Hanging On & Letting Go

3rd Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)

(Sunday of the Word of God)

Readings: Isaiah 8:23-9:3; Psalm 26 (27):1, 4, 13-14; 1 Corinthians 1:10-13, 17; Matthew 4:12-23

Picture: By sehoon ye on Unsplash

What does it feel like to have to let go of something we are clinging to very tightly? Some of us may remember this old story… An atheist falls off a steep cliff, and grabs hold of a dry branch. But he knows it’s only a matter of time before the branch breaks, and he falls to his death. What to do? There’s no one else around. In his desperation, he looks up at the sky, and shouts, If there’s anyone up there, please help me! To his surprise, a voice answers, Don’t worry. I’ll help you. Let go! The atheist thinks for a moment. Then he looks up again and yells, Is there anyone else up there?… How difficult it is to let go, when we have nothing else to hang on to, except a strange voice. Wouldn’t it be easier for the atheist, if an actual person were to show up, and stretch out his hand for him to cling to instead?

In each of our readings today, we find people having to let go of something to which they are clinging tightly. The first reading tells us that the people living in the north––in the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali––are walking in darkness. For their nation has been conquered by the Assyrians. Their land occupied. Their lives oppressed. It’s as though they have fallen off a cliff. And the prophet knows why. It’s because they have turned away from the one true God, and worshipped foreign gods. What they need to do is to let go of their idolatry, and turn back to God. But it’s hard for them to do this on their own. Like the atheist, they find it difficult to trust an invisible God. Easier to cling to idols. But still God refuses to forsake them. God promises to send them a light to brighten their darkness, a leader to release them from oppression.

In the gospel, Jesus begins his public ministry in the exact same places mentioned in the first reading. And the gospel identifies him as the One who comes to fulfil God’s promise. He is the chosen Leader and Light sent by God. Not just for those who live in the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali, but for all peoples. All who have separated themselves from God. All who have fallen off a cliff, and into darkness. Everyone, including us. For God knows how hard it is to trust an invisible voice. So, to make it easier, through Jesus, God becomes a living breathing human being. A warm caring hand, reaching out to us. Someone we can cling to, in order to more easily let go of our sin. Isn’t this why, in the gospel, we find Jesus inviting us to do two different things? Not just to repent, but also to follow him. Not just to let go of our sinful habits and attitudes. But also to cling to Jesus. To be his disciple. To share his mission. To allow him to transform us into fishers of people.

And it’s important for us to realise that these two things are closely connected. The letting go of sin, and the clinging to Jesus. For just as it’s difficult for the atheist to let go of his branch, so too is it hard for us to repent of our sin. Unless we follow Jesus. Unless we keep committing our lives to him. As the first disciples are doing in the gospel. Not just once and for all, but every single day. Isn’t this what St Paul is asking the Corinthians to do in the second reading? For even though they are baptised Christians, even though they’ve already committed themselves to Jesus, the Corinthians seem to have again fallen into darkness. By clinging to their slogans, they are allowing themselves to be divided, instead of united. So Paul encourages them to let go. How? By clinging instead to Jesus. By remembering how he loved us so much that he allowed himself to be crucified to save us.

As difficult as it is to let go of our sins, God actually makes it easier for us, by sending Jesus for us to cling to instead. And isn’t this something we need to constantly keep in mind, especially when we may find ourselves struggling with something we need to let go? A bad habit. An unhealthy relationship. A persistent worry weighing heavily upon our heart… For doesn’t it often feel as though the harder we try to let go of such things, the tighter they cling to us? Such that it’s easy for us to be discouraged, and to feel like giving up. Especially at such times, perhaps we might try shifting our focus away from ourselves, and onto the Lord. Remembering how much he loves us. How much he has suffered for us. How much he wants to draw us ever closer to him. And then to gently allow him to do so. Allow our hearts to be drawn to him. Allow our thoughts, actions, our whole life to be reorganised around him.

And isn’t this where the Word of God can be so helpful? Whether we’re listening to it attentively as it’s proclaimed at Mass, or sharing our reflections on it in a group, or pondering over it prayerfully on our own, the Word of God can help us encounter the Lord. Not just as a historical person, who lived long ago. But as someone alive and active even now, within us and among us. Someone who’s still reaching out to us, to befriend us and rescue us. Regularly meditating over the Word of God. Isn’t this how we can follow the psalmist’s instruction? To hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord.

Brothers and sisters, whether or not we may be feeling like we’ve fallen off a cliff, what can we do to cling ever more tightly to the Lord today?

About Aqua-Aerobics

2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Isaiah 49:3, 5-6; Psalm 39 (40): 2, 4, 7-10; 1 Corinthians 1: 1-3; John 1: 29-34

Picture: By Documerica on Unsplash

What would happen if we were to immerse ourselves in a swimming pool, while carrying a heavy backpack? Isn’t the backpack likely to feel much lighter? And we know why. The water helps lift the load off our shoulders. Actually, not only does the backpack feel lighter in the water, our own body does too. Isn’t this why low-impact water-based exercises like aqua-aerobics are so helpful, particularly for those who may have issues with their joints?… The amazing burden-relieving power of water. Isn’t this something like what our scriptures invite us to ponder, on this 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time?

In the gospel, John the Baptist catches sight of Jesus, and excitedly invites everyone to look at the One who takes away the sin of the world? And it may be helpful for us to recall that the word translated as takes away can also indicate the act of lifting a burden. For example, in Mark’s gospel (15:21), this same word is used to describe what happens to Simon of Cyrene on the road to Calvary. He is forced to carry Jesus’ cross. To bear, or to lift, the Lord’s burden. So sin is likened to a burden, which Jesus comes to lift or remove from our shoulders. The same burden that the Baptist himself has been encouraging everyone to let go, by repenting and being baptised in the waters of the Jordan. And yet, John knows very well that neither he nor the water has power to wash away sin. To be able to do that, the water must first be infused with the Holy Spirit. Which is what the Fathers of the Church believed happens when Jesus is baptised. Instead of being cleansed by the water, he makes the water clean, and spiritually powerful.

Even more, as we likely already had occasion to recall last week, we believe that the Lord’s baptism in the Jordan points to his own immersion in the beautiful yet chaotic waters of our human reality. Not just by his Birth as a helpless baby at Christmas. But also by his Death as a condemned criminal on Good Friday. Before he is raised to New Life at Easter. Which helps us better understand what happens to us at our baptism. We believe that the baptismal water has power to set us free from the burden of sin, not so much because of the water itself, but because of what the act of being washed in it signifies: our solemn commitment, made before witnesses, to continually immerse ourselves in the sacred and cleansing waters of the Life of Christ. The Word of God, sent by the Father, and anointed by the Spirit. The lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world.

Not only that, our scriptures also offer us two further ways of describing this great and powerful mystery. In the first reading, taken from one of Isaiah’s moving Songs of the Suffering Servant, beyond being simply a restorer of the scattered tribes of Jacob, God promises to make God’s servant the light of the nations. The One who has power to remove the burden of spiritual blindness and ignorance. And isn’t this what, by our baptism, we promise to let Jesus be for us? To allow his Life, Death and Resurrection to continually illuminate our path. Helping us not only to distinguish between good and evil. But also, whenever necessary, to make the difficult choice for the greater good over the lesser. And not to be deceived when evil tries to masquerade as good. Such as when Peter tries to dissuade Jesus from submitting to the Cross (Mk 8:32). Or when Judas scolds Mary of Bethany for anointing Jesus’ feet with costly perfume. Asking why the perfume wasn’t sold, and the money given to the poor (Jn 15:5).

To let Jesus become the Light that illuminates our path is, of course, also to accept him as our Leader and Master. Or, even better, to ascribe to him the title used by St Paul in the second reading. To acknowledge Jesus as Lord. To accept ever more fully his authority over the whole of our lives. Allowing him to direct and orientate our daily decisions. And so to release us from the crushing burden borne by the crowds that Jesus encountered in his public ministry. Those described in Matthew’s gospel as being harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd (Mt 9:36).

A Lamb who takes away the burden of our sin. A Light who lifts from us the burden of blindness and ignorance. A Lord who frees us from the burden of being oppressed and disoriented, like sheep without a shepherd. Isn’t this what we all need so much today? Labouring as we do under many and different burdens. Not least of all a global economy that the late Pope Francis describes as one that kills (EG, 53)? And isn’t this the precious gift that John the Baptist is encouraging everyone to recognise and receive in the gospel? And also what we ourselves will be invited to acknowledge later in this very Mass. When we hear, addressed to us, the words, Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world?

Actually, in aqua-aerobics, the water doesn’t just serve to provide buoyancy, to lighten one’s burden. It also offers needed resistance. Not a resistance that oppresses and destroys, but one that restores and strengthens. Sisters and brothers, how might we help one another to gratefully receive this same blessed buoyancy and resistance from the Lord today?

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?