Pentecost Sunday (C)
Beyond Chicken & Duck Talk

Readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 103:1,24,29-31,34; Romans 8:8-17; John 14:15-16,23-26

Picture: cc darkpaisley

Sisters and brothers, have you ever heard a baby trying to speak? You know what it sounds like, right? Sort of like goo goo da da. Or something like that? Which is really very cute. Except that it doesn’t mean anything. At least not to us who are listening. Even if the baby may be trying to express itself, it’s not using language that we understand. We don’t know what the infant actually wants to say. To do that, to truly understand, we have to wait till it actually learns to speak our language.

Something similar happens when people who speak different languages try to communicate with each other. The Cantonese have an interesting way of describing such a situation. They say it’s like a chicken and a duck. Which can be very frustrating. Neither party understands what the other is trying to say. No meaningful connection is made. At least not until the chicken and the duck somehow manage to find a common language. One that both can understand.

And isn’t this what happens at Pentecost? Isn’t this what we find the Holy Spirit doing in the first reading today? In a gathering of people who speak many different languages, the Spirit somehow enables each person to understand what is being said. We’re not sure exactly how it happens. The reading itself isn’t very clear. At first, we’re told that the disciples began to speak foreign languages. Then, later, it seems that, although the disciples were speaking a single language, each of those listening, heard them in the listener’s own native language. It all sounds very mysterious. But, whatever actually happened, one thing is clear. People who spoke languages different from them, somehow managed to understand everything that the disciples were saying. All through the power of the Holy Spirit.

But is that all that happened? Was it really only a matter of simultaneous or auto-translation? Is that the full extent of the Spirit’s power in the first reading? If it is, then maybe we should not be too impressed. After all, with the advances of modern technology, it’s not difficult to arrange something similar today. But could it be that something even more important is happening in the first reading? Something even more meaningful for us. For this amazing new language that the Holy Spirit taught the disciples to speak didn’t just enable them to connect with other people. More importantly, it enabled them to remain connected to God.

Isn’t this what Jesus is talking about in the gospel? If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him…. The Advocate, the Holy Spirit will teach you everything and remind you of all I have said to you. What is Jesus saying here, if not that the Holy Spirit teaches us to speak a new language. One that enables us to connect not just with other people, but also with God. And not just to connect with God, but even to allow God to make God’s home in us. What an incredible thought!

And what is this amazing language, sisters and brothers, if not the language of love? The language that we have spent the past seven weeks of the Easter Season celebrating and reviewing and practising. The same language that Jesus was speaking from the Table of the Last Supper to the Wood of the Cross. From the Tomb of his Burial to the Mount of his Ascension. The same language that Jesus continues to speak here at this Mass. From the Proclamation of the Word at the Ambo, to the Breaking of Bread at the Altar. The language of God’s undying love for us. A love that refuses to let us go. A love that continues tirelessly to seek us out. And to send us forth. This is what the Spirit teaches us. This is what the Spirit is for us. The power to speak and to live a new language. One that allows us to remain in communion with God and with one another.

Which also helps us to understand what Paul means in the second reading, when he makes a radical distinction between the unspiritual and the spiritual. Your interests are not in the unspiritual, Paul writes, but in the spiritual, since the Spirit of God has made his home in you. What is Paul saying, if not that the Spirit teaches us to speak a language that gains us access to God. No longer the unspiritual language of selfishness and sin. But the spiritual language of love and self-sacrifice. A new language that allows us finally to understand the Mysteries of God. The same Mysteries we are celebrating at this Eucharist. A language that enables us to cry out to God. No longer saying goo goo da da. But Abba, Father!

Sisters and brothers, isn’t this the true and precious gift of Pentecost. A gift that we need so much, especially in our world today. A world in which we find such difficulty connecting with those who may be different from us. And even with those who are very much the same. Our colleagues at work. Our fellow parishioners in Church. Members of our own communities and families. Ours is a world where we often feel surrounded by many, and yet truly known and understood by very few. A world that often seems to comprehend no other language than that of insecurity and jealousy. Of selfishness and greed. A language that leads too often to isolation and indifference and exploitation. Instead of solidarity and compassion and care.

In a world such as this, isn’t it all the more important for us, sisters and brothers, to do what the disciples did on that first Pentecost. Isn’t it all the more important for us to continue making every effort to speak and live and even to teach the new language that the Spirit imparts. No longer the self-centred dialect of infants. But rather the Spirit-inspired speech of the children of God. The language of God’s love for us made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Sisters and brothers, as we bring the great Season of Easter to a close, how might we continue to speak and to live this new language? How ready are we to keep progressing beyond chicken and duck talk today?

7th Sunday in Easter (C)
Moving To Skype

Readings: Acts 7:55-60; Psalm 96:1-2,6-7,9; Apocalypse 22:12-14,16-17,20; John 17:20-26

Picture: cc jayneandd

Sisters and brothers, there was a time when, if you wanted to have a face-to-face conversation with someone, you had to take the trouble to actually travel to the place where that person happened to be. Otherwise, you’d have to settle for communicating over the phone, or through a letter, or email. But now, thanks to advances in modern technology, we’re actually able to see the person we’re talking to, even if s/he happens to be very far away. This is what Skype enables us to do, doesn’t it? Skype lets us see and speak to people from a distance. Without our having to travel to another place. I can have a face-to-face conversation even with someone on the other side of the globe. And all from the comfort of my own home. That’s the wonder of Skype. It allows us to enjoy the presence of our colleagues and business associates, our friends and our loved ones, without us actually having to travel great distances to wherever they may happen to be.

And yet, we should not allow ourselves to be fooled. As much as Skype is able to help us communicate without having to travel very far, isn’t it true that some kind of movement on our part is still always required? For one thing, even if people can now communicate from wherever they happen to be, they still have to be willing to at least come in front of their computers or smartphones. They also at least have to be willing to make time for each other. They at least have to be ready to share their thoughts and feelings with another. And to listen to what the other has to say. Just having the Skype programme in my computer will do me no good, if I have neither the desire nor the will to use it. However advanced the technology may be, true human connection still requires some degree of movement on my part. To communicate with another, there’s always a certain distance I have to travel. Even if it’s just the distance to wherever my computer may happen to be.

In order for meaningful connections to be established, some degree of movement is always required. And this is true not just of connections among human beings, but also especially of the connection with God. This is what our Mass readings are all about today. The establishment of face-to-face connections between human beings and God. Between earth and heaven. This is what Jesus is doing in the Gospel. The Lord prays. And he begins his prayer by establishing a connection with his Father. We’re told that Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and said, “Heavenly Father…” In the first reading, St. Stephen–the first martyr–does something very similar. Like Jesus, Stephen begins his prayer by shifting his gaze. We’re told that he turned his eyes to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at God’s right hand. The establishment of a connection between earth and heaven. This too is what St. John is writing about in the second reading. Except that here John is talking not just about any connection, but the final connection that will be made at the end of time. When Christ will descend from heaven to earth at the second coming.

But that’s not all. The establishment of a connection between earth and heaven doesn’t take place simply with a shift in one’s gaze. Some further movement is required. It’s quite striking to see, for example, how frequently the word come occurs in the second reading. And of the five times that the word come is used, only twice is it clearly addressed to Jesus. The one whose coming is so eagerly anticipated. Let everyone who listens answer, ‘Come.’ … Amen; come Lord Jesus. The other times the word come is used, it is addressed instead to the people who are waiting for the Lord. It is addressed to us. Happy are those who will have washed their robes clean, so that they… can come through the gates into the city.’ The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’ Then let all who are thirsty come... In anticipation of the second coming of Christ, in expectation of the final connection between earth and heaven, the second reading keeps speaking to us about the need for movement. Come!

But where? To which location are we to come? If we wish to Skype we know we need to find a computer or a smartphone. But what if we want to establish a connection with God? Where do we go for that? What movement do we need to make? The answer is found in our readings. In the first reading, what enables St. Stephen to make a connection with God is not just the shifting of his gaze into the heavens. Something else is going on. Something very significant.

We begin to appreciate what this movement is by carefully considering what is happening to Stephen. He is being stoned to death for his proclamation of the Good News. A proclamation that Stephen carries out in the power of the Holy Spirit. And it is also this same Spirit that enables Stephen to surrender his life into the hands of the Lord, even as he prays for the forgiveness of those who are killing him. Lord Jesus, he says, receive my spirit…. do not hold this sin against them. What we see in Stephen is a reproduction of the life of Christ. This is the movement that establishes a true connection with God. The movement into Christ. The transformation of a person’s life into the image and likeness of Christ. Who laid down his own life for us. So that we might have life in abundance.

Coming to Christ. Living and dying in Christ. This is the movement we need to make. And, contrary to what some others may think, this movement is made not in isolation but in community. To come to Christ is also to be more deeply immersed, to be more intimately involved, in the life of the Church, the Body of Christ. For this is also where Christ is found. As the Lord himself prays to his heavenly Father in the gospel, that they may be one as we are one. With me in them and you in me, may they be so completely one that the world will realise that it was you who sent me.

To establish a connection with God is to make a movement into Christ. A movement that entails deeper involvement in the Body of Christ. Isn’t this why we are here this evening? Not so much because failure to show up would mean being guilty of sin. Requiring a visit to the confessional. But more because we are thirsting for a connection to God in Christ. More because we are yearning to respond ever more positively to God’s invitation to us to come. To come to the living waters of the Body and Blood of Christ, in which we find life to the full.

Sisters and brothers, the Lord wishes to help us establish a deeper, more lasting connection with God. How ready are we to let Him Skype us today?

6th Sunday in Easter (C)
From Breadcrumbs To Homing Pigeons

Readings: Acts 15:1-2,22-29; Psalm 66:2-3,5-6,8; Apocalypse 21:10-14,22-23; John 14:23-29

Picture: cc Ed Townend

Sisters and brothers, do you happen to know the difference between Hansel and Gretel and a homing pigeon? You remember, of course, who Hansel and Gretel are, right? They are characters from an old German fairy tale told by the Brothers Grimm. In the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel are a pair of siblings–a brother and a sister–who lose their way in the forest and almost get eaten up by a wicked witch. But do you remember how they get lost in the first place? According to one version of the story, as they make their way through the forest, Hansel and Gretel leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind them, hoping to follow it when it’s time to go home. Unfortunately, as we might expect, birds eat up all the crumbs. And so, the pair get lost. Which just goes to show the dangers of relying only on breadcrumbs to find your way. Hansel and Gretel knew only one trail that could lead them home. When that trail was lost, so were they.

But breadcrumbs are not the only method to stay on course. At least not if you happen to be a homing pigeon. As you know, homing pigeons are so named because they have the uncanny ability to fly home even after being transported to a strange place many hundreds of kilometres away. And they do this not by relying on some temporary external trail. They don’t need breadcrumbs… Or curry puffs, or char siew paos, for that matter. Homing pigeons have an internal directional sense. An in-built map and compass, or GPS, which enables them to find and to fly in the right direction, no matter where they happen to be. How wonderful to have such an amazing ability. You never have to worry about getting lost. Never have to stress yourself out, rigidly trying to protect your breadcrumbs from being eaten. You can be flexible, because you’re always able to find your way home. Even when you’re taken to an unfamiliar place.

Breadcrumbs and homing pigeons. Two contrasting alternatives that are very similar to what we find in our Mass readings today. The first reading describes a crisis in the early Church, which finds itself at the crossroads. Needing to decide which direction to take. There is serious disagreement and long argument over whether or not non-Jewish Christians need to be circumcised. Whether people like us need to be circumcised. Some people say yes. Others no. Happily for us–especially those of us who happen to be male–the final decision of the Church was no.

But why, we may wonder, was there such a strong desire among some to say yes to circumcision? Were these people simply being stubborn and unreasonable? Was it a power-trip? A need to control others? Maybe. We can’t be sure. But perhaps there was also another reason. For the Jews, circumcision is a sign of fidelity to God. Like the breadcrumbs of Hansel and Gretel, circumcision marks a kind of trail leading to God. And if this was the only trail they knew, then it’s quite understandable that some Jewish Christians would be anxious to preserve it at all costs. Even if it meant burdening others. Non-Jews. What’s good for me must be good for you.

Thankfully, there were others in the early Church who did not rely only on the breadcrumbs of circumcision to make their way to God. There were others who had something like the ability of homing pigeons. Finding themselves in the strange new  situation of a Church made up of both Jews and Gentiles, these Christians were somehow able to locate and to proceed along the right path to God. A path that did not require circumcision. A path that did not involve burdening others unnecessarily. A path that enabled the Church to grow, both in faith and in number. So that, in the words of the responsorial psalm, all nations could learn the saving power of God.

But how did they do it? How did the leaders of the Church home in on the right direction to take? To find out, we need to go back to the Bible. To the verses that have been left out of the reading for today. Here, we find at least three important elements. The first is sincere conversation. The leaders of the early Church met and talked to one another. And the second element consists in what they talked about. In addition to discussing their opinions and feelings, the leaders also shared their experiences. In particular, Paul and Barnabas spoke about the signs and wonders that God had worked through them among the uncircumcised Gentiles. Finally, having conversed sincerely and attended carefully to the workings of God, the leaders compared what they had heard with their knowledge of God’s actions in the past. Sincere conversation with one another. Careful attention to what God was doing in the present. And wise comparison with God’s work in the past. These are among the things that helped the leaders of the early Church to decide which direction was the right one to take. They did it not through the rigidity of anxiously guarding and following breadcrumbs. But with the flexibility and freedom of a homing pigeon.

Isn’t this also what Jesus is talking about in the gospel today? If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him. Isn’t this how the gift of the homing pigeon is acquired. In all circumstances, what we need to do is to keep looking to Christ. To remain in his love. To cultivate a sensitivity to his Holy Spirit, who teaches us everything. And reminds us of all that Jesus has said. Helping us to apply the Lord’s words to the concrete situations of our daily lives. Giving us that precious gift of peace that the world cannot give. And so enabling us to home in on the truth. To follow the right path. The one that leads to life.

And isn’t this also why, in the second reading, there is no temple building in John’s vision of the new Jerusalem? Instead, the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb were themselves the temple. In place of the rigidity of an external structure, what we find is the flexibility of the radiant glory of God and the Lamb. Which serves as a lighted torch, illuminating for us the safest and surest way home.

From the rigidity of breadcrumbs to the flexibility of homing pigeons. This movement remains an important one for us to make even today. Especially for those of us who are leaders of some sort. We need to recognise that just because something has been good for me in the past, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s appropriate for everyone else at this particular time. St. Ignatius of Loyola, for example, warns spiritual directors to be careful not to impose their own favourite prayer methods on their directees. But to pay careful attention to how God is working with and in them. This movement from rigidity to flexibility is important also for the rest of us. Whether we are leaders or not. When, for example, unavoidable changes in our daily routine prevent us from keeping to an established habit of prayer. Such as when we get married, for example. Or have a new baby. Or fall ill. Or change jobs. How ready are we to cultivate a new routine of prayer? One that is more suited to our changed circumstances?

Sisters and brothers, how are we being called to make the movement from breadcrumbs to homing pigeons today?

 

Wedding Mass of Raymond & Grace
Melting, Moulding & The Matrimonial Bond

Readings: Genesis 1:26-28, 31; Lk 1:46-55; Ephesians 4:1-6; Jn 2:1-11

Picture: cc Boudewijn Berends

Raymond and Grace, dear friends, imagine for a moment that, for some reason, you want to join two metal pieces together? What would you do? Well, one thing you could do is to apply some kind of adhesive between the two pieces. You could use Super Glue, for example. Or maybe something even stronger. Once applied, the adhesive holds the two pieces together. But this kind of bond depends for its strength only on the substance–the glue–that has been applied externally. The metal pieces themselves remain unchanged. Which is why such a technique is really only quite temporary, isn’t it? For a much more lasting, far stronger bonding, to take place, a different method is needed. The two metal pieces have to be welded together.

And we know what welding requires. We know why it produces a far stronger bond. Welding involves the application, not so much of an external adhesive, but of intense heat. The kind you get from the flame of a blowtorch, for example. The heat melts the edges of the metal pieces. And when they are pressed together, their boundaries are blurred. So that what was at first separate comes to be united. What was at first two becomes joined into one. And not just joined externally, by the application of some super adhesive. But joined from within, by the melting and moulding brought on by fire.

Melting and moulding brought on by fire. This is what needs to happen when you want to join two pieces of metal permanently. But not just metal. Something like this also needs to happen when what is to be joined are two human persons. And this, my dear friends, as you know, is really what we are gathered here today to pray for and to witness. The joining together of two human hearts. The bonding of two separate lives. In the words of the prayer that we recited earlier, we are asking and wishing that Raymond and Grace may be joined together in a bond of inseparable love. That they may be united in a covenant of Marriage.

And the scripture readings that Raymond and Grace have chosen for us today help us to deepen our understanding of what this kind of bonding requires. The first reading takes us back to the first chapter of the first book of the Bible. Back to the very beginnings of creation. Reminding us that the marriage bond we are celebrating here today has its origins, not in human initiative alone, but in God. For we’re told that God created us in the image of himself. In the image of God he created him, male and female he created them. And those of us who are familiar with the creation story in the Bible will know that it goes on to tell us how this unity between male and female comes about. As you may recall, in the second chapter of the book of Genesis, we’re told that, having made man fall into a deep sleep, God took a rib out of man and fashioned woman. Which is really just another way of saying God blurred the boundaries between man and woman. Joining them together by first melting them in the intense fire of God’s love.

Melting and moulding brought on by fire. This is what happens when two human hearts are welded together by the love of God. But that’s not all. In the Christian understanding, the welding that takes place in the marriage bond doesn’t happen in a vacuum. We gather today not just to celebrate the bond between husband and wife. Between Raymond and Grace. For the first reading also reminds us that the joining together of man and woman takes place against the background of other bonds. The bond between humanity and its Creator. And the bonds among all the created things of the earth. For not only does God create man and woman in the image of himself, God also blesses them and entrusts the whole of creation to their care. Be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all living animals on the earth.

Melting and moulding brought on by fire. This is what creates the bonds that bind a man to a woman. This is also what binds the human being to the rest of creation. And, ultimately, to the Creator himself. All of which should help us to understand a little better what is being described in the gospel reading. Here, we find ourselves at a wedding reception encountering a major crisis. They ran out of wine. A crisis that Jesus averts by miraculously changing water into wine. But that’s not all. There is actually something deeper happening here. For the gospel story is not just about the marriage of an anonymous couple. It is really about a deeper reconciliation. A re-joining of another couple. A couple that had been married earlier, but had since drawn apart. An estranged couple. A separated couple. The story of the Wedding at Cana is really about the joining together again of God and God’s people. And notice how this takes place.

Melting and moulding brought on by fire. First, the mother of Jesus cares enough to notice the crisis. The fire of love prompts her to mediate between her son Jesus and the servants. To her son she simply says, They have no wine. To the servants, Do whatever he tells you. And then the miracle happens. Jesus changes his mind. Although his hour has not come yet, he gets involved. For their part, the servants obey Jesus’ instructions. Egos are melted. Boundaries are blurred. Water is changed into wine. And those of us who are Christian will see something deeper. What is being described here is also the melting and moulding that joins humanity once again to its God. A joining brought about when Jesus allows himself to be melted on the Wood of the Cross. And then raised to life on the Third Day. A joining that we Christians celebrate every time we obey Jesus’ instruction to come together to listen to the Word of God, to share in the Bread of Life, and then to go forth to proclaim God’s love in word and deed to all whom we meet.

Melting and moulding brought on by fire. This is what we celebrate today. The coming together of Raymond and Grace in the bond of holy matrimony. A bond that joins not just man and woman, but also God and humanity. Creator and all of creation. A bond that binds us–each of us gathered here–to one another. A bond of love and friendship. Of care and support. And we must be careful not to forget that this kind of bonding is not to be celebrated only in the course of a single day. This kind of welding, this kind of melting and moulding, needs to take place in every single one of the days ahead. As the second reading reminds us, each of us needs to lead a life worthy of our vocation, our calling.  This applies especially to Raymond and Grace surely. But also to each of the rest of us. We need to do all we can to preserve the unity of the Spirit by the peace that binds us together. And, for us who are Christian, we do this by continually remaining in the fire of love poured out upon us in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ our Lord. A love that moves us to continue caring and sharing. To continue being patient and kind. To continue allowing ourselves to be melted and moulded. To continue having our ego-boundaries blurred. Even long after the festivities and excitement of the wedding day have passed.

Melting and moulding brought on by fire. This is what we are gathered here to celebrate today. The welding together of human hearts. The bonding of separate lives. The joining of disconnected selves. Raymond and Grace, my dear friends, even as we rejoice in the marvellous love that has brought us together on this beautiful wedding day, what can we do to remain in its unifying and reconciling, its melting and moulding, fire in the days ahead?

4th Sunday in Easter (C)
Vocation Sunday
Shepherd & Stylist (Version 2)

Readings: Acts 13:14, 43-52; Psalms 100:1-2, 3, 5; Revelations 7:9, 14b-17; John 10:27-30

Picture: cc emrank

Dear sisters and brothers, do you have a regular hairstylist? How do you go about choosing one? The story is told of a tourist passing through a small town, who decided that he needed a haircut. After walking around a bit, he discovered that the town had only two barbers, each of whom ran his own shop. The two barbershops were located directly across the street from each other. As the tourist walked by, he saw that the shop on the left was very messy. There was hair all over the floor. And not only did the barber look extremely harassed, he also had a very bad haircut. The shop on the right, however, was just the opposite. The place was neat and the floor spotless. The barber looked really cheerful and relaxed. He also sported a very stylish looking hairdo. After observing all this, the tourist quickly made up his mind. He walked into the shop on the left. The messy one.

Sisters and brothers, why do you think he did that? If you were in his shoes, would you have done the same? To be honest, I would probably have gone into the other shop instead. And the reason is that, in making my decision, I would have been listening to a voice in my head telling me that a good barber should have a cool haircut and a clean shop. But our tourist was listening to some other voice. One that told him something different. For one thing, if the barber on the left looked harassed and his shop was dirty, it might well be because he had many customers. Which would be, of course, a sign that he did good work. Also, assuming that barbers don’t cut their own hair, and bearing in mind that there were only two barbers in town, it was very likely that these men cut each other’s hair. Which meant that their hairstyles were an indication not of their own skills, but those of their competitor’s.

All of which goes to show that when you are choosing a barber, it’s very important to examine your assumptions. To pay careful attention to the voices you are listening to in making your choice. And if this is true of choosing someone to style your hair, isn’t it even more true if you are choosing someone to shape your life? Today, perhaps more than ever before, many of us enjoy a wide range of lifestyle choices. But how do we going about making up our minds? What voices do we listen to? Which life-stylist do we end up choosing?

These are among the questions that our readings invite us to ask ourselves on this Vocation Sunday. For what is Jesus doing in the gospel today, if not presenting himself to us as the best life-stylist we can ever hope to have? Even more than a comfortable lifestyle, to all who choose to follow him, to all who allow him to shepherd them, Jesus promises nothing less than eternal life. He promises that those who follow him will never be lost. This, of course, sounds very attractive. But there is also something  deeply shocking. Even more shocking perhaps than a good hairstylist sporting a very bad haircut.

What image comes to your mind when you think of a good shepherd? For the people of Jesus’ time, shepherd was a word that they used to refer to their king. And the greatest of all their kings was, of course, David, who though he was small in size, proved himself strong enough to slay the fearsome giant, Goliath. For the Jews, to be a shepherd was to be a great king. A mighty warrior. But look at the image given to us in the second reading today. Here, we find ourselves in the throne room of a great king. A shepherd who will lead us to springs of living water. Someone through whom God will wipe away all tears from our eyes. But notice also what this shepherd king looks like. Even more shocking than a messy barber with a bad haircut, here we find a shepherd who has become a sheep. And not just any sheep, but a lamb – the weakest and smallest of sheep. And not just any lamb, but a lamb that has been slain. Whose blood has been shed for the life of his sheep. If this image doesn’t unsettle us, it’s probably because we have grown too familiar with it. We’ve forgotten what it means to follow a shepherd who is also a slaughtered lamb.

Which is why the experiences of Paul and Barnabas in the first reading are so helpful. They show us that to follow this shepherd, who is also a lamb, we the sheep must be willing to become shepherds ourselves. For it is as shepherds that Paul and Barnabas travel from place to place, proclaiming the Good News to all. The first reading also reminds us that those who adopt this lifestyle will have to face and to accept trials. Even  persecutions. Although Paul and Barnabas succeed in inspiring many to accept Jesus, their popularity incites jealousy and anger. Resulting in their being expelled from the city.

But if this lifestyle is so shockingly unattractive, how do we bring ourselves to choose it? Like that tourist looking for a haircut, the choice we end up making depends upon the voices that we pay attention to. In our world today, there are many voices that tell us how foolish it is to follow the Good Shepherd. Consider, for example, the voice of consumerism. Without our realising it, this voice often leads us to assume that happiness is measured only by the things we own. Or by the status we attain in society. If you live in public housing, work towards owning private property. If you have a Toyota, work for a Lexus. If you have a Timex, work for a Rolex. In contrast, in the gospel, Jesus says: the sheep that belong to me listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me. And this voice of the Good Shepherd speaks to us not of constant consumption but of care and compassion. The same care that made Paul and Barnabas such courageous shepherds. The same compassion that turned Jesus into the Lamb of God. The one slain for our salvation.

Sisters and brothers, today is Vocations Sunday. The day when we pray especially for more good vocations to the priesthood and the religious life. And that is, of course, a very praiseworthy thing to do. But isn’t it true that, as much as we may pray for others to find their vocations, we also need to remember that each of us has a vocation of our own? The word vocation comes from the Latin vocare, which means to call. And it is not just priests and religious who are called. Rather, whether we are married or single, young or old, male or female, by the very fact of our baptism, we are all called to heed the voice of the Good Shepherd. The same voice that continually speaks to us of the importance of care and compassion. The voice that constantly challenges us to reach out and to shepherd others. Especially those most in need of our help.

Sisters and brothers, on this Vocations Sunday, whose voice are we hearing? Which life-stylist are we choosing today?

3rd Sunday of Easter
Focus Amidst Distraction

Readings: Acts 5:27-32,40-41; Psalm 29:2,4-6,11-13; Apocalypse 5:11-14; John 21:1-19

Picture: cc ]babi]

Sisters and brothers, have you noticed how the students of today seem to have the uncanny ability to focus even while being subjected  to great distraction? What am I talking about? Well, if you were to visit certain crowded cafés or fast food restaurants around the island–like that Starbucks next to Coronation Plaza, for example–you’ll probably see many students studying there. And some of these students may even be found wearing headphones. Little speakers connected to devices playing music so loud it can be heard even by innocent bystanders. Now, if a concerned parent were to enter such a café, s/he might be excused for quickly jumping to the conclusion that these kids are doing nothing more than just distracting themselves. Rather than truly studying. How can it be possible to do any serious work in the midst of all that noise?

And yet, that’s exactly what these students are doing. Or at least appear to be doing. Instead of being distracted by the noise, or the loud music, they seem to be able to remain focused on the task at hand. To somehow tune out the noise and tune in to the homework. Of course, a bystander can’t really say for sure whether the student is actually studying or just having a good time. It’s hard to determine, there and then, exactly how much work is actually being done. But there does come a time when the truth finally comes to light, doesn’t it? A day of reckoning, as they call it. Isn’t this what tests and examinations are meant to be? Ways to demonstrate how much has actually been learned. Means to discover whether a student has truly been able to focus even in the midst of distraction.

The ability to remain focused even in the midst of distraction. Isn’t this also precisely what we find in our Mass readings today? In the gospel, for example, it’s not too difficult for us to imagine what might be going on in the minds and hearts of Peter and his friends at the beginning of the reading. Which is a continuation from the one we heard last Sunday. As you will recall, in last week’s reading, the risen Christ had given the disciples something to do: Peace be with you, he said. As the Father sent me, so am I sending you. The disciples had been sent on a mission. So it’s not unreasonable for us to suppose that what is being described for us in today’s gospel is no ordinary fishing trip. It’s not too farfetched for us to think that the reading is actually telling us how Peter and his friends went about trying to fulfil the task Jesus had given them last week. It’s quite possible that their whole fishing expedition is actually a mission trip. It isn’t really fish they are trying to catch, but people.

Which would make it all the more discouraging and disappointing for them to have worked hard all night and caught nothing. Not a single thing. What failures they must feel themselves to be. Unable to make any headway in the task given to them by the Lord. Very likely, they would be plagued by all kinds of doubts. Doubts about themselves. About their own abilities and worthiness. And perhaps even doubts about Jesus, and the mission he had given to them. In other words, even if it may be very quiet on their boat as they return from their failed fishing/mission trip, it’s very likely that the disciples' minds and hearts are filled with all kinds of distracting noises. Those troublesome interior voices that are all too familiar to those of us who have ever experienced failure and disappointment.

And yet, a remarkable thing happens. Even while being subjected to this painfully distracting interior noise, the disciples are still able to hear and to obey the voice of Jesus. In the midst of their confusion, they are able to focus on the enlightening voice of Jesus, telling them exactly what they need to do to transform their failure into fruitfulness. Throw the net out to starboard and you will find something. Even more important, in the midst of their disappointment, the disciples are able to hear the encouraging voice of Jesus, continuing to call them his friends. Have you caught nothing friends? And, in the midst of their tiredness, they’re able to hear the caring and compassionate voice of the Lord, inviting them to a meal that he himself has prepared for them. Come and have breakfast. Like students studying in a noisy café, the disciples are somehow able to tune out their doubts and to tune in to the voice of the Lord. They are able to remain focused even in the midst of great distraction.

And this is true not just of the gospel, but also of each of the other two readings as well. In both the first and second readings, we find disciples being subjected to the distracting noises that come with persecution. In the first reading, the chief priest fills the air with loud and intimidating demands. We gave you a formal warning, he says, not to preach in this name. And yet, in the midst of this distracting noise, Peter and the other apostles are somehow able to remain focused on the task at hand. Boldly they tell the chief priest that obedience to God comes before obedience to men. And, even after having been flogged, they continue to remain focused on the mission received from the Lord. The mission to bear witness to Christ.

Which is also what John continues to do in the second reading. Despite having been imprisoned on the island of Patmos, John does not let his exile distract him from his mission. Instead of allowing himself to give in to the interior noises of loneliness and self-pity, of discouragement and despair, John remains so focused on his mission that he receives a powerful vision. He hears the heavenly hosts singing the praises of God. And not only does he hear their voices, he is also drawn into their song. Like the disciples in the first reading, John is able to praise God even while undergoing persecution. And this ability to praise God for the honour of suffering humiliation for the sake of the name is a sure sign that the disciples are truly remaining focused on Christ even in the midst of great distraction.

Focus in the midst of distraction. This is what we find in our readings today. Focus in times of failure. Focus in times of persecution. Focus while going through the normal routine of daily living. Focus when the day of reckoning finally arrives. Focus on Christ. Leading to fruitfulness in mission. And isn’t this something that we modern-day Christians need very much as well? We who live in a media-saturated world. A world filled with all manner of distractions. Distractions that come with success, as much as with failure. Distractions that come with being blessed with plenty, as much as with being stricken by poverty. Distractions arising from enjoyment, as much as from deprivation. Distractions that often prevent us from living more fully, from fulfilling more deeply, the mission that we have each received at our Baptism and Confirmation. The mission that we will recall and receive anew at the end of this Mass, when we will hear the words, go and announce the gospel of the Lord. The mission to continue bearing witness to the love of God poured out for us in the Dying and Rising of Jesus Christ the Son.

Sisters and brothers, in the midst of the many distractions in our everyday lives, how can we remain focused on the Lord today?

2nd Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday)
Finding Our Phone Booth

Readings: Acts 5:12-16; Psalm 117:2-4,22-27; Apocalypse 1:9-13,17-19; John 20:19-31

Picture: cc Anna Majkowska

Sisters and brothers, have you noticed how difficult it is these days to find a public phone booth? When was the last time you saw one? I don’t think I remember. Phone booths are indeed becoming very rare. And yet few, if any, of us really miss them, right? After all, everybody has their own cellphone now. No one really needs to use a public phone anymore, let alone a phone booth. In the real world, phone booths have become quite unnecessary.

But this is not quite the case in the world of comic book superheroes. I’m thinking, of course, of Superman. We may remember the place where Clark Kent–the gentle, mild mannered and bespectacled reporter–usually changes into his alter-ego. The amazing Man-of-Steel. Able to leap tall buildings at a single bound. We all know that, in the comic books, this incredible transformation often takes place in a phone booth. So that although they may be disappearing in the real world, phone booths still have an important role to play in the world of superheroes. For here phone booths are the privileged places where the ordinary is transformed into the extraordinary. Where weakness is changed into strength.

And what is true of the world of superheroes is also true in the life of the spirit as well. Now there is, of course, no mention of phone booths in our readings today. But we do find people acting very much like superheroes. Consider what we are told, in the first reading, about Peter and the rest of the apostles. Notice how powerful they are. We’re told that they worked so many signs and wonders that people were laying their sick in the streets just so that the shadow of Peter might fall upon them and heal them! People even travelled to Jerusalem from the neighbouring towns bringing their sick, and those tormented by unclean spirits. And all of them were cured. Just imagine the incredible superpowers the apostles wielded!

And yet, we know that the apostles were not always so powerful. They were not always so brave and so strong. There was a time when they were very fearful and very weak. How then did they become such superheroes? Like Superman, did they also have some kind of phone booth? Some special spiritual place where they could exchange their weakness for strength?

The answer is found in our other two readings for today. As we said earlier, there is no mention of phone booths in either of these readings. In fact, in each of them, the action seems to take place in very different locations. In the gospel, the disciples are all cooped up in the confined space of a room with locked doors. While, in the second reading, St. John finds himself exiled on the island of Patmos. A locked room on the one hand, and an island of exile on the other. Two locations that seem as different as night and day. And yet, something very similar happens in these apparently dissimilar places.

In the locked room, fearful disciples are given peace and joy and even a new mission. Peace be with you, as the Father sent me, so am I sending you… In the locked room, a disciple paralysed by doubts receives the precious gift of Resurrection faith. Doubt no longer, but believe… Courage and assurance. Joy and new purpose. Aren’t these also the things that the apostle John receives on Patmos? In his isolation and suffering, John somehow finds strength to undertake a new mission. Do not be afraid, he is told, write down all that you see…

Sisters and brothers, although the locked room and the island of exile are very different physical locations, they are really the same spiritual place. They are the same because the same amazing thing occurs in each of them. Like Superman’s phone booth, these are the places where the ordinary is transformed into the extraordinary. Where the weak are given new strength. And it’s very helpful for us to consider how this happens. It happens when ordinary disciples come together in their helplessness and vulnerability. It happens when friends gather to remember how they have been bound together into one body by the Lord Jesus, who made himself weak for their sake. Jesus, who humbled himself even to the point of accepting death. And who was raised to life on the third day.

This is obviously what the disciples are doing in the their locked room. This is obviously what Thomas is doing, even as he struggles with his doubts. And isn’t this also what John is doing even while exiled on Patmos? He writes to his community in these words: Through our union in Jesus I am your brother and share your sufferings, your kingdom, and all you endure. Even though John is separated from his friends, he is able to remember that he isn’t really on his own. Even though he cannot be present to his community in person, he gathers with them in spirit. In the spirit of Christ. And then, somehow, in the gathering and in the remembering, the Crucified and Risen One comes among the disciples. Whether they are in a locked room or on a deserted island, Jesus comes to them. Calming them with his peace. Cheering them with his joy. Commissioning them to continue the powerful work that Jesus himself did when he walked the face of this earth.

Sisters and brothers, isn’t this also what we are doing here today? Today, we gather in this church and around this altar, not as perfect and sinless people. Not as strong and powerful people. Not as people without doubts and hangups. If we are honest with ourselves, we will acknowledge that we each have our fair share of all these things. And yet, it is in our acknowledgement of our weaknesses, in the sight of God and in the presence of one another, that we are given new strength. Strength not just for ourselves, but also for those who may need our help. As we gather and as we remember our Crucified and Risen Lord, both as individuals and as a community, we find ourselves transformed into bearers of his peace and joy, his mercy and his healing to a waiting world. But in order for us to do this, we must seek out and find that privileged spiritual place within ourselves. The place that seems to be more and more difficult to find out in the real world. That special spiritual place where helplessness can be exchanged for power. Where weakness can be transformed into strength.

Sisters and brothers, on this 2nd Sunday of Easter, on this day when we celebrate the Divine Mercy, where and how will you find your phone booth today?

Easter Sunday (Mass During the Day)
Correct Thou My Vision

Readings: Acts 10:34,37-43; Psalm 117:1-2,16-17,22-23; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9

Picture: cc phr3qu3ncy

Sisters and brothers, have you ever had the experience of having your vision corrected? A week or so ago, I went for a routine medical check-up. And, at one point, the doctor made me stand against one wall of his clinic and look at an alphabet chart on the opposite wall. Take off your glasses, he said. And tell me what you see. I followed his instructions and, as might be expected, I could see nothing. Or rather, I could see something. But it was all a blur. It was only after I had put my glasses back on that everything became clear again. The experience was a timely reminder for me of how dependent I am on my lenses. Without them, the world is but a blur. Without them, I can’t see clearly at all.

I’m well aware, of course, that not all of us here need glasses or contact lenses. And yet, doesn’t the eye itself contain a lens, without which, we would all be unable to see clearly? Whether we realise or care to admit it or not, without proper lenses, all of us would suffer from blurred vision.

All of which may help us to understand a little better, what is happening in our Mass readings today. In the gospel, we’re told that, early on Sunday morning, three disciples of Jesus arrive at his tomb and find it empty. But, what’s perhaps even more important, while at the tomb, something happens to Mary and Peter and the unnamed disciple whom Jesus loved. Something momentous. To better appreciate what happens to them, we need to pay close attention to what they see. When Mary first arrives at the tomb, she sees what looks like a crime scene. Someone has shifted the stone from the entrance and stolen the Lord’s body. It’s reasonable for us to assume that this is also what Peter and the beloved disciple see at first. Mary has summoned them to what looks like the scene of a crime.

And yet, by the end of the reading, the scene has shifted quite dramatically. At least for two of them. On entering the tomb, and observing the neatly arranged burial cloths, Peter and the beloved disciple begin to see things differently. They start to realise that the empty tomb is not really the scene of a crime, but a sign that something truly extraordinary has happened. They begin to understand the teaching of scripture that Jesus must rise from the dead. And, in understanding this teaching, their vision is corrected by the lens of the Lord’s Resurrection. Their blurred image of the world becomes clear for the first time. What initially looks like the scene of a crime is transformed into the source of New Life. The tomb becomes a womb.

This experience of having one’s vision corrected is not limited to a single occurrence at the empty tomb. In the first reading, from the Acts of the Apostles, something similar happens to Peter yet again. To appreciate what’s happening, it’s helpful to recall that Peter is sharing the Good News with Cornelius, a gentile. And he is doing this in Cornelius’ own home. The home of a gentile. How, we may wonder, does Peter–himself a Jew–come to be in the house of someone whom the Jews considered unclean? Is Peter not afraid of being defiled?

Peter is able to visit Cornelius only because the Lord has shown Peter that God does not have favourites. But that the message of the Resurrection is meant for all. Jew and gentile alike. Somehow Peter has had his vision corrected. Seen through the blurry eyes of the Law, the house of Cornelius is nothing but a place of defilement. But seen through the lens of Resurrection faith, the place is transformed for Peter, into a privileged opportunity for sharing the Good News. As much in the first reading as in the gospel, Peter’s vision is corrected. His blurred image of reality is clarified for him.

These examples of how the lens of Resurrection faith corrects the disciples’ blurred perceptions of reality may help us to understand better what is written in the second reading. Here, we’re told to let our thoughts be on heavenly things, not on the things that are on the earth. Surely, this does not mean that we should go around continually gazing up at the sky. Otherwise, how would we be able to see where we were going? What it does mean is that we should be looking at earthly things always only through the heavenly lenses of the Lord’s Death and Resurrection. So that our sight, which is so prone to becoming blurry, can constantly be corrected. So that, in all things, we may truly enjoy clarity of vision.

Isn’t this also what our new pope, Francis I, has been doing since he was elected? By choosing, for example, to celebrate the Mass of the Lord’s Passion in a juvenile detention centre. By washing the feet of the young inmates there, including those of Muslims and of women. What was the Pope doing, if not providing the world with a lens with which to correct its vision? A lens with which to see more clearly. A divine lens provided by the very Mystery that we are celebrating so solemnly and so joyously today. The Mystery of the Death and Resurrection of the Lord.

And isn’t this what we continue to need more than ever today. Today, when it remains so very tempting to see the world only through the lenses of competition and suspicion and resentment. Of technological efficiency and economic gain and political expedience. Today, when many of us continue to discriminate against one another solely on the basis of race or religion. Of financial means or social status. Of gender or physical and mental ability. Today, more than ever, we need to have our blurred images of reality clarified by the Dying and Rising of Christ. For this is the corrective lens through which we can see ourselves and our world more sharply. This is the Lord’s Easter gift to His Church. A gift that we are all called to use wisely and to share generously with others.

Sisters and brothers, on this joyous Easter morning, how might we better allow our Crucified and Risen Lord to correct our vision today?

Good Friday
Ecce Homo

Readings: Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Psalm 30:2,6,12-13,15-17,25; Hebrews 4:14-16,5:7-9; John 18:1-19:42

The power of love is a curious thing.

Make a one man weep, make another man sing.

Change a hawk to a little white dove.

More than a feeling that's the power of love...  

Sisters and brothers, I think at least some of you will recognise these words. They are the opening lines to the song featured in the movie Back to the Future, and popularised by Huey Lewis and the News. The song is entitled The Power of Love. Strange as it may seem, I think this secular song can actually help us ponder more deeply upon the significance of something that our liturgy exhorts us to do today.

As you may already have noticed, in our readings and prayers today, there is a significant emphasis on the act of seeing. The first reading begins with the words, see my servant... And it continues by saying that even kings shall see something never told and witness something never heard before. In the gospel, after he has had Jesus flogged, Pontius Pilate presents him to the people with the words, here is the man! In the Latin translation, the words are ecce homo! Behold the man! Look at him! A little later in our liturgy, as we unveil and venerate the cross, we will be chanting these words: Behold the wood of the cross, on which hung the salvation of the world. See! Behold! Look! Pay attention! This is what our liturgy is encouraging us to do today. But what exactly are we supposed to be looking at?

On the surface, it seems that Jesus dies a failure. Even a sinner. And he dies so painfully. So shamefully. An executed criminal. Is this all that we are being asked to look at? If not, then what else? The first reading provides us with an answer by posing to us this question: to whom has the power of the Lord been revealed? The power of the Lord, sisters and brothers. This is what we are being asked to look at today. The power of the Lord. Which is the power of love. A love that leads Jesus, the eternal only-begotten Son of God, to allow himself to be tormented and tortured. Convicted falsely and cruelly crucified. All for love of us. Of you and of me. Today, sisters and brothers, our liturgy tells us not to turn away. Not to be distracted. But to pay close attention. To see more deeply. To behold, hanging on the wood of the cross, Jesus our supreme high priest, who was tempted in every way that we are, though he is without sin. To look at him, remembering that ours were the sufferings he bore, ours the sorrows he carried.

And why, sisters and brothers, should we focus our eyes on this painful sight, if not because, we too wish to experience something of this power? Something of the power of the Lord. Something of the power of love. A power that brings liberty to captives, healing to the afflicted, joy and hope to the depressed and despairing. A power that can move us to forgive those we may have long resented. To reach out to those we may be guilty of neglecting. To share Jesus with those who have yet to meet him. Who have yet to experience the power of his love.

Sisters and brothers:
The power of love is a curious thing.

Make a one man weep, make another man sing.

Change a hawk to a little white dove.

More than a feeling that's the power of love.

As we continue to gaze upon our crucified Lord, how might we allow this power to transform us today?

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion (C)
Making an Airport of an Auditorium

Readings: Isaiah 50:4-7; Psalm 21:8-9,17-20,23-24; Philippians 2:6-11; Luke 22:14-23:56

Picture: cc Matthias Rhomberg

Sisters and brothers, do you know the difference between an auditorium and an airport? Of course you do! An auditorium is usually a destination in itself. We go there to attend a function, or to listen to a talk, or to watch a performance. And then we leave. In contrast, an airport is not really meant to be a a final destination, a place of rest, but a point of transit. We go there in order to allow ourselves to be transported somewhere else.

And yet, we also know that it is sometimes possible for us to enter an auditorium and be transported in some way. For example, when we listen carefully, with open minds and hearts, to an inspiring speech, or a moving musical performance. Then, even though our bodies remain rooted in our seats, we may find our spirits somehow being lifted up high into the heavens. If the performance is good enough, if our attention is close enough, if our hearts are open enough, an auditorium can sometimes be transformed for us into an airport.

Can we not say the same about Jerusalem, the holy city where all the action is taking place in our readings today? Jerusalem. At one level, this seems to be the destination, the end-point, towards which Jesus has been travelling. He enters it on Palm Sunday, enjoying a king’s welcome. And he is driven out of it on Good Friday, bearing a criminal’s cross. Jerusalem. At first glance, this is nothing more than an auditorium, in which the ugly spectacle of the killing of an innocent man is performed for all to see. Jerusalem. For many, this was simply a destination like any other. A place to visit. And then to leave. An auditorium. This was what Jerusalem was for the chief priests and the scribes. Whose jealousy and self-righteousness led them to engineer a plan to have Jesus put to death. And for Pilate and Herod too. Whose apathy and moral cowardice were what enabled the plan to succeed. And also for the many disciples of Jesus. Who had welcomed him so enthusiastically on Palm Sunday. But then deserted him so shamefully on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. For all of these people, Jerusalem remained only an auditorium. A place to visit. And then to leave. Nothing more.

But, if our Mass readings are to be believed. Things were quite different for Jesus. For Jesus, Jerusalem was not so much a destination as a point of transit. For, as St. Paul reminds us in the second reading, it was as a result of Jesus’ visit to Jerusalem, that God raised him high and gave him a name that is above all other names. And this happened not unlike how an auditorium is sometimes transformed into an airport. It happened because Jesus listened attentively, open-heartedly, generously to the will of his Father. As the first and second readings tell us, Jesus listened like a disciple. And what he heard, he put into practice. For love of his Father and for us, he made no resistance. He emptied himself. Even to accepting death on a cross. This was how Jerusalem was transformed for him. Although it may appear to some like a final destination, Jerusalem was really a point of transit. It was here that Jesus was lifted up into the glory of God.

But that’s not all. The gospel draws our attention also to several other people who managed to benefit from the experience of Jesus. People who found themselves transported in some way. The repentant criminal, for example. Whose humility won him an eternal reward. Indeed, I promise you, Jesus tells him, today you will be with me in paradise. Or the centurion at the foot of the cross. After seeing how Jesus dies, this soldier is able to praise God saying, This was a great and good man. Or the people who had gathered for the spectacle. So affected were they that they went home beating their breasts. Unlike the Jewish and Roman authorities, whose hardened hearts kept them transfixed in their own prejudice and sin, these other people found themselves transported into a new experience of God’s mercy and compassion. For them, Jerusalem was no longer just an auditorium, but an airport. A point of departure into God’s loving embrace.

How did this happen to them, sisters and brothers, if not through their willingness to watch and to listen, with attentive ears, and open hearts, and generous hands? And if this is true of these people in the gospel, surely it can be true too of us. Today, as we begin this most solemn and sacred of weeks in the Church’s calendar, it is too easy for us simply to go through the motions. To enter and to exit Holy Week as we would any other destination. And yet it doesn’t have to be this way. In the course of this week, it is also possible for us to be transported in some way. If we allow ourselves to pay careful attention to all that Jesus is saying and doing. To all that he is allowing others to do to him. If we watch and pray and accompany our Lord as he goes to his Passion. Surely, Holy Week will be transformed for us from a mere place of rest into a true point of departure. A place where we will find ourselves lifted up, as Jesus was, into the loving arms of God.

Sisters and brothers, how may we better allow the Lord to transform our auditorium into an airport today?