Monday, December 25, 2017

Do You Have Wifi?

Christmas Day–Mass During the Day

Video: Andrew Lua

My dear friends, have you ever come across that commercial for data roaming services that used to be screened in our local movie theatres? In it, a Singaporean tourist enters what looks like a small eatery in Hong Kong, and says to the woman at the counter, Hi, do you have wifi? She immediately turns toward the back of the restaurant and yells, Wai Fai! A big tall guy in a white chef’s coat appears, wiping sweat off his face with the towel around his neck. The tourist asks him, Wifi? … Do you have wifi password? He nods his head, and says in Cantonese, Hai, ah. Meh si, ah? (Yes. What’s the matter?) The Singaporean repeats his question. More slowly this time. Trying to put on a Cantonese accent. Do… you… have… wifi, ah? The chef thinks for a moment, smiles broadly, nods vigorously, and exclaims, Wai Fai! Wai Fai! Then, he says in Cantonese, pointing to himself, Ngor me hai Wong Wai Fai, lor? (I am Wong Wai Fai!)

I must confess, sisters and brothers, that I like this commercial very much. And not just because it makes me laugh out loud. Although that helps. I like it also because, even though the situation depicted is obviously exaggerated, it’s quite easy to identify with the tourist’s frantic search for a wifi connection. Probably anyone of us who has ever travelled abroad without a data roaming plan knows what that feels like, right? The burning desire to connect? But that’s not all. Beyond the obvious humour, there’s also some irony in the commercial too. Do you see it?

The humour comes, of course, from the tourist’s frustrated desire for cyber connectivity. And yet, frustrated though the tourist may be, doesn’t the situation also present him with an opportunity to connect in a different way? In place of the wifi hotspot that he is seeking, the tourist is presented with a chance to connect instead with Wong Wai Fai, the Hong Kong chef. Will the foreigner take advantage of this opportunity? For example, by introducing himself in return? And perhaps even by sitting down for a meal, or a drink? Or will he simply move on to the next shop? Ironically allowing his ongoing search for cyber connectivity to prevent him from connecting with the real person before him?

The yearning, frustration, and irony of making connections. Isn’t this also what we find in our Mass readings on this Christmas Day? The first reading is addressed to a people in Exile. Far away from home. A people who, for a very long time, have been frantically seeking to connect. Not just with a wifi hotspot. But with their God. And, in the reading, God finally answers their prayers by making them a very consoling promise. A promise of salvation and redemption. A promise that is partially fulfilled when the people are finally brought back to their homeland. When they eventually return from Exile. But this promise, made in the first reading, actually goes beyond the return from Exile. For the prophet speaks also of a time when the people will be able to see the Lord face to face…

For us who are Christian, the fulfilment of this promise takes place finally in the coming of Christ at Christmas. When the Word was made flesh. When, having spoken so often in the past only through prophets, God finally speaks to us through his Son. In whom we are given the chance to see and connect with the invisible God face to face. And to realise that even more than our yearning to connect with God, God too yearns to connect with us. Isn’t it true that, at Christmas, what we celebrate is the incredible opportunity to experience a real personal connection with the One whom we believe created the whole universe out of nothing. And yet, who loves and cares for us so much, as to speak to us through Christ, the only begotten Son.

But that’s not all. In addition to the deep yearning for connection, and the promise of fulfilment, like that commercial, we also find in our readings today frustration and irony. Frustration on the part of the people, as well as on the part of God. For the gospel reminds us that, although the Word was in the world that had its being through him… the world did not know him. Although he came to his own domain… his own people did not accept him. Ironically, some of the people eagerly awaiting the fulfilment of God’s promise, rejected it when it finally arrived. Some of the people who were frantically searching for connection with God, did not recognise the opportunity when it presented itself.

And, let’s face it, sisters and brothers, much as we may wish to deny it, it’s actually not all that difficult to see how this could happen. To appreciate how it might be possible to fail to connect with God, even when God appears to us face to face. For it’s likely that many people in Jesus’ day were awaiting a mighty warrior, with power to conquer the Roman army. As a result, they failed to take notice of the helpless infant. Who came first to melt hardened hearts, in order to give them power to become children of God. Isn’t this situation not unlike that of the tourist, whose search for cyber connectivity ironically blinds him to the chance of connecting with a real person?

And isn’t this a danger that we face as well. We who remain constantly connected through our mobile devices. And yet find it difficult to have a single meaningful conversation with the closest members of our own family? Do we not run the risk of missing the chance of connecting with Christ, simply because we are preoccupied with so many other things? Even things like preparing for Christmas parties and liturgies. Putting up Christmas decorations. And exchanging Christmas presents.

If this is true, then what can we do about it? Perhaps what we need to do is simply to deepen our yearning. To take the opportunity, in this holiday season, to sit quietly with that longing that we so often experience within our hearts. The need we have to connect with others. And not be too quick to let it lead us to pick up our phones, or to turn to our computer screens, or to rush off to one activity or another. But to gaze first at the baby Jesus lying in the Manger. Allowing him to lead us to those places in our hearts where we need him most. To console us, and to encourage us. To heal us, and to strengthen us. And then to draw us to reach out to those others around us, who may also be yearning to experience meaningful connections.

My dear friends, Christmas is indeed a time to joyfully celebrate connections. Connection with our deeper selves. Connection with our needy neighbours. Connection with our loving God. But for this to happen, we need first to ask for the courage to do what that Singaporean tourist in the commercial is invited to do. To move from obsessing only about cyber connectivity to opening ourselves to true personal intimacy.

Sisters and brothers, what must we do to allow the baby Jesus to lead us from wifi to Wong Wai Fai today?

Sunday, December 24, 2017

All The World's A Stage...

4th Sunday of Advent (B)

Picture: cc David Ingram

My dear friends, if you had a choice, which would you rather be?  An actor or the playwright? We know, of course, the difference between the two, right? An actor performs a particular role in a play. But it is the writer who creates that role. The writer determines what a character says and does in order to move the story forward. Even though the actor may give it a truly unique interpretation, his or her part is simply to enact the role as it is written. The writer creates the role. The actor performs it. Enfleshes it. Translates it from page to stage. Brings it to life. So, my dear friends, if you had a choice, which would you rather be? An actor or the playwright? This is the question that, I believe, our readings pose to us on this 4th and final Sunday of Advent.

An actor or the playwright? This too is the question posed to King David in the first reading. We’re told that the Lord had given him rest from all the enemies surrounding him… But, perhaps because he has been constantly fighting battles for such a long time, David seems to find the sudden inactivity difficult to bear. He proposes to build God a house, a temple. Of course, by doing this, David shows that he is not an ungrateful person. He does not forget God when things are going well for him. And yet, we may wonder why the king is so eager to immerse himself in a massive construction project, just when God has finally given him a precious opportunity to rest. The script calls for his character to take a break. But the king prefers to remain fully occupied. So which is David trying to be? An actor or the playwright?

This is also the question that God then poses to David. By pointedly reminding the king, not so much of what he has done for God, but of what God has done for him. Notice God’s repeated use of the pronoun I. I took you from the pasture… I have been with you on all your expeditions… I have cut off all your enemies… I will give you fame… I will give them rest… the Lord will make you a House… What is God doing, sisters and brothers, if not inviting the king to recognise that it is God who is the actual Playwright? It is God who has been writing the script. It is God who decides how the story goes. The king’s part is simply to be content with being an actor. To be happy playing the role that God is writing for him. For the benefit of all God’s people.

An actor or the playwright? Isn’t this also the question posed to Mary in the gospel? When the angel Gabriel appears to her with that very unsettling message, Mary actually already has a role to play. We’re told that she is betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David. A role given her by the traditions of her people. A role that requires her to be a wife to her husband, and a mother to their children. And yet, the Annunciation seeks to change that. Although she will remain wife to Joseph, Mary is asked to also become Spouse of the Holy Spirit. Mother of Christ. Mother of God. And, eventually, Mother of us all. Is she willing to accept this new role? Or will she cling stubbornly to the one she has already chosen? A difficult question to answer surely. Isn’t this why we are told that she was deeply disturbed? And yet, through open conversation with the angel, Mary receives the grace to obey. I am the handmaid of the Lord, let what you have said be done to me. I am only the actor… I humbly accept the role that the Divine Playwright is offering me to play…

An actor or the playwright? Isn’t this a question that life often poses to each of us? In the many decisions that we have to make everyday? More major decisions like, what career or vocation to choose. Whether, when and whom to marry. Where to live. How many children to have… As well as more routine ones like what to eat, and what to wear. When to work, and when to rest… And don’t the answers to all these questions depend on the role we have each chosen to play? The question is who determines this role? Who is writing the script that we are performing?

In this modern society of ours, we are each taught to value individual autonomy. To strive to become the writer of our own story. To be free to decide what I to do with my own life. Which, in itself, is perhaps not a bad thing. And yet, isn’t it true that so many of us do not know what to do with this freedom, even when we have attained it? We do not know how to choose well. What to do with our time. How to spend our money. Ironically, in striving to write our own stories, without realising it, we often unwittingly end up playing roles that are imposed upon us. Causing pain and conflict and division. Roles like compulsive worker, and obsessive shopperClimber of corporate ladders, and slave to mobile devicesIgnorer of the poor (including the neglected members of my own family), and polluter of the environment… In our anxious striving to be the carefree writers of our own respective destinies, don’t we often end up like those crowds in the gospels, over whom Jesus was moved to compassion? Harassed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd (Mt 9:36)?

But if it is true that we are meant to be actors and not playwrights, then where do we find the script from which to act? What is the particular role that we are each called to play? The one that might lead us to true freedom, instead of another form of oppression? We find the answer in the second reading. Glory to him who is able to give you the strength to live according to the Good News I preach, and in which I proclaim Jesus Christ…

The Good News, my dear friends, is Jesus Christ. In his Birth in a stable as a helpless infant. In his Dying on the Cross as a condemned criminal. In his Rising to new life as our saviour and friend. In the person of Jesus, we find the Script that the Divine Playwright has written for each of us to enact. The Role that God has specially crafted for us to play. Each of us in his or her own unique way. Translating what we find in the dusty pages of the Bible into the messy realities of daily living. Allowing God’s Word to become flesh in and among us. And, in so doing, becoming truly free. Isn’t this what we celebrate at Christmas? The Mystery of the Incarnation? Isn’t this the precious gift that Advent prepares us to receive? By calling us to repent of our sinfulness and self-absorption. Our arrogant attempts at being playwrights. In order that we may focus all our God-given talents on playing the Role that God has written for us in Christ Jesus.

My dear friends, as you know, William Shakespeare famously wrote that all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players… Although some may consider this a cause for sadness and lamentation. For us who are Christian, it is the incredible Good News for which we eagerly await in Advent. The revelation of a mystery kept secret for endless ages but now so clear that it must be broadcast… everywhere… to bring everyone to the obedience of faith.

An actor or the playwright?

Sisters and brothers, which of these are you trying to be today?

Sunday, December 17, 2017

Party Prep

3rd Sunday of Advent (B)

Picture: cc Prayitno

My dear friends, have you ever prepared to go to a party? A big celebration, where there will be much merrymaking and rejoicing? How do you prepare for something like that? Of course, different people do it differently. Requiring different lengths of time. Some longer than others… But still, however different the preparations, you can’t do without certain basic steps, right? Such as dressing up. Putting on clean clothes. Even brand new clothes. And, before the new clothes are put on, the old ones must first be taken off. And the person also takes a bath, or a shower… First there is a cleansing, then a clothing, and finally a celebrating. These are the basic steps for joining a party.

Cleansing, clothing and celebrating. These are also the basic steps for entering into the particular joy that is God’s gift to us at Christmas. The same joy that the season of Advent is meant to prepare us to enter. Cleansing, clothing and celebrating. We find similar steps in our Mass readings and prayers on this 3rd Sunday of Advent, or Gaudete Sunday. Have you noticed where these steps are found? Do you know what each one looks like?

Let us begin by considering the final step. The celebration for which we are preparing. What are the special characteristics of this mysterious joy that is God’s gift to us at Christmas? How is it different from others? The first characteristic is found in the Collect, or opening prayer, that we prayed earlier. Do you recall what we said? We asked God to enable us… to attain the joys of so great a salvation and to celebrate them always… To celebrate and rejoice not just today or tomorrow or at Christmas, but always. This is the first distinctive characteristic of Christian joy. Unlike other enjoyments, this one can be celebrated always. Isn’t this what we find in the 2nd reading too? Be happy at all times… and for all things give thanks to God… Rejoicing at all times, and for all things. This is, of course, easier said than done. Easy enough to rejoice in good times, and for happy things. But when times are bad? When things go wrong? When people hurt and curse us, misunderstand and betray us? How can we possibly be expected to celebrate? To rejoice? To be truly happy?

The answer is found in a phrase that keeps getting repeated in different forms in our readings today. In the first reading, the prophet exclaims: I exult for joy in the Lord, my soul rejoices in my God Similarly, in the response to the psalm, we sang, my soul rejoices in my God And, in the second reading, after telling the Thessalonians to be happy at all times, St Paul adds this line: because this is what God expects you to do in Christ Jesus. Why is it possible for the Christian to rejoice both in good times as well as in bad? Both for happy things as well as for sad? The reason is that Christian joy is found, not in the different times, or in the various things, themselves. But rather in the Lord. In our God. In Christ Jesus. For the times and things may change. Indeed, they often do. But the merciful love of the Lord endures forever.

Perhaps it’s not unlike how someone truly in love with his or her spouse, will happily follow him or her to a faraway place. To live among strange new people. To endure uncomfortable heat and humidity. As well as inconvenient surroundings. And to do all this happily, joyfully. Why? Simply because they are in love. They find their joy not in the place, or in the people. Not in the climate, or in the surroundings. But in the love they bear each other. Of course, there will still very likely be complaints and arguments. Fights and quarrels. But, if the love is true, the joy remains. The relationship survives and thrives. Even develops and grows.

The ability to rejoice always. At all times, and for all things. Simply because one rejoices neither in the shifting times nor in the changing things. But in the constant love of the Lord. This, my dear friends, is what the big party, the grand celebration, for which Advent prepares us, looks and feels like. And isn’t this something that we all desire for ourselves? The ability to remain joyful always? And yet, in order for us to receive this joy, to join this celebration, to be admitted to this party, we need first to dress up. To allow ourselves to be clothed in new garments. The same garments described in the first reading.

Here the prophet speaks of how God has called and chosen him, anointed and empowered him, for a special mission. To bring good news to the poor, to bind up hearts that are broken; to proclaim liberty to captives… And the more the prophet dedicates himself to this mission, the more he wraps it around himself like an overcoat, the more it gives his life clearer focus and deeper meaning. Enabling him to find true and lasting joy in the Lord. My soul rejoices in my God, for he has clothed me in the garments of salvation, he has wrapped me in the cloak of integrity. This is also the experience of John the Baptist. He too is tightly wrapped up in his mission. Firmly committed to his God-given identity as a witness to Christ’s coming. I am… a voice that cries in the wilderness: Make a straight way for the Lord…

In order to join the celebration, one must first allow oneself to be fully clothed in God’s mission. Seeking first, in all things, God’s kingdom and God’s righteousness. But before this clothing can take place, there must also be a cleansing. A stripping away of older garments. This can happen in various ways. One of which is the way of repentance that John the Baptist preached. The same way that we ourselves are walking in these days by participating in penitential services. By celebrating the sacrament of reconciliation. The letting go of sinful and selfish habits, in order to embrace a life of love and mercy, of justice and peace.

But there is also a second way. A way that John the Baptist himself walks in the gospel. This is how he appeared as a witness… Repeatedly, he is made to answer the same question: Who are you? Are you A or B or C? And if you’re not, then why are you doing what you’re doing? I’m not sure, my dear friends, but isn’t this intense questioning also a process of stripping? An opportunity to acknowledge and reject the various false identities that we often feel pressured to assume? Fake selves that society imposes on us? Telling us that we must be rich, or powerful, or successful, or popular, in order to be truly happy? And, in the process, keeping us from becoming the person that God wants each of us to be? From undertaking the mission entrusted to us? And don’t the trials of life often lead us to question our own purpose and direction? Trials that are difficult to endure. And yet, don’t these same trials present us with precious opportunities to strip off the false in order to embrace the true? To reject the fleeting in order to receive that which endures?

Cleansing, clothing and celebrating. These are the basic steps for entering into joy. My dear sisters and brothers, many of us go to great lengths to prepare ourselves for parties that last for several hours at most. Sometimes far less. What are we prepared to do to share in a joy that lasts for all eternity?

Sunday, December 10, 2017

Like Fish Out of Water

2nd Sunday of Advent (B)

Picture: cc las - initially

My dear friends, do you know what it’s like to be a fish out of water? To feel out of place? As though you simply do not belong?  It’s not a good feeling, right? Isn’t this why, for many of us, myself included, much of our lives is spent trying to fit in? Trying to make ourselves, and our families, feel more at home in this world? To blend in like a chameleon? Instead of sticking out like a sore thumb? And don’t we do this in many different ways? From childhood, through our teens, and even into our adult and twilight years? By feverishly accumulating likes and followers on social media… Or keeping up with the latest fashion trends… Or driving the right car… Or living in the right neighbourhood… Or going to the right schools…. Or mixing with the right friends… Or choosing the right hobbies… Aren’t these all attempts to fit in? And yet, have you noticed that, on this second Sunday of Advent, our readings are quite clearly drawing our attention precisely to the benefits of feeling out of place? Of being like fish out of water?

We see this by first noticing that in each of our readings there is an announcement of a significant event. The second reading calls it the Day of the Lord. Which it describes in terms that make it seem really frightening. Not only will this event arrive like a thief. An unwelcome shock. It will erupt with great ferocity. Like a much larger version of that fiery volcano in Bali. With a roar the sky will vanish, and the earth and all it contains will be burnt up. Everything is coming to an end. Certainly sounds terrifying, doesn’t it? At least it does to me.

And yet, quite incredibly, our other readings treat this announcement of God’s coming as a joyful message, a consolation. Console my people, console them… So begins the first reading. Shout with a loud voice, joyful messenger to Jerusalem…. Here is the Lord coming with power…. He is like a shepherd feeding his flock, gathering lambs in his arms… And notice too what we sang in the psalm just now. As well as what we heard in the gospel. The psalm describes God’s coming in terms of justice and mercy, and faithfulness and peace. And the gospel’s opening verse speaks of the beginning of the Good News about Jesus Christ… Consolation of people and feeding of sheep. The springing forth of faithfulness, and the experience of peace. The beginning of good news. Doesn’t all this sound wonderfully inviting?

So what do you think, sisters and brothers? Which of our readings are right? What exactly will the coming of the Lord be like? Will it be terrifying or consoling? A disaster or a joy? What do you think? The answer, of course, is yes to both. The Day of the Lord’s Coming will be both a terror and a consolation. Both a disaster and a joy. It will be a terror and a disaster to some people. And a consolation and a joy to others. But to whom will the Lord’s coming be a disaster? And to whom will it be a joy?

We find the answer to this question by considering the situation of those to whom the first reading is addressed. By recalling that this is a people in Exile in Babylon. Far away from home. A people who, for long years, have been feeling extremely out of place. Like fish out of water. A people who have been pining for their true home. It is to them that the message of the Lord’s Coming arrives as marvellous good news.

Similarly, in the second reading, we are told that the Day of God will bring with it the new heavens and the new earth, the place where righteousness will finally be at home. Which implies that the current heavens and the current earth, the place in which we are all now living, is a place where righteousness does not feel at home. And that it is to people who are in Exile. People far away  from home. People who continually feel out of place. Like fish out of water. Struggling to live righteous lives in an unrighteous world. It is to people such as this that the announcement of the Lord’s Coming is experienced as a consolation and a joy.

And, perhaps ironically, it is people such as this who take seriously the prophet’s call to prepare for the Lord’s coming. Who take the trouble to carve out time from their busy schedules to honestly examine their lives. To consider how they may have allowed themselves to become too comfortable in an unjust world. And even to make a trip into the wilderness to be washed by that crazy-looking man, who says such uncomfortable things. Expressing their commitment to continue living righteously in an unrighteous world. Even if it may make them feel even more out of place. Even more like they don’t belong. For, in truth, they are not meant to belong here. They are in Exile. Patiently awaiting and joyfully preparing for the second coming of Christ. The One in whom mercy and faithfulness have met; justice and peace have embraced. The One who, in Word and Sacrament, at this Mass and in daily life, baptises us not just with water, but with the powerful and inspiring presence of the Holy Spirit. Giving us the wisdom and the courage to do what is right.

In sharp contrast, it is the people who are preoccupied with making themselves ever more at home in this world. People concerned only with securing their own comfort. People who give no thought to the demands of righteousness and faithfulness, of justice and mercy and peace. It is people such as this, who are likely to greet the announcement of the Lord’s Coming with indifference or irritation. With boredom or disdain. People who see the seasons of Advent and Christmas either as a troublesome disruption, or as just another opportunity to continue business as usual. Another occasion to cosy up to a world where true love and peace and joy often find no room at the inn. Where many continue to suffer the painful effects of conflict and division, of inequality and discrimination.

Sisters and brothers, on this second Sunday of Advent, our readings offer us a joyful message. Marvellously good news. The coming of the Lord. The approach of faithfulness and mercy. Of justice and peace. The question is whether we have the correct disposition graciously to receive and generously to respond to this announcement. Or whether we will simply let it pass us by.

My dear friends, in a world where righteousness can find no true home, how willing are we to do whatever is necessary to continue being fish out of water today?

Saturday, December 02, 2017

Takes Two to Tango

1st Sunday of Advent (B)
(Day 3 of SFX Triduum)

My dear friends, do you dance? Can you tell me how many people it takes to dance? Well, it depends on the dance, right? For example, have you heard of something called Zumba? It’s a dance exercise that’s quite popular where I come from. Perhaps it’s popular here too. Although Zumba is more fun when done in a group, you could just as easily do it on your own. If you know the moves. But then there are also certain dances that require a partner. For example, haven’t we all heard the saying, it takes two to tango? However skilled a dancer you may be, you simply cannot do the tango alone. You need a partner. Someone able and willing to match your moves with his/her own. Unlike Zumba, the tango cannot be done on one’s own. And if you’re dancing on your own, then most likely it’s not the tango.

I mention this because the same can be said about the theme that we’ve chosen for our triduum in honour of St Francis Xavier. Like the tango, the dance of missionary discipleship simply cannot be done alone. Which is something that those of us who were here the last two nights may already have realised. As you may recall, we have been suggesting that there are 3 R’s to missionary discipleship. On Thursday we reflected on the first R. Do you still remember what it is? Receptivity and responsiveness. The ability graciously to receive and generously to respond to the call of Christ. And last night we considered the second R. Namely? … Recognition and resilience. The ability, in times of darkness, to see visions in the night. To recognise the encouraging signs of God’s enduring presence. And so to be resilient. To retain our proper shape as faithful followers of Christ.

Receptivity and responsiveness. Recognition and resilience. Notice how each of these qualities have to do with a partnership. We try to be receptive and responsive, only because we believe that there is Someone Else who is offering something to us. Someone Else who is calling out to us. And what we try to recognise are signs of the presence of Someone Else. Just as we try to remain resilient in following in the footsteps of Another. And that’s not all. More than that, as you may also have noticed, the qualities of receptivity and responsiveness, of recognition and resilience, are not things that we can attain on our own. They are gifts that we are begging God, in this triduum, to continue bestowing upon us. As individuals, as families, and as a parish community… To make us more receptive and responsive to God’s call. More able to recognise the signs of God’s presence. Ever more resilient in following Christ, even in dark times.

Like the tango, missionary discipleship is a dance that requires a partner. And not just any partner, but the Divine Partner. Our loving and merciful God. We see this even more clearly tonight, as our Mass readings and prayers for this 1st Sunday in Advent help us to reflect on the third R of missionary discipleship. Do you know what it is? We’ve actually already mentioned it earlier, in our Collect, or Opening Prayer. Do you remember what we prayed for? We asked almighty God to grant us the resolve to run forth to meet…Christ with righteous deeds at his coming… Resolve and righteousness. This is the third R, or the third movement, if you like, in the tango of missionary discipleship.

Resolve and righteousness. This is what we find in the first reading. Here, the prophet prays a prayer of invocation and repentance. He begins by begging God to tear the heavens open and come down! To return to God’s people. For the people feel that God has abandoned them. Has stopped dancing with them. And with good reason. For they have strayed from God’s ways. They have failed to tango with God. Choosing instead to dance with false gods. Which is why, along with the prayer of invocation, the prophet also says a prayer of repentance. He confesses his people’s sins. Their waywardness. And resolves, on their behalf, to turn back to God. To once again allow themselves to be guided and shaped by their loving Father. Like clay in the Potter’s hands.

And just as resolve and righteousness make up the substance of the prophet’s prayer in the first reading. So too are they what Paul is trying to evoke in the second reading, taken from the beginning of his first letter to the Corinthians. For, like the Israelites, the Corinthians too have strayed from God’s ways. Have fallen short of true righteousness. Have chosen to dance to their own beat. Later, in this same letter, Paul will call them to task for their failings. In particular, he will highlight their pride and self-absorption. Their abuse of the many gifts they have received from God. Using them to inflate their own egos, instead of building up God’s kingdom. Causing conflict and division, rather than peace and reconciliation.

But how does one resolve to return to righteousness? To come back to God? As those of us who have ever struggled to repent from habitual sin know only too well, this is no easy thing. We cannot do it on our own. We need God’s help. God’s grace. But we can prepare ourselves to receive this grace by doing what Paul is teaching the Corinthians to do in the reading. I never stop thanking God, he says, for all the graces you have received through Jesus Christ. By writing in this way, Paul is inviting the Corinthians to acknowledge that everything they have and everything they are has been generously and freely bestowed upon them by God. By leading the Corinthians to count their blessings in this way, Paul hopes to help them experience having their hearts stirred to deep gratitude. And, out of gratitude, to a firm resolve to centre their lives, no longer on themselves and their petty concerns, but instead on God and on God’s kingdom.

Resolve and righteousness. Isn’t this also what Jesus is talking about in the gospel? Isn’t this what he means when he encourages his disciples, encourages us, to stay awake? To remain alert? To live a righteous life, while awaiting his return. But how does one live a righteous life? What does it look like? The Lord’s parable helps us to understand. For we’re told that before the master leaves, he places his servants in charge, each with his own task. Which may prompt us to recall the exact tasks that Jesus leaves with us before he ascends into heaven. In particular, we may think of two important instructions: The Greatest Commandment and the so-called Great Commission. Do you remember what they are? You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength… You shall love your neighbour as yourself (Mk 12:30-31). Go… and make disciples of all nations… (Mt 28:19).

Are these not the tasks with which we are supposed to occupy ourselves until the Lord comes again? Each of us according to the particular gifts and talents we have received from God? Isn’t this our vocation? Isn’t it what should be at the centre of our lives as individuals, as families, and as a parish community? So that we might truly live no longer only for ourselves, but for him who died and was raised to life for us (cf 2 Cor 5:15). Who is present among us especially at this sacrifice of the Holy Eucharist.

Sisters and brothers, if it is indeed true that it takes two to do the tango of missionary discipleship, then what must we do to dance ever more closely, ever more intimately, with our Divine Partner today?

Friday, December 01, 2017

Visions in the Night

Memorial of Ss Edmund Campion, Robert Southwell, Priests
& Companions, Martyrs
(Day 2 of SFX Triduum)

Picture: cc Hartwig HKD

My dear friends, do you still remember what we talked about yesterday? As those of you who were here may recall, we suggested that, just as there are 3 R’s to environmental protection (Reduce, Reuse & Recycle), and 3 R’s to primary education (Reading, wRiting, & aRithmetic), there are also 3 R’s to missionary discipleship. And, yesterday, we talked about the first of these 3 R’s. Do you remember what it is? Yes, receptivity & responsiveness. The ability graciously to receive and generously to respond to the Call of Christ. This evening we want to reflect on the second R of missionary discipleship.

But first, let me again ask you a question. Which of these do you think you are, an optimist or a pessimist? Someone who sees a glass as half empty, or half full? Some of us may remember the story of the artist who painted a big black spot on a plain white canvas, and then showed it to some friends, asking them what they saw. As might be expected, everyone saw the black spot. To which the artist replied: But what about the white canvas? Don’t you see that too? As you know, this story is sometimes told to remind us not be pessimistic. Not to keep obsessing over black spots. But to be optimistic. To focus instead on the white canvas. Sounds like good advice, right? Since too much pessimism can lead to depression. And, in extreme cases, even to suicide.

And yet, haven’t we met people who are too optimistic? Who focus only the bright side of things, and ignore the darkness around them? We may imagine, for example, a family that refuses to acknowledge that one of its members has a problem with alcohol, or drugs, or gambling, or sex. So the addict does not receive the help that is needed. And the whole family suffers. The same can be said about citizens who ignore the injustices that may be taking place in their own country. Allowing these to continue unchallenged. Causing much harm. Extreme optimism can be just as destructive as excessive pessimism.

But if neither optimism nor pessimism is the way to go, then what other option do we have? For us, the answer is clear. The properly Christian alternative to optimism and pessimism is something we call hope. Which has at least two main ingredients. The first is the ability to recognise the light that endures even in the darkness. Which then leads to the second ingredient. The ability to remain resilient even in times of trouble. To be able, like a rubber ball, to keep one’s shape even after having been tightly squeezed. And to bounce back up again, even after being repeatedly knocked down. Recognition and resilience. This, my dear friends, is the second R of missionary discipleship. Something we find in our Mass readings today.

The first reading is set in a time of deep darkness for the people of Judah. They have been conquered by their enemies. Jerusalem, the Holy City, has been overrun. The Temple destroyed. Many of the people sent into exile in Babylon. Daniel is one of these exiles. Brought to Babylon as a young boy, he has been forced to serve in the court of the king. Where he struggles to remain faithful to the commandments of God, while living among a gentile people. How does he stay so heroically resilient? How does he steadfastly keep his shape as an observant Jew?

The first reading tells us how. He does it not by being optimistic. Not by ignoring the darkness. But rather, by actually gazing steadily and courageously into it, while crying out to God. As a result, his prayer is heard. And he is rewarded with visions in the night. Visions that may at first appear terrifying. Visions of powerful beasts with the ability to do immense harm. To cause unspeakable damage. Bible commentators say that these beasts symbolise the different empires that rise and fall at this time in history. Causing the people great suffering. But these visions are given to Daniel not to unsettle and to frighten, but instead, to encourage and to reassure him. For the power of all these beasts is seen to pass away. After which Daniel is given a final vision of yet another kingdom. An empire of a different kind, which overcomes and outlasts all the earlier ones. And which endures forever. A kingdom established by God himself. Who is symbolised by the one of great age. Seated on a fiery throne. And who confers lasting authority on a mysterious unnamed figure. One like a son of man. Whose sovereignty is an eternal sovereignty that shall never pass away.

What Daniel receives in his visions of the night, is the gift of hope in time of trial. The power to recognise, in the midst of deep darkness, the truth that even as all other kingdoms pass away, God’s reign of love will ever endure. And, in recognising this truth, he finds in it the strength to stay strong in the face of oppression. To remain faithful to God even when pressured to do otherwise. To keep his proper shape as a beloved member of God’s chosen race. God’s holy people. And to continue to bear witness to this hope in a foreign land. Recognition of the signs of God’s reign, leading to resilience in the face of hardship and oppression. This is the gift given to Daniel in the first reading.

And this is the same gift offered in the gospel as well. As those of us who have been following the weekday Mass readings may recall, Jesus has been speaking about a period of trial that is approaching. As well as about his own second coming at the end of time. Like those in the first reading, these will be times of deep darkness. But, even in the darkness, there will remain unmistakable signs of light. Signs that the disciples are being taught to recognise. In the parable of the fig tree, Jesus invites them to look out for the buds that signal the onset of summer. The coming of God’s kingdom of love and justice and peace. Which will give them strength to endure their trials. For the promise made to Daniel in the first reading finds its fulfilment in Christ in the gospel. Jesus is the son of man on whom an eternal sovereignty is conferred. Jesus himself is the Sign of all signs. For by his Cross and Resurrection, he has redeemed the world.

As in the first reading, so too in the gospel, the gift of hope is offered to the people of God. To the community of disciples of the Lord. And what we need to realise is that we too are members of this community. Which now calls itself the Church. A community made up not just of individuals, but also of families of different shapes and sizes and situations. Which is why the Christian family is sometimes called a domestic or household church. A privileged place where the gift of Christian hope is joyfully received and bravely lived. Where individuals learn to see visions in the night. To recognise the signs of God’s illuminating presence and action in a world so often engulfed in darkness and despair. Signs such as the current visit of our beloved Pope to Myanmar and Bangladesh. Signs that, once recognised, bring with them the resilience that Christians need to retain their proper shape as chosen disciples of the Lord. Loving and serving others as he did. Bearing witness to peace and justice and mercy, even when it may not be comfortable or convenient for them to do so.

My dear friends, as missionary disciples of Christ, we are called neither to pessimism nor to optimism. Neither to focus only on the black dots or the white canvasses of life. But rather to look beyond them to Christ. To receive his gift of hope. And to become beacons of his light in a darkened world. What must we do, as individuals and families, to live up to this call today?

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