Sunday, September 23, 2018

Mind Your Language


25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Picture: cc Alwyn Ladell

My dear friends, do you remember the late, and much beloved, Fr Antoni Ponnudurai? Well, today happens to be the 3rd anniversary of his passing, and I’m reminded of a story he used to tell, from his time as a newly-arrived missionary in Indonesia. He was beginning Mass one day, with the intention of sprinkling the people with holy water. However, seeing that many of them were gathered at the back of the church, he asked them, in his beginners’ Bahasa Indonesia, to please move to the front, so that he could “throw water” on them. At which all the people burst out laughing. It was only later that he discovered the reason for their amusement. Apparently, the Indonesian words he had used to say “throw water” are actually an euphemism for “urinate”.

In addition to being quite funny, this story also illustrates the difficulties of communicating in a foreign tongue, a different language. Which is also something like what we find in our readings today. In the gospel, Jesus tells his disciples that he will soon be delivered into the hands of men, who will put him to death and, three days later, he will rise again. However, even though the Lord speaks quite plainly, and this is already the second time that he is sharing this distressing news with his disciples, the reading tells us that they did not understand what he said. Why? Why do you think it is so difficult for the disciples to understand the Lord’s words?

I’m not sure. But could it be because Jesus and his disciples are, in a sense, speaking different languages? For the Lord’s decision to freely surrender himself to suffering and death on the cross can only really be understood in the language of loving and merciful self-sacrifice. But the disciples are used to communicating in another, quite different, tongue. Theirs is the language of anxious ambition, and of cut-throat competition. Of constantly having to fight with others, so as to secure one’s place in society. Isn’t this why, soon after learning that their Lord and Master will suffer a painful and shameful death, we find them arguing which of them was the greatest?

And isn’t this also why, the reading begins by telling us that Jesus did not want anyone to know where he and his disciples were, because he was instructing them. The Lord is not just sharing with them a piece of information that is difficult for them to accept. He is actually teaching the disciples to think and speak and act in a whole new way. To use a totally different language from the one with which they are familiar. The one used by the world.

Two different languages, reflecting opposing ways of thinking and speaking and acting. This is also what we find in the first reading. Which speaks to us about the way of the wicked versus the way of the virtuous. On the one hand, the wicked feel so threatened by the virtuous person that they decide to persecute him, to test him with cruelty and with torture, and even to condemn him to a shameful death. In contrast to this violence of the wicked, the virtuous person professes to act always with gentleness and endurance. Trusting that God will take his part and rescue him from the clutches of his enemies.

Deep insecurity leading to violence and conflict, versus trusting confidence producing patient endurance. This is also what we find in the second reading, which presents us with a contrast between the wisdom that comes down from above, as opposed to earthly wisdom from below. Whereas the wisdom from above is kindly and considerate, full of compassion and goodness, leading to peace and holiness. Earthly wisdom is jealous and ambitious, producing disharmony and wickedness, conflict and division.

The reading also goes on to trace this sharp difference in external expression to its inner source deep within the human heart. Speaking to those who use the language of earthly wisdom, the reading asks, Where do these wars and battles between yourselves first start? Isn’t it precisely in the desires fighting inside your own selves? You want something and you haven’t got it; so you are prepared to kill. You have an ambition that you cannot satisfy; so you fight to get your way by force. In contrast to this violence and conflict born of anxiety, the reading tells us that peace and holiness come from hearts that trust in the Lord. Hearts secure in the hope that God will grant whatever we need, if only we pray properly. For, in the words of the psalm, the Lord upholds my life.

Profound anxiety and insecurity, leading to violent competition and conflict, versus deep confidence and trust, expressed in gentleness and compassion, and patient endurance even in the face of persecution. This is the stark contrast that our Mass readings propose to us for our prayerful reflection today. Two completely different languages. Two opposing ways of thinking and speaking and acting. And perhaps this contrast serves as a timely reminder for us, especially in light of the conversations that many people in Singapore have been engaged in recently. Conversations relating to a particular piece of criminal legislation, which some are fighting vigorously to repeal, and others just as vigorously to retain. 

I do not propose to consider which, if any, of these positions is the more Christian one. I believe the relevant authority has already provided helpful guidance on this question. But in addition to considering what may be the correct position for Christians to hold, isn’t it just as important, if not even more so, that we also carefully examine the language we use to engage others in conversation? When we speak about an issue as contentious as this, do we use the new heavenly language of gentleness and compassion, rooted in a deep trust in the loving mercy of God for all people? Or do we speak only in the earthly tongue of ambition and competition, born of a profound insecurity? The first way leads to peace and holiness. The other to violence and conflict.

Sisters and brothers, as Christians, we believe that we have been blessed by God in order that we, in our turn, may become a blessing to others. A blessing to society. But in order for us to fulfil this role, we need to take care that we always think and speak and act in the language of Christ. The language of loving self-sacrifice.

My dear friends, the late Fr Ponnudurai’s story teaches us that all it takes is an unfortunate choice of words, an inappropriate use of language, to turn a sprinkling of holy water into a shower of smelly urine. A blessing into a curse. How can we avoid doing the same to others today?


Sunday, September 16, 2018

When Who Determines Where...


24th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Picture: cc cncphotos

My dear friends, please allow me first to apologise for the rather distasteful image that I’m about to call to your mind. But imagine for a moment, if you will, that you’ve just finished using the toilet, and as you stand up, a few coins fall out of your pocket, or your purse, and into the bowl. What do you do?… I’m not sure about you, but I’m quite certain that I’d just go ahead and flush the toilet. And maybe, just maybe, check the bowl after that, to see if the coins are still there.

But what if the object you drop is your brand new iPhone X, or your wedding ring? What then? Will you still flush the toilet immediately? Or would you not at least pause to consider the possibility of first sticking your hand into that bowl to fish the object out? Well it depends, doesn’t it? It depends on how valuable that object is to you. What an object means to me determines where I’m willing to go to retrieve it. And the same can be said about people. Who a person is for me determines where I’m willing to go to search for that person.

Who often determines where. This, I believe, is also what we find in the gospel. When Jesus asks his disciples the question, who do you say I am?, he is not just asking them to attach the correct title after his name. Jesus, the Christ. What he is really asking them is, what do I mean to you? Who am I to you? And there's a reason why the Lord chooses to pose this question at this point in their relationship. The question who? is meant to prepare them for the question where?.

For the reading tells us that, after asking his disciples the question who?, the Lord goes on to tell them about the terrible things that will soon happen to him. And, although he doesn’t say it in so many words, isn’t Jesus asking his disciples another question? I, the one you acknowledge as the Christ, your Messiah, your Anointed One, I am heading for a very destructive and deadly destination. Far darker and more distasteful than any un-flushed toilet. Do I mean enough to you for you to follow me there? Where are you willing to go to search for me? To remain with me? It’s not difficult to see how the question who? leads into the question where?.

And that’s not all. There is also some irony in this conversation. Irony that we begin to appreciate when we ask ourselves another question. The question why?. Why does Jesus choose to go to the place of destruction and death? Indeed, why is he even walking this earth? Isn’t it because he himself is the hand that our loving and merciful God reaches into our selfish and sinful lives to search for us, to save us?

Although it may seem at first that it is the disciples who have to follow Jesus to a dark and distasteful place, it is actually the Lord who is reaching into their dark lives to save them. Reaching into my dark life to save me. For as the prophet Isaiah reminds us, ours were the sufferings he bore, ours the sorrows he carried… (Is 53:4). In Christ’s Passion, Death and Resurrection, God shows me how much God loves me. Unworthy though I am. Giving me the courage and the strength to renounce my sinful egotistical self, to take up my cross for love, and to follow the Lord into the fullness of life.

Which is what makes Jesus the fulfilment of the hope expressed in both the first reading and the psalm. In the reading, the one who is speaking is able to face his trials courageously, because he is convinced that the lord is coming to his help. And the psalmist is able to persevere, even when surrounded by the snares of death, because he firmly believes that he will walk in the presence of the Lord in the land of the living. In whom are these hopes fulfilled, if not in Christ?

Who a person is for me determines where I’m willing to go to search for that person. Isn’t this also what we find in the second reading? Contrary to appearances, the distinction being drawn here is not between faith and works, but between living faith, which is shown in good works, and dead faith, which has no works to show. For to have faith is not just to profess belief in a set of abstract principles, but to remain in a loving relationship with the person of Christ. To allow the Lord to mean so much to me that I am willing to recognise and reach out to him in those who most need my help. Even if they may live in conditions as distasteful as an un-flushed toilet.

Who a person is for me determines where I’m willing to go to search for that person. Who determines where. Isn’t this an important principle for us to remember especially today? When our church continues to reel from one devastating revelation of clergy sexual abuse and cover-up after another? And when it is perhaps no exaggeration to say that it often feels as though our church, which we dare to believe is the body of Christ, has fallen into an un-flushed toilet?

At a time as dark as this, isn’t it very tempting to give free rein to righteous anger, and to resort to pointing fingers of blame and recrimination? Caring little about whether one’s accusations are justified or not. And conveniently forgetting to consider one’s own part in all this. Isn’t it also tempting to simply walk away in disappointment and disillusionment. To leave this corrupt church where it has fallen? And, incredible though it may seem, isn’t it also tempting to remain oblivious to all that is happening? To carry on like it’s business as usual.

I’m not sure what you think, my dear friends, but aren’t such reactions no different from flushing the toilet after something of mine has fallen into it? If I can bring myself to do it, it’s only because what has fallen doesn’t mean much to me. For if it does mean something to me, wouldn’t I at least consider trying to retrieve it? Perhaps by bringing my emotional reactions to prayer. By pondering and discussing the relevant issues with others, in the light of God’s Word. By considering how I myself may have contributed, perhaps unknowingly, to the culture of clericalism that allows such unsavoury things to continue. And, eventually, to help initiate whatever steps may be needed to turn the situation around.

My dear sisters and brothers, if it is true that who determines where, then who is the church to you and me? And where do we need to go to help retrieve her from the dark and distasteful place into which she has fallen today?


Sunday, September 09, 2018

Salvation as Flow


23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Mass @ FMM Chapel

Picture: cc Oran Viriyincy

My dear sisters, have you ever been stuck in traffic before? Do you know what it feels like? It can be quite frustrating. I may be in a hurry to get to my destination, but the traffic refuses to move. Often this is caused by some kind of obstruction on the road. Perhaps there’s been an accident, or a breakdown, or roadworks, or a fallen tree… What can be done to improve the situation? Well, it’s quite simple, right? Remove the obstruction, and the traffic will flow again. Restoring flow. This is what salvation looks like in a traffic jam.

And not just in a traffic jam, but also in an illness. As you know, in traditional Chinese medicine, good health is believed to come from the smooth flow of qi, or the life-force, in the body. And sickness results when the qi is somehow obstructed. So that treatments like acupuncture aim to remove the obstruction. To restore the smooth flow of qi. As in a traffic jam, so too with bodily illness. Salvation has to do with flow.

The restoration of flow. This is also what what we find in our Mass readings today. In the first reading, in a time of danger and distress, the prophet tells the people to take courage. To not be afraid. For God is coming to save them. And notice what this looks like. Notice how the prophet describes salvation in terms of healing and flow. The opening of blind eyes. The unsealing of deaf ears. The strengthening of lame limbs. The loosening of mute tongues. A renewed flow of live-giving water in dry desert places.

This promise, made in the first reading, finds its fulfilment in the life and ministry of Jesus in the gospel. Jesus, whose name means God saves! Notice how the Lord’s healing of the deaf man who had an impediment in his speech is described in terms of the removal of obstruction, and the restoration of flow. Ephphatha, the Lord says. Be opened! And his ears were opened. The ligament of his tongue was loosened. And the power of hearing and of speech again begins to flow.

All of which is fine and good. Very impressive. But what has it got to do with us, we may ask, with you and with me? Especially those of us who are blessed to be neither blind nor lame. Neither deaf nor dumb. We who live in a land where we can drink freely the water that flows so readily at a convenient turn of a tap. Why should we pay attention to the restoration of flow? Is this really the kind of salvation we need?

The second reading helps us to answer this important question. For it reminds us that there are obstructions that go beyond the physical. The reading speaks against the tendency of making distinctions according to classes of people. To judge others based on how well or how shabbily they are dressed. Can we not say that those who discriminate against people in this way, actually have an impediment in their sight? An obstruction that prevents them from looking at people with the same loving gaze with which God looks at us all? What do such people need, my dear sisters, if not to allow God to restore the flow of God’s love and mercy and hospitality in their lives? So that the same love and mercy and hospitality can then flow out through them to others.

The restoration of the powerful flow of God’s love and mercy and hospitality. I can’t say for sure, my dear sisters. But perhaps this has also been your experience over this past week on retreat. A time when you have pondered and prayed over the rich treasure that is your charism as Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. For what is a charism if not a channel through which God’s grace is meant to flow. Benefitting not just ourselves, but the whole of creation.

And yet, isn’t it true that just as a road might get obstructed from time to time, so too, in our lives as religious, do we sometimes allow the flow of God’s grace to be impeded. By negligence or overwork, perhaps. By disappointment or disillusionment. By petty grievances or deeper resentments… Of course, outwardly, we may appear to remain true to our vows. And yet, inwardly, if we are honest with ourselves, don’t we sometimes feel as though we are stuck in a traffic jam? Yearning to be rescued? To be saved? To once again experience the free flow of God’s love and mercy and hospitality in our own lives?

Again, I can’t say for sure, my dear sisters. But my guess is that, over these days of your retreat, each of you has had some experience of salvation as the removal of obstruction, and the restoration of flow. And, in the days ahead, it is important that you remain in touch with this precious experience. For it is something that is much needed in our world today. The removal of the prejudices and resentments, the anxiety and self-absorption, that so often obstructs the flow of God’s love and mercy and hospitality among us. Preventing us from looking at and listening to, from working for and warmly welcoming others. Especially those who seem so very different from ourselves. The removal of these obstructions, and the restoration of flow. Isn’t this the kind of salvation that we need? In our families and in our communities? In our church and in our society today?

My dear sisters, in a world that so often feels as though it is stuck in a huge traffic jam, how are we being called to deepen and to share our experience of the flow of God’s love and mercy and hospitality today?

Sunday, September 02, 2018

Following the Recipe


22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Mass@FMM Chapel

Picture: cc dolanh

My dear sisters, do any of you have any special recipes? Instructions for cooking or baking that have been handed down to you from your mother or grandmother, a friend or even another sister in your community? If you do, what can you say about these recipes?

For example, do you ever see a recipe as a burden? Does it ever make you feel angry for having to follow it? Or resentful of your mother or grandmother for having passed it on to you? If I have to guess, I would say probably not, right? No, we don’t usually see recipes as a burden, but instead as a welcome gift. Something given to us for a good purpose. Meant for us to enjoy. And to share with others. But, of course, for that to happen, we need to make use of it. For, however good the recipe may be, it will do us no good, unless we actually use it to prepare and serve and enjoy the dish. Otherwise the recipe will be wasted.

But failing to cook with it is not the only way to waste a recipe. Can you think of another way? Isn’t it true that I can also waste a recipe by not following it closely enough? It’s true, of course, that many recipes are quite flexible. One ingredient can often be substituted for another, and the dish will still taste just as good. Perhaps even better. But there are limits to this flexibility. For example, brown sugar could possibly be replaced with white sugar, but probably not with salt. To try to do so would be to ruin the dish.

A gift… to be used… within limits. These three characteristics of a good recipe are also what we find in our readings today. In the first reading, as the people of Israel prepare to enter the Promised Land, Moses encourages them to take notice of the laws and customs that God has handed on to them. Why? Because these laws and customs are God’s recipe for a happy life in the land. But to enjoy the full benefits of these laws, the people have to take care to observe them. To use the recipe. Adding nothing to them, and taking nothing away. For, like any good recipe, there is a limit to their flexibility. 

Which is probably why Jesus speaks so harshly to the Pharisees and scribes in the gospel. He calls them hypocrites. Why? Because, while they appear to follow God’s law, God’s recipe, they are actually substituting salt for sugar. They put aside the commandment of God to cling to human traditions. As a result, they end up ruining the dish that God intends for them to prepare. In their hands, what is meant to be a precious gift to be enjoyed, becomes a tiresome burden that they lay on the shoulders of others. Including Jesus himself.

A gift… to be used… within limits. We find these same three characteristics in the second reading. Which speaks not so much about the Law of Moses, as about the message of truth, the word that has been planted in human hearts. Which, for us Christians, is not just a legal code, but a living relationship with the person of Christ. Who laid down his life out of love for us. To set us free from our selfishness and sin.

The reading begins by telling us that it is all that is good… which is given to us from above… Implying that the word is not meant to be a tiresome burden, but a precious gift. But, to enjoy its benefits, we must do what the word tells us, and not just listen to it and deceive ourselves. Just as a good recipe needs to be used to produce delicious food, so too our relationship with the Lord should be translated into concrete actions. So that it can produce in us loving and merciful lives. And there are also limits to the flexibility of this recipe. The reading ends by identifying two ingredients that we cannot do without: showing mercy to those most in need, and guarding ourselves against all that is contrary to the teachings of Christ. Without these two ingredients, the recipe simply will not work.

A gift… to be used… within limits. If these three characteristics of a good recipe can be found both in the Law of Moses, as well as in our relationship with Christ, then perhaps they can also be found in something to which you, my dear sisters of the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, will be paying particular attention, as you begin your annual retreat today. Do you know what it is? Nothing else than your own charism. The special recipe for holiness that was first received by Blessed Mary of the Passion, and then handed on to each of you. For you to use to produce delicious lives. Not just for your own benefit, but also for the enjoyment of others. Especially those most in need.

Now I have no idea what your experience of living this charism has been like. But, if it is anything like my attempts to live my own Jesuit charism, it may be that sometimes there is a temptation not to follow the recipe. To go beyond its limits, as the Pharisees and scribes do in the gospel. To add something to it, or to take something away. And, as a result, without our realising it, to change the charism, from a precious gift to be enjoyed, to a painful burden for all to bear. Producing conflict instead of peace. Misery instead of joy.

If this is the case, then perhaps a time of retreat might provide a useful occasion to allow us to be reminded of what we find in our readings today. That a charism is meant, first of all, as a gift. A recipe for a delicious dish, the benefits of which we have ourselves enjoyed over the years of our consecrated life. To remember its taste. To take the time to relish it once more. The better then to return heartfelt thanks for all that God has done for us and in us, with us and through us. To remember, to relish, and to return thanks…

A gift… to be used… within limits. My dear sisters, what can we do to better enjoy God’s recipe for happiness and holiness today?


Sunday, August 19, 2018

Watching What & How We Eat


20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)


My dear friends, if I were to ask you, which part of your body you use to eat, what would you say? To be honest, until quite recently, I would have considered this a stupid question. Which other part of my body can I eat with if not my mouth?! Of course, I’m aware that patients in hospitals sometimes need to be fed through a tube in a nostril, or a needle in the arm. But those occasions are rare. For the most part, we all eat only with our mouths… don’t we?

And yet, as anyone who has ever watched a cooking competition on TV, or posted a photograph of their favourite dish on social media, knows very well, before food ever passes into our mouths, we often devour it first with our eyes. Isn’t this why the home-cooks on MasterChef are judged not just on culinary technique, but also on plating skills? Not just on how their food tastes, but also on how it looks? And don’t we all know what it feels like to salivate at the mere sight of a delicious bowl of curry laksa, or chilli crab? All of which gives a whole new meaning to the words, watching what we eat!

Increasingly, perhaps now more than ever, people are realising that we eat not just with our mouths, but also with our eyes. Involving not just our sense of taste, but also our senses of sight and smell, of touch and hearing as well. But if this is true of the food that fills my belly, what about the kind that satisfies my soul? With which part of myself do I eat spiritual food? This, I believe, is the crucially important question that our Mass readings invite us to ponder today.

As he has been doing over the past two Sundays, in the gospel, Jesus continues to encourage people, encourage us, to eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood. For unless we do, we cannot have life. As a result, his listeners are filled with shock and dismay. How can this man give us his flesh to eat?, they ask. And I have to confess that there’s a part of me that feels superior to these people. A part of me that considers theirs a stupid question. For, as a Catholic who regularly receives Holy Communion, I think I know exactly what Jesus means. What else can it mean to eat the Lord’s flesh and to drink his blood, if not to join the queue at the right time at Mass, and to pop a communion wafer into my mouth, after mumbling an Amen in response to the words The Body of Christ?

And yet, if this is all it takes to eat the Lord’s flesh and to drink his blood, then isn’t it the same as saying that, unlike material food, spiritual nourishment can be eaten with one’s mouth alone? But can it? Really? Careful attention to the other Mass readings actually leads us to the opposite conclusion.

In the first reading, after building a restaurant, and preparing a gourmet menu, we’re told that Lady Wisdom then invites the foolish and the ignorant–all those who have no knowledge of the ways of God–to feast at her table. And, once again, it’s helpful for us to pose the question, With which part of themselves are the invited diners expected to eat this food? Lady Wisdom herself provides the answer at the end of the reading. Leave your folly and you will live, she says, walk in the ways of perception. 

But which part of my body must I use to obey this instruction? How do I go about forsaking foolish, worldly, self-indulgent ways? How do I walk instead in the ways of God, the way of Christ, the Source of heavenly Wisdom, who himself walked the Way of the Cross, the way of loving self-sacrifice? Can I do this with my mouth? Yes, of course. And not just by placing a communion wafer on my tongue. But also, as the psalmist reminds us, by blessing the Lord at all times. By allowing God’s praise to be always on my lips. This is how one can taste and see that the Lord is good. Even so, it’s also quite obvious that it’s not enough to walk in the ways of Wisdom simply with my mouth. I need to do it also with every other part of my body. With my arms and my legs. With my mind and my heart. And yes, with my whole life as well!

Isn’t this also what we find in the second reading, which reminds us to be very careful, not just about what we put into our mouths, but also about the sort of lives we lead And notice how the reading proceeds to present us with several sharp contrasts. Between senseless and intelligent people. Between those who are thoughtless and those who are able to recognise what is the will of the Lord. Between those who live lives of dissipation and self-indulgence, and those who are filled with the Spirit, who allow their lives to be directed by the love of God. In other words, what is the second reading encouraging us to do, sisters and brothers, if not to watch what we eat? To watch not just what we put into our mouths, but also what we allow to occupy our minds and hearts. How we lead our very lives.

All of which might prompt us to examine our celebration of the Sunday Eucharist. And, in particular, how we receive Holy Communion. For, if it is indeed true that I’m called to eat and drink spiritual food not just with my mouth, but also with my mind and heart and life, then perhaps Communion requires from me not just my reception, but also my commitment. So that when I say Amen to The Body of Christ, I’m not just expressing my belief in the Real Presence of Christ here in this church, but also everywhere else in my life. By saying Amen, I am also expressing my desire and determination to be mindful of that loving and merciful Presence wherever I go. Pointing it out to whomever I meet. Ever pondering and praising the wonders of God in my life and in our world.

Sisters and brothers, many people these days quite literally watch what they eat, by enthusiastically sharing and devouring colourful images of delicious food on social media. As we prepare to approach the Altar of the Lord in a few moments, what must we do, you and I, not just to watch what we eat, but also how we go about eating it today?


Saturday, August 11, 2018

When The Baby Won't Eat


19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)


Picture: cc Owen and Aki


My dear friends, have you ever seen someone trying to coax a moody baby to eat? Perhaps you’ve done it yourself. It can be quite a challenge. The adult knows that the infant needs food to grow. But, for some reason, it refuses to eat. Maybe it’s sleepy, or distracted, or in a bad mood. What to do? One common tactic I’ve seen people use is to tickle the baby’s lips with a spoon to make it laugh. And when it does laugh, to quickly insert the food into its open mouth. Then there is also that classic move, where you wave a spoonful of food around as though it’s an aeroplane, accompanied by the appropriate sound effects. Whatever the method, whether it’s by touching or through make-believe, the aim is the same. To get the baby to open its mouth and eat. To convince it to accept the nourishment it needs to grow healthy and strong.

In case you’re wondering, sisters and brothers, there are no babies in our Mass readings today. But what we do find are people who refuse to eat. In the first reading, the prophet Elijah has been very busy doing God’s work. He has called down a drought on the land, and also made it rain again. He has caused a famine to break out, and also multiplied food. He has raised a dead boy to life, and also defeated and killed 450 false prophets. He has confronted a sinful king, foiling his evil plans, and calling him to repent. As a result, the king is now out to kill Elijah. And the prophet has to flee for his life. 

Yes, Elijah has indeed been very busy. It’s no wonder that, when we meet him in the first reading, the prophet is completely and utterly burnt out. I have had enough, he says. All he wants to do is to lie down and go to sleep. He even wishes he were dead. And, in a way, he is already spiritually dead. He no longer has the capacity to care about anything or anyone anymore. Have you ever felt like this? As though you’ve simply had enough? Ready to throw in the towel? And isn’t it possible for me to continue walking around, apparently busy with many things, while actually already fast asleep? Spiritually dead? Unable to truly love anyone or care about anything anymore?

But Elijah’s journey is not yet over. God still has plans for him. So that, instead of letting the prophet sleep, God sends an angel to feed him. And it’s helpful to notice how this is done. Not once, but twice, we’re told that the angel touched him and said ‘Get up and eat…’ What does it feel like to be touched by an angel? Perhaps it’s not unlike how a baby might feel when it’s lips are tickled with a spoon. For Elijah, the experience rouses him. He awakens and eats, and gains the strength to walk for forty days and forty nights to the mountain of God, where he receives a new mission from the Lord.

As you may recall from the readings of last week, in the gospel, Jesus too has been trying to persuade people to eat. He offers himself to them as the Bread of Life. The spiritual Food that they need, to give their lives true purpose and deep meaning. To eat this Bread, to feed on this Food, is to come to Jesus and to believe in him. To believe that, in him, God has loved the world so much that he sent his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life (Jn 3:16).

As with the angel’s touch in the first reading, in Christ, God the Father draws people, draws you and me, to himself. Coaxing us to feast on the spiritual nourishment that is God’s only begotten Son. Unfortunately, unlike Elijah, the people in the gospel are too distracted to get up and eat. Believing that they know everything about Jesus, they cannot bring themselves to accept that he has indeed come down from heaven. Stubbornly clinging to their own prejudices, they refuse to eat.

Overwork and burn-out in the first reading. Distraction and prejudice in the gospel. These are some of the reasons why people stop eating. Why they prefer to remain asleep. Why they cannot receive the nourishment God provides. The food we all need to live life to the full. The kind of life described in the second reading, which tells us to never have grudges against others, or to lose our temper. But instead to forgive each other as readily as God forgave us in Christ. Following Christ in loving as he loved us, giving himself up in our place as a fragrant offering and a sacrifice to God.

To live a loving self-sacrificing life like this is not easy. It requires spiritual energy. The energy we receive by regularly feeding on Christ. Not just by gathering to receive Holy Communion every week. But by doing it with minds and hearts that are open enough to receive God’s love. Attentive enough to recall the ways in which God showers blessings and gifts upon us, both as individuals and as a community. And unless we do this, unless we truly feed on Christ in this way, we fail to receive the nourishment we need to live as Christ lives. To love as Christ loves. As a result, all the busy-ness that we may engage in every day drains us, the way it drained Elijah.  Perhaps even making us more angry and resentful, rather than more patient and kind.

Thankfully, God refuses to let us remain asleep. God continues to insist on drawing us. On sending an angel to touch us. Often we experience this touch in the desires that we find stirring in our hearts. Desires for a different kind of life. Desires that are the flip-side of the sins we may confess when we celebrate the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Desires that are actually placed in our hearts by God. To rouse us from sleep. To draw us to Christ. To coax us to get up and to eat.

My dear sisters and brothers, just as good parents will insist on feeding a baby, even when it refuses to eat. So too does our merciful God insist on feeding us, even when we may forget our need for food. How is God touching you and drawing you to receive his love today?

Saturday, August 04, 2018

The Itch We Cannot Scratch...


18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Picture: cc sarahluv

My dear friends, have you ever had an itch that you just can’t seem to scratch? Do you know what it feels like? It can be quite frustrating. No matter how hard or how often I may drag my fingernails across that spot on my body, where I think the itch is located, I get no relief. I may even scratch so hard that my skin gets broken and infected. But the itch remains. And it may be because the sensation I’m feeling is not actually found on my skin, but somewhere else. I don’t know where. In my nerves perhaps. Or even in my mind. The itch may be neurological or psychological. So that it can’t be relieved in a superficial way. But only by going deeper. 

Strange as it may sound, sisters and brothers, I believe we find something similar in our Mass readings today. People experiencing a deep itch, and trying to scratch it in a superficial way. Both in the first reading and the gospel, people are feeling hungry. And, quite naturally, they assume that their hunger can be satisfied by filling their mouths with food, their bellies with bread. In the first reading, the whole community of Israelites complain to Moses and Aaron that they have no food. And, in the gospel, crowds of people follow Jesus across the Lake of Galilee, because he had earlier given them all the bread they wanted to eat. With just five barley loaves and two fish, he had fed five thousand.

Both in the first reading and the gospel, people are anxious to scratch an itch. And yet, all the scratching in the world, all the food on this earth, can bring them no permanent relief. For the sensation they are feeling is not something that can be removed by meat and bread alone. Theirs is not really a hunger for food, but a yearning for meaning. A deep desire for a life that has a definite direction. A life filled with true purpose. Something that has the power to gather up all the broken disconnected pieces of one’s existence, and to unify them into an inspiring story, a beautiful work of art.

How do we know this? We see it in the way in which God responds to the peoples’ complaint. Notice how, in the first reading, although God provides meat and manna to fill the Israelites’ bellies, God does this in a very particular way. God gives detailed instructions for how the food is to be gathered, distributed, and consumed. By doing this, God provides the people not just with nourishment, but also with a precious opportunity to practice obedience. To learn how to live a life that is not just centred on one’s own selfish interests, but that revolves around God’s loving and merciful will instead. I propose to test them in this way, God tells Moses, to see whether they will follow my law or not. Scripture scholars tell us that the sending of manna from heaven actually points to the precious gift of the Law, through which God provides the people with the guidance that they need to live a meaningful and purposeful life in the Promised Land.

Isn’t this also what Jesus is trying to do in the gospel? He encourages the people to work not for food that cannot last, but for food that endures to eternal life. And to do this by believing in him, the one God has sent. For Jesus himself is the true bread… which comes down from heaven. He alone is the living embodiment of the Law. Those who come to him, those who truly believe in him, those who allow their lives to be moulded according to his example, they are the ones who will never be hungry. They are the ones who will never thirst. They are the ones whose itch God will help them to scratch.

All of which may help us connect better with our Mass readings today. We who live in a place like Singapore. Blessed as we are to have such an abundant variety of tasty food to eat. Let’s face it, many of us here are rich enough, such that we have to worry less about getting enough to eat than about choosing which particular delicacies to enjoy at any given meal. And yet, isn’t it true that, both as individuals and as a society, we continue to experience a hunger for meaning and purpose and direction? Don’t many of us try to satisfy this deep yearning in superficial and less than helpful ways? Isn’t this why, for many of us, life is characterised by compulsive consumption? Not just in matters of food and drink, or handbags and watches, or cars and entertainment. But also in the way we relate to work, and even to religion. Could this also be the reason why we have to obsessively check the screens of our mobile devices every few seconds? Not so much because there is an urgent message for us to read. But to scratch an itch that simple refuses to go away.

If this is true, then perhaps it is important for us to heed the message in the second reading. Which reminds us not to go on living the aimless kind of life that pagans live. The kind of life that dissipates itself in so many different directions, because it is focused only on the satisfaction of illusory desires. On superficially scratching an itch which refuses to go away. Instead, we are called to put on a new self, to live a new life in Christ, created in God’s way, in the goodness and holiness of the truth. The truth that life is not about food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit (Rm 14:17). Isn’t this why we take the time to gather here this evening? To allow our loving and merciful Lord to feed us with the bread from heaven. The true nourishment that fills our lives with deeper meaning.

My dear sisters and brothers, whether we realise it or not, we all have within us an itch that we cannot scratch. A yearning that we cannot satisfy. At least not on our own. No matter how hard we may try. For it has been placed in us by God. What must we do, you and I, to allow God to scratch our itch today?

Sunday, July 08, 2018

Preaching to the Choir


14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Picture: cc Garrette


My dear friends, do you know what it means when someone says to me, you’re only preaching to the choir? I’m sure you do, right? It means that I am trying to convince people who already agree with me. Or trying to convert the already converted. The implication being that I’m wasting my time. I should try to win over the unconverted instead. Those who hold opinions contrary to mine. Those who are more likely to reject my arguments, and to treat me with hostility. Which, though difficult, makes a lot of sense, don’t you think?

And yet, my dear brothers and sisters, has it ever occured to you that preaching to the choir is what priests like me do all the time? Of course, this being the earliest Mass on a Sunday, we don’t have much of a choir to speak of. But still, in a sense, aren’t all of us members of the choir? Can we not expect most, if not all, of us gathered here this morning to be already converted? Already convinced of the Good News of Christ? Why then do priests like me even bother?

Now please don’t be mistaken, my dear friends. I ask this question not because I’m suffering a vocation crisis. But because of what we find in our Mass readings today. As you may have noticed, in each of our three readings, we find people sent to preach God’s Word to those who are resistant.

I am sending you, God tells Ezekiel in the first reading, to the rebels who have turned against me… And they would not accept him… This is what the gospel says about those to whom Jesus preaches. And, finally, in the second reading, although it’s not clear what exactly St Paul means, when he writes about a thorn in the flesh, some commentators say that this points to hostility against Paul’s ministry. Since the apostle goes on to write about insults, hardships, persecutions, and the agonies that he suffers for Christ’s sake.

So it is clear that the prophets in our readings are sent to preach to those who are stubbornly unreceptive. But where, my dear friends, where are these stubbornly unreceptive people to be found? The answer may surprise us. The rebels to whom Ezekiel is sent in the first reading are none other than the Israelites themselves. God’s own chosen people. Scholars tell us that the hostility Paul writes about in the second reading very likely comes from members of his own communities. And, of course, the lack of faith that Jesus encounters in the gospel comes from his own relatives. The members of his own home town. From people gathered to worship God in the synagogue no less.

In other words, in our readings today, contrary to what we might expect, God’s messengers meet with resistance and even hostility not when they proclaim the Word to strangers, but when they are preaching to the choir! What do you make of all this, my dear friends? How does it make you feel? To some extent, it causes me to tremble interiorly. Especially because I so easily consider myself already a member of the choir. Presumably already converted. And yet these readings invite me to ask myself, what kind of a choir-member am I, really? How truly converted? How receptive and responsive to God’s Word, to God’s call? How do I even find out?

One way to find out is to see how our readings describe those who are truly receptive and responsive to God’s call. The first reading begins with these words: The Spirit came into me and made me stand up… This is one sign of the converted. Such a person is given the strength to stand up. To stand up and to speak out. To stand up, to speak out, and to bear witness to God’s message. Not just in words, but through one’s life. To stand up, to speak out, and to bear witness to God’s love, even in a hostile environment. To stand up, even when it is more convenient, more comfortable, more secure simply to remain sitting or lying down.

And let’s not be naive. To do this is not easy. It’s not easy to stand up when there are many powerful forces keeping us down. Forces both external and internal. Temptations and distractions, fears and anxieties, pressuring us to keep quiet and to simply blend in with the environment, with everyone else. To do otherwise, to go against the flow, may lead us to feel as the psalmist feels, when he says, We are filled with contempt. Indeed all too full is our soul with the scorn of the rich, with the proud man’s disdain. How then does the truly converted person receive the strength to remain standing?

We find the answer in the response to the psalm. Our eyes are on the Lord till he shows us his mercy. To keep on standing up, even when sorely tempted to lay down, I must keep my eyes focused on the Lord till he show us his mercy. Isn’t this what sets apart those who are truly converted from those who are still rebellious? And, if I am honest with myself, must I not admit that, much as I may consider myself a member of the choir, there’s actually a bit of both in me? Both the receptive and the resistant. Both the converted and the sinner. Which is why I need to keep on listening to the Lord’s Word. To keep on allowing it to penetrate my heart. Calling me to deeper conversion. Calling me to ever more generous, ever more committed, mission.

My dear sisters and brothers, if today you hear the Lord’s voice preaching to the choir, what will you do to keep from hardening your heart?
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