Between Volunteers & Van-Drivers

Solemnity of The Epiphany of the Lord

Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 71 (72):1-2, 7-8, 10-13; Ephesians 3:2-3, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

Picture: By Selena Jiménez on Unsplash

What was your New Year’s Day like? Mine was quiet and rather uneventful. But there are those who spent the day engaging in activities that made the news, though for different reasons. On the one hand, separate groups of volunteers chose to reach out to the less privileged. Some distributed supplies to seniors in Nee Soon. Others offered biryani to migrants in Little India. On the other hand, on that very same day, a white van led the police on a dangerous car-chase around Choa Chu Kang. Resulting in the vehicle briefly flying through the air at one point, before crashing into a flight of stairs. The driver was apprehended while trying to run away, and arrested for multiple alleged offences, including that of drug possession. Volunteers and van-driver. Reaching out versus running away. Two contrasting reactions to the arrival of a new year. What are we to make of this? Don’t our scriptures pose a similar question to us today?

Although there are no dramatic car-chases here, every year on this solemn feast of the Epiphany of the Lord, the gospel presents us with a sharp contrast between two reactions to the birth of Jesus, both of which may have made the news in their own day. On the one hand, we’re told that when Herod hears about the arrival of a new king of the Jews, he is understandably perturbed. Not unlike how a cup of bubble tea or kopi gao would feel, when shaken or stirred. He was troubled, agitated. Just as that van-driver was agitated. And we know that the king’s agitation eventually leads him to order the brutal slaughter of innocent children. A dramatically violent form of running away from God. In contrast, when the wise men, or magi, see the star they’ve been following, they are filled… with delight. According to another, more literal, translation (RSV), they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. Instead of agitation leading them to run away, they experience a joy that prompts them to keep reaching out. They continue following the star in search of the newborn king. And once they’ve found him, they prostrate themselves before him, offering gifts that point to his true identity: gold for his royalty, frankincense for his divinity, and myrrh for the death by which he will save the whole of creation.

The joy of the magi versus the agitation of Herod. What are we to make of these reactions to the arrival of the new King? It’s tempting, at least for me, to see them as presenting a choice between two types of people. The magi are good, and the king is evil. Be like the first, not the second. Be joyful, not agitated. But is this really possible? In the first reading, we find an image we’ve already encountered in the gospel for Christmas Day, taken from the prologue to John’s gospel. Where we’re told that the Word that becomes flesh at Christmas, arrives as a light that shines in the dark. Similarly, in the first reading, when the brilliant light of God’s glory rises upon Jerusalem, it does so while night still covers the earth and darkness the peoples. And don’t we know what it feels like when we’ve been resting in a dark room for some time, and someone suddenly switches on the lights? Whether we wish to or not, aren’t we likely to feel agitated?

Similarly, in the second reading, Paul (or the one writing in his name) refers to the arrival of Jesus as the revelation of a mystery. And a key aspect of this revelation is the shocking news that, in Christ, pagans, or gentiles, now not only share with Jews the same inheritance and the same promise, they are even parts of the same body. For gentile Christians like us, this comes, of course, as no surprise. We take it for granted. But to those who have long believed themselves to have been set apart by God, isn’t it likely to sound like dangerous heresy? Even something to be ruthlessly eradicated? Which is what Paul himself tried to do, while he was still named Saul. Until that fateful day, when he received grace to get over his agitation, and to joyfully embrace the Crucified and Risen Lord.

Could it be that both Herod and the magi represent opposite directions on the same spiritual path? Herod rejects and violently turns away from the Light. The magi accept and joyfully reach out to it. And could it be that the experience of agitation is really an unavoidable part of this path? After all, didn’t Jesus himself feel agitated in the gospels. For example, wasn’t he deeply moved and troubled at the tomb of Lazarus (Jn 11:33, RSV)? Leading him to then raise his friend from the dead. Could it be that the choice our scriptures present to us isn’t so much whether or not to be agitated, as what to do with our agitation? How to be aware of it, sit quietly with it, and consider where it might be leading us. So that we might better choose how we wish to respond, in order to move toward the Light. In Catholic Social Teaching, this process involves a cycle of three recurring steps. First to see or to experience reality. Next, to judge or reflect upon it. To analyse it in the light of both the sacred and secular sciences. Before deciding how to act or respond. Then, having responded, to reflect again on that new experience. And so on.

See, judge, and act. What would it be like, if this process was used to ponder more deeply the dramatic events of New Year’s Day––the experiences of the volunteers, as much as the van-driver? And what if we were to apply it also to the more mundane experiences of our lives? Sisters and brothers, how might we help one another to keep reaching out to Christ our Light, and not run away from Him this Christmas?

Deepening Our Identity

The Nativity of the Lord

(Mass During the Day)

Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 97 (98):1-6; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-18

Picture: By sayan Nath on Unsplash

Which do you think is better? To receive good news from someone else, or to actually see or experience it for oneself? For example, given a choice, which is a child more likely to prefer? To be told by someone else how much her parents love her, or to experience that love for herself? What’s the difference? I’m not sure, but perhaps it’s something like what we find in a recently released Channel News Asia video, about the Night Cafe operated by Catholic Welfare Services.

Started in 2019, and closed during the Covid pandemic, before being reopened last year, the Night Cafe caters to so-called rough sleepers. In addition to offering them a complimentary meal and convivial companionship, the Cafe also provides a safe space for staff and volunteers to interact with rough sleepers in a more sustained way. Hasan is one of the patrons featured in the video. One evening, after having frequented the Cafe every week for 8 months, Hasan approached the manager, Brian, for help with an issue that had long been weighing heavily upon his heart. He had lost his national registration identity card many years ago, and didn’t have the means to get it replaced. In the video, Brian describes the moment when Hasan walked into the Cafe on a later visit, and joyfully flashed his new identity card for all to see. Not only did everyone share his jubilation, they also noticed a significant change in the man. He stood taller, and no longer slouched and dragged his feet like before… It’s one thing to be told that there are people who care about us. It’s quite another to actually experience that care for ourselves.

The difference between hearing good news from someone else and actually experiencing it for oneself. Isn’t this also what we find in our readings today? Poetically, the first reading describes the wonderful feeling of watching the approach of messengers bearing good news. Their footsteps on the mountains are made beautiful by the joyous message they bring: The Lord is consoling Jerusalem; setting her children free from oppression; bringing them back from exile in a foreign land. As a result, Jerusalem is encouraged to rejoice greatly. Yet, in a mysterious way, the reading also tells of how Jerusalem’s watchmen shout for joy together, not just because they receive messengers of good news, but because they see the Lord face to face. They experience for themselves the consolation of the Lord.

As joyful as it is to receive Good News from others, it’s even more joyful to experience it for oneself. Isn’t this also what we find in the other two readings? At various times in the past… God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets; but in our own time… he has spoken to us through his Son… The Word was made flesh, he lived among us, and we saw his glory… Not satisfied with simply sending messengers to proclaim God’s love for us, in the person of Jesus––through his Birth and his Life, his Dying and his Rising––God gathers us into the Divine embrace. In Christ, we see the Lord face to face. For no one has ever seen God; it is the only Son… who has made him known. 

And as if this were not enough, the gospel also speaks of how, in Christ, we all receive a new identity. Or rather, we are given a share in Christ’s own identity. By being gathered into the only Son of the Father, we are given power to become children of God. Power not just to rejoice in God’s Fatherly love for us, but also to share that love with others. Power even to bear the face and to serve as the hands and feet of God in the world, as Jesus did. Tenderly ushering others into God’s embrace. Isn’t this the marvellous gift that Jesus brings? Isn’t this what we celebrate at Christmas? But as with any other gift, this grace needs to be accepted. Much like how a child can experience the warmth of her parent’s embrace, only if she stops running around long enough to allow herself to be enfolded in her parent’s arms. As the gospel reminds us, Jesus came to his own domain and his own people did not accept him. But to all who did accept him, he gave power to become children of God.

How then to better accept Jesus? How to allow Him to usher us ever more deeply into God’s embrace? So that we may then be better able to usher others into it? Isn’t this a question that we have already been pondering in Advent? And don’t we need to continue pondering it together over the Christmas season? How to better accept Jesus… How to allow Him to usher us ever more deeply into God’s embrace… For a start, perhaps we might consider these three possibilities. First, to recall some of the blessings we have received from God, asking to recognise in them the face and voice, the hands and feet of Christ himself. Second, to bring whatever might be weighing heavily on our hearts to the Lord. Asking him to lighten our burdens, and to give us the strength to bear them in a way that befits children of God. And, third, to find fitting ways to share our gifts with those who need them most. Blessings, burdens, and need. Three possible steps for accepting Jesus.

In the CNA video mentioned earlier, Hasan tells us that after receiving his new identity card, he has since found a job and a place in a shelter. He’s also now waiting for a HDB flat. But he still returns to the Night Cafe every week. Brian says it’s because, for Hasan, this is family dinner. In other words, it has become part of his identity. Sisters and brothers, how does the Lord wish to deepen our identity this Christmas?

Accidents, Albatrosses & Avenues of Grace

4th Sunday of Advent (A)

Readings: Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 23 (24):1-6; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-24

Picture: By Usman Malik on Unsplash

Do you like accidents? Sounds like a silly question, since the word brings to mind something unfortunate or tragic, such as a traffic accident. And nobody likes those, right? But accident also has a more neutral meaning. Such as when we say, they met by accident. Here, the word refers to something unforeseen, unplanned, unscripted. Yet whether an accident is truly tragic or simply unforeseen, it often requires us to respond in some way, even to make a difficult choice of some kind.

Earlier this month, a new permanent exhibition opened at the National Library. Some of us here have probably already seen or heard about it. Drawing from a trove of recently declassified documents, codenamed the Albatross File, the exhibition shines a light on the circumstances that led to Singapore’s departure from Malaysia. According to conventional wisdom, Separation was something that befell us like an accident. Something unforeseen, unplanned, unscripted. We were kicked out. But the documents add important nuance to this familiar story. They show that, as painful and risky as Separation may have been, it was also something that some of our leaders at the time actually wished for, and worked hard to bring about. Merger was the original plan. What was unplanned were the intractable problems that resulted, including two racial riots leading to bloodshed and tragic loss of life. Collectively, these problems were the accident that made Merger feel like a burdensome albatross around our neck. Requiring our leaders to respond, to make a difficult choice: Stick to the plan, cling to the script, or leave? Somehow, we found the courage to leave. And, as they say, the rest is history. Our history.

A challenging accident calling for a courageous response. This is also what we find in each of our readings today. In the first reading, the northern kingdoms of Syria and Israel have joined forces, and are preparing to invade Judah. Faced with this impending accident, Ahaz, the king of Judah, has to make a difficult choice. What to do? How to respond? Through the prophet Isaiah, God invites Ahaz to seek guidance from God. Ask the Lord your God for a sign… But Ahaz refuses. Not because he doesn’t want to test God, but because he has made his own plans, he has written his own script. He intends to enlist the help of the mighty Assyrian Empire. Choosing to rely on a proven military power, rather than to trust in an invisible God. Even so, despite Ahaz’s lack of trust in God, God still sends him a sign of God’s steadfast love. A young woman in the king’s court will soon bear a son, whose name will serve to remind everyone that, despite their lack of faith, God-is-(still)-with-us.

In the gospel, it is Joseph’s turn to meet with an accident. An unexpected apparently adulterous pregnancy. What to do? How to respond? Although it may look like a deviation from the plan, an informal divorce is really part of the existing script. It’s what the Law prescribes. But God has other plans. God is renewing the script. (D)o not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife…. She will give birth to a son…. the one who is to save his people from their sins… Somehow, unlike his ancestor Ahaz, Joseph finds the courage to obey all of God’s instructions, to the very last detail. As a result, the ancient prophecies are fulfilled. The steadfast love of God takes flesh in our world as a Son of David. Bringing grace and peace to us all.

And isn’t this what Paul is describing in the second reading? The grace and peace that flow from humbly obeying God’s call. And don’t we know how Paul himself came to receive this call? On the road to Damascus, while executing a misguided plan to persecute Christians, he meets with an accident. A blinding light and a piercing voice, which stop him in his tracks. Requiring him to make a choice: Stick to his own plan, cling to his own script, or follow the one God is offering him. And what Paul is reminding the Romans, is that God’s voice is addressed to them and to us too. Calling us to belong to Christ, to be saints, and to fulfil the apostolic mission to preach the obedience of faith to all.

An invading army, an unplanned pregnancy, and a mysterious encounter on a dusty road. These are among the accidents we find in our readings today. And to them, we might add those that we ourselves may face in our own lives. Such as an unsettling medical report, undesirable exam or school-posting results, an unsustainable work-life routine, or the unwelcome signs of the natural diminishment that accompanies advancing age… Even if unforeseen, unplanned and unscripted, these experiences may well be doorways through which God wishes to enter. To free us from the burden of sin, and to bless us with God’s abundant love and grace, God’s overflowing mercy and peace. But first we need to receive the wisdom and courage to respond as Joseph and Paul did. To exercise the obedience of faith, and to heed that gentle yet insistent call so beautifully expressed in our psalm response: Let the Lord enter! He is the king of glory.

Sisters and brothers, amid the accidents and albatrosses of our lives, how might we better respond to God’s call this Christmas?

The Bungalow, The Mountain & The Wilderness

2nd Sunday of Advent (A)

Readings: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 71 (72):1-2, 7-8, 12-13, 17; Romans 15:4-9; Matthew 3:1-12

Picture: By Vivek on Unsplash

What does keeping the peace look like? Here’s a true story that some of us may find familiar. A wealthy but childless Singaporean widow in her eighties goes on a trip abroad, and befriends her foreign tour guide. A year later, the guide moves into the widow’s huge bungalow with her, claiming she wants him to be her grandson. Three years after that, he obtains permanent residency in Singapore, and moves his wife and two children to live with him in the bungalow. He also convinces the widow to will all her assets to him, and to grant him legal authority to manage all her financial affairs. Not long after, the widow is diagnosed with dementia. At this point, seen only from the outside, that bungalow might have looked like nothing more than the peaceful home of a caring adopted family. But the widow’s niece is not convinced. She takes steps to expose the guide’s exploitation of her aunt, and to reverse it. He is thrown in jail, and then deported, and forbidden to enter Singapore again. Just a few days ago, it was reported in the news that the now-deceased widow’s bungalow has been sold for $22 million. A peaceful ending to a story that could easily have turned out very differently. If not for the widow’s niece. Who had the wisdom to see through a false peace, and the courage to intervene. As a result, a vulnerable person was protected, and a cunning predator brought to justice. Peace through wise and courageous intervention. Isn’t this what we find in our scriptures today?

There are no bungalows in our readings for this 2nd Sunday of Advent. Instead our attention is split between two other locations. The first reading invites us to imagine and to look forward to an incredibly safe place, God’s holy mountain. Here both predators and their prey live harmoniously together. The wolf with the lamb, the panther with the kid, the lion with the calf. And even such a typically dangerous and highly toxic environment as a nest full of poisonous snakes, is rendered safe enough for a child to put its hand in it. For they do no hurt, no harm, on all my holy mountain. And all this is made possible only through the loving intervention of God, who anoints a leader to rule this marvellous place. On this leader the spirit of the Lord rests, giving him power to judge the wretched with integrity, and with equity to give a verdict for the poor of the land.

It is the coming of this Anointed One, and the rise of this same holy mountain, that John the Baptist proclaims in the gospel. But this proclamation takes place at yet another location. Not a safe and holy mountain, but a chaotic and fearsome wilderness. Where predators remain dangerous, and poisonous snakes highly toxic. Which is why the Baptist does more than just share information. He also calls to conversion. Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand. And when certain Pharisees and Sadducees come to him for baptism. John doesn’t just take their external profession of sorrow at face value. Instead he challenges them to show concrete signs of conversion. For just as a predatory tour guide can slyly make his home in a widow’s bungalow, and poisonous snakes can hide under the desert sand, so too can sinful attitudes and unjust processes take cover behind pious practices. Rather than leaving a brood of vipers to do what they like, the Baptist has the wisdom and courage to intervene. Like how the widow’s niece intervened to protect her aunt from a scam artist. Bringing their hidden poison into the light of day. So that the vulnerable may be kept safe.

But there is a price to be paid for this way of keeping the peace. As we know, later in Matthew’s gospel (14:1-12), the Baptist will be thrown in prison for intervening in King Herod’s marital affairs, eventually losing his head to an executioner’s blade. And remembering all this might help us to better understand what we find in the second reading. Here, St Paul prays that God may help his audience to be tolerant with each other, following the example of Christ Jesus. But what exactly is the example of toleration shown by Jesus? Surely it’s not the kind that leaves poisonous snakes unchecked, particularly if they endanger the vulnerable. For much as the Lord delighted in the company of outcastes and public sinners, he also saw fit to challenge the corrupt and hypocritical. And like John the Baptist before him, the Lord paid the price for his actions with his own life. Dying on a cross, before being raised up on the Third Day.

While it is true that sometimes keeping the peace means simply letting things be, there are also other times when it requires us to intervene. And this is especially true when we encounter an unsafe or unjust environment. Whether that environment be around us or even within our own hearts. Then, as baptised Christians, we are called to intervene, by repenting and calling to repentance. Which brings to mind the memorable title that Pope Saint Paul VI chose for his message on the occasion of the World Day of Peace back in 1972: If you want peace, work for justice. These days, a similar message, expressed in much simpler words, is often posted in many places, even around our church: See something, say something. Isn’t this what that widow’s niece did? And isn’t this what wise parents do, when they curb their teenager’s screen-time, and pay the price for it?

Whether or not we live in a bungalow, the season of Advent reminds us that we are all still on the way between two key spiritual locations: the danger of the wilderness, and the safety of God’s holy mountain. Sisters and brothers, what must we do to help one another keep moving in the right direction today?

Of Babies & Sirens

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

(World Mission Sunday)

Readings: Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 120 (121); 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

Picture: By Muhammad Shakir on Unsplash

What do these two things have in common?… A tiny baby bawling her eyes out, and the piercing siren from a speeding ambulance, screeching loudly in the night. Obviously, in each case, a cry rings out for some reason. The baby cries because there’s something it needs. Something it has a God-given right to receive, and yet is powerless to obtain on its own. When it’s hungry or thirsty, when it needs to be changed or carried, in its helplessness, the baby cries for assistance. And the siren too is a kind of cry, but for different reasons. To fellow road-users, it serves as a warning to make way. And to those waiting for the ambulance, it's also a cry of assurance. Encouraging them to hang on, to take heart, because help has arrived, or is at least on the way. A baby and a siren. Two cries with different motives. One seeking assistance, the other offering assurance. Don’t we find something similar in our scriptures today?

What is that widow in the gospel parable doing, if not crying for assistance? We’re not told exactly why. Perhaps a scammer has taken her life-savings, or an employer has failed to pay her a living wage. We don’t have the details. All we know is that it’s a matter of justice. Meaning that it’s something she has a right to receive. And yet, like a baby, she is powerless to obtain it on her own. Which is why she keeps begging the judge for help. And even though he is unjust, and doesn’t really care about her, the judge eventually gives her what she wants, just to stop her pestering him. And Jesus says that, if even an uncaring judge can be worn down by a widow’s persistence, what more our loving God, who cares so much for us? Implying that whenever we encounter injustice of any kind, whenever our best efforts to seek redress keep falling short, we should still persist in crying to God for help. And isn’t it reasonable to expect that we should do this not only when we ourselves are victims of injustice, but also whenever we encounter those who suffer the same, whether near or far away? For in any case, Jesus promises that God will see justice done… and done speedily.

Then, in the second reading, St Paul gives Timothy the duty to proclaim the (gospel) message and, welcome or unwelcome, (to) insist on it… In other words, like John the Baptist, Timothy is asked to become the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight’ (Lk 3:4). To persist in screeching like a siren piercing the night. At once warning people to make way, and also offering them assurance. Encouraging them to hang on, to take heart, for help is coming. Indeed, in Christ, it is already here. And more than just something that Timothy must do, isn’t this a duty that, by virtue of our common baptism, we too share?

All of which might help us appreciate the deeper significance of what Moses is doing in the first reading. He climbs to the top of a hill, and raises his arms, while carrying the staff of God in his hand. The same staff he has been using to show God’s powerful presence and action on behalf of the people. The staff that parted the Red Sea for the people to cross, and that drew water from the rock for them to drink. So that, even if no sound may escape Moses’ lips, just by his place and his posture, isn’t he effectively uttering a two-fold cry? On the one hand, from the hilltop, he must surely be engaged in prayer. Interceding for his people. Crying to God for assistance on their behalf. But that’s not all. His elevated position also probably makes Moses visible to those fighting below. Which may explain why, the tide of battle keeps shifting in their favour, whenever Moses is seen to raise his arms, with the staff of God in his hand. For isn’t it likely that this posture serves as a quiet morale-boosting cry of assurance for those who struggle? Encouraging them to hang on, to take heart, to keep going, for help is at hand.

And doesn’t Moses' place and posture on the hilltop easily bring to our minds the One whose arms were raised on Calvary? Not to wield a staff, but to hang on the Cross. From which he both cries out to God for unfailing assistance on our behalf, and offers us blessed assurance that help is truly here. Isn’t this what we celebrate every time we gather for the Eucharist? And isn’t this also why we commemorate World Mission Sunday? For as followers of Christ, what is our mission, if not to share in the Lord’s two-fold cry? At once begging God for assistance for the world, and offering assurance to those who need it most. Especially those who suffer injustice of one kind or another. Encouraging them, by our words and actions, to hang on, to take heart, for in the Dying and Rising of God’s only Son, help is truly here. And isn’t this cry still much needed in this troubled world of ours? Where armed conflict continues to inflict terrible suffering on helpless civilians. And here at home, yesterday’s issue of the Straits Times carries a moving report, highlighting the needs of those caring for loved ones stricken with dementia…

Some of us may recall this moving opening line from that old hymn by John Foley: The Lord hears the cry of the poor. Blessed be the Lord… In Christ, this is what we believe. This is our faith. Sisters and brothers, inspired by this same faith, like both bawling babies and screeching sirens, how might we help one another to keep on crying out today?