us, even more effectively than a live coal from heaven? For he is the Eternal Word-Made-Flesh. As long as we keep drinking deeply from him, he becomes in us a spring of water gushing up to eternal life (Jn 4:14). To follow him ever more closely, to share in his mission ever more faithfully, is to allow the waters of God’s grace to flow through us, not only benefitting others, but cleansing ourselves as well. For to do this is to die with the Lord to sin, and to be raised with him to newness of Life. In contrast, it’s when we are distracted by other preoccupations––like money, popularity and material success––that problems arise. Making it difficult for us to find meaning in life, or hope in dark times. And leading us to rely on various bad habits to cope with boredom and stress.

And don’t we typically respond to our own unworthiness by gritting our teeth, and trying harder to keep ourselves clean? Often without success. Yet the Lord still insists on drawing close to us, calling us to focus first on following him, and on sharing his gospel mission. Letting him be our Way to true spiritual cleanliness. And this call is addressed not only to individual Christians, but also to families and (parish) communities, and the whole Church as well. Isn’t this why, at the end of Mass, we are told to go in peace, glorifying the Lord by (our) lives? And isn’t this a particularly urgent call today, when our world seems engulfed in deep shadows of different shades and shapes? From looming climate catastrophe to worrying conflicts and tensions everywhere. When many seem lost, like sheep without a shepherd. And we ourselves may feel confused. Lacking a sense of how to properly respond, of what we are to do, and where we are to go. Perhaps even feeling unworthy of the name Christian. And yet, could this often unspoken sense of our own need for cleansing actually be a sign that the Lord is drawing close to us? That, like someone turning on a long unused and forgotten tap, he is calling us anew. Inviting us to share more fully in his mission for the life of the world.

Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another become more like functioning life-giving water pipes, allowing God’s grace to keep flowing through us today?

Between Toilet & Temple

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

Readings: Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 23 (24):7-10; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

Picture: By Vadim Artyukhin on Unsplash

My dear friends, why do you think the toilets in a hotel or a mall are often so much cleaner than those in the coffeeshops? Isn’t it tempting to think that the users are the reason? That the patrons of a hotel or a mall are somehow more careful, more hygienic, even more cultured than those of a coffeeshop? I’m ashamed to admit it, but until quite recently, this was my own unspoken assumption. Until I happened to watch an interview given by Mr Jack Sim, the founder of the WTO. Not the World Trade Organisation, but the World Toilet Organisation. According to Mr Sim, the reason why coffeeshop toilets are so much dirtier, is not because their patrons are messier, but because their owners simply refuse to take the steps needed to clean them. To be honest, Mr Sim’s words came as something of a light-bulb moment for me. I found them at once enlightening, humbling and liberating. Enlightening, because they helped me see a fresh and intriguing point of view. Humbling, because they prompt me to entertain the possibility that I’m not that much different from everyone else. That however hygienic or careful or cultured I may think I am, like everybody else, the toilets I use need to be properly and regularly cleaned. To accept this fact is to be liberated from the heavy burdens of hypocrisy and guilt, snobbery and self-righteousness. And even to be freed to focus more on what truly keeps toilets clean…

Strange as it may sound, the feast we are celebrating today offers us a similar revelation. Of course, there is no mention of toilets anywhere in our Mass readings and prayers. Instead, our attention is drawn to a far more sacred place, the Temple in Jerusalem. But, though the Temple and a toilet seem as different as night and day, they do have one thing in common. Like a toilet, the Temple too is a place where cleaning, or purification, is needed. Isn’t this why Jesus, Mary and Joseph present themselves at the Temple in the gospel? They go there to be purified as laid down by the Law of Moses. Except that Jesus doesn’t really need cleansing. Instead, he is the One who cleanses us. In him, the promise made in the first reading finds its fulfilment. Through him, God enters the Temple to take his seat as refiner and purifier. And we may recall that what is carried out ritually for the baby Jesus today, the Lord will perform actually, as an adult, many years later. In chapter 19 of Luke’s gospel, Jesus will drive from the Temple all those who are selling things there (v 45, NRSV).

But not everyone is willing to allow themselves to be cleansed. Not everyone is ready to accept their own need for purification. Isn’t this why Simeon recognises Jesus not only as a light to enlighten the pagans, but also as a sign that is rejected? And who are the ones who will reject the Lord? Isn’t it those who take pride in their own efforts to keep themselves clean? Those who think they are more spiritually hygienic, careful, and cultured than everyone else. Who keep a scrupulous distance from, and even look down upon, those whom they consider unclean.

In contrast to this essentially elitist approach, the second reading reminds us that the Lord takes the opposite route. Instead of distancing himself, he draws closer to those who need cleansing. Even to the extent of sharing equally in our flesh and blood, so that by his death he could take away all the power of the devil. Becoming for us a compassionate and trustworthy high priest, able to help us in all our temptations, because he has himself been through temptation. Just as soap makes its cleansing power felt by coming into close contact with whatever is dirty. So too does Jesus draw close to us to purify us of our sin. Isn’t this the beautiful and consoling mystery we joyfully celebrate at this and every Mass?

All of which may help us reflect on our own approach to the spiritual life. Perhaps even offering us the possibility of a fresh light-bulb moment. One that may enlighten, humble, and liberate us anew. Enlightening us with a helpful reminder of how much we all need to remain close to the Lord, or rather, to allow him to draw close to us. Even and especially when, we may be feeling particularly unworthy of him. Humbling us to accept the truth that, however spiritually advanced we may think we are, however clean our spiritual lives may look, without the Lord, we all quickly go astray. Without him, none of us has the ability to remain clean. And doesn’t this truth serve to liberate us? For the more we realise, accept and live out of it, the better we are able to fixate less on ourselves and our own efforts, and to focus more on the Lord. Generously going wherever he may lead us, and doing whatever he may prompt and empower us to do.

Sisters and brothers, no matter whether we may be feeling as clean as a hotel toilet, or as filthy as the one in a coffeeshop, how might we better help one another to allow the Lord to draw ever closer to us today and everyday?