Sunday, July 09, 2017

The Joy of Open Hands (Rerun)

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Picture: cc Hamed Saber

Sisters and brothers, if I may, l’d like to invite you to do something with me right now. At the count of 3, could you please clench your fists as tightly as you can? And then try to notice how you feel. Can you do that? Good. Ready? 1-2-3, clench! And hold... Notice how you feel... Now, again at the count of 3, slowly unclench your fists. And again notice how you feel. Ready? 1-2-3, slowly... open... How do you feel?...

So what is it like, sisters and brothers? What is it like to have your fists clenched? And then to open them up? Any difference? Of course there is, right? It’s the difference between stress and calm. Between exertion and rest. Between anxious grabbing and the willingness to let go…

It’s helpful to keep this contrast in mind, because it can help us appreciate something that our liturgy is inviting us to consider today. Have you noticed what it is? Recall what we asked God to do for us in the opening prayer: Fill your faithful with holy joy, we prayed, for on those you have rescued from slavery to sin you bestow eternal gladness. And, remember also, how the first reading begins. Rejoice heart and soul, daughter of Zion! Shout with gladness, daughter of Jerusalem!… Sisters and brothers, if there is one thing our liturgy is bringing to our attention today, it is joy.

And I think we can all agree that joy is something that everyone desires. Something we all seek. Except that we have different ways of doing it. Do you know what your own approach is? I’m not sure, but I think, for many of us, the way we seek to be happy is the way taught to us by the world. The way of constant effort. Of anxious exertion. The way of the clenched fist and the gritted teeth. We push ourselves hard, and our children as well, in order to to grab as many of life’s pleasures as possible. We believe that the harder we work, the more we grab, the happier we will be.

For many of us, joy is something we have to win for ourselves. Through sheer force of will. Through steely strength of determination. No one makes us happy. We earn it for ourselves. This is what we learn in society. And, more often than not, we assume that this must be true in the spiritual life as well. We think that happiness is only about effort. How to be more joyful? Well, spend more time in prayer. Give more money to the church. Get involved in more ministries in the parish... More time. More money. More effort. Must mean more joy, right? I’m not sure. Perhaps for some this approach does work. But, then again, isn’t it true that, it can also have the opposite effect? Very often, the demand for more only serves to make us more discouraged. More disillusioned. More depressed. Or, what’s worse, it can also make us more arrogant. More self-righteous. More judgmental.

Which is why it’s important for us to pay attention to the different approach presented to us in our readings today. Notice the reason why Zion is asked to rejoice in the first reading. It’s not because of anything she herself has done. Rather, Zion is invited to rejoice in the victory won for her by her king. Her joy is less something she earns than something she receives. Not only that. Notice also the very curious way in which her king is described. He rides not on a war-horse, but a baby donkey. His is an image not of power and might, but of humility and gentleness. Indeed, we may recall that this is the same passage of scripture applied to Jesus, as he enters Jerusalem on Passion Sunday. Quite clearly, the approach to joy being taught to us here is very different from the way of the world. It is less about exertion and grabbing than resting and receiving. Less about the clenched fist than the open hand.

And this is also the same approach that Jesus teaches in the gospel. Notice how the Lord begins by speaking not of our joy, but of God’s. Yes, Father, for this is what it pleased you to do... God rejoices in revealing Himself to mere children. And isn’t this the only true Source of our own joy? If we are able to rejoice, it is only by sharing in the joy of God. By humbly receiving God’s self-communication to us. Especially in the Mystery that we celebrate at this Eucharist. The Mystery of the Dying and Rising of Christ. And isn’t this why the learned and the clever fall short? Not because God doesn’t reveal himself to them. For the psalm tells us that the Lord is good to all, compassionate to all his creatures. If the learned and clever fail to rejoice, it is only because they are too focused on themselves. Too full of their own expertise. Too wrapped up in their own efforts. Too busy clenching their fists.

In contrast, Jesus issues a moving invitation to those who labour and are overburdened. Those of us who find ourselves desperately struggling to meet the demands of the clenched fist. And perhaps often failing. Jesus invites us to come to Him. To approach Him. The victorious yet humble King. The King who is victorious precisely because he is humble. Humble enough even to let Himself be nailed to a cruel cross to set His people free. We are invited to come to Him with open hands. To receive the joy that He has already won for us through His sacrifice. The joy of realising how much God loves us. Cherishes us. Takes pleasure in us. Wants to give us joy. Without our being able to earn it.

And, quite paradoxically, it is when we do this. When we allow God to open our hands and our hearts to receive God’s love. Especially here in the Eucharist. That we find the energy to do what needs to be done. No longer out of an oppressive burden of obligation. But out of a deep and enduring sense of gratitude. As the psalmist says, all your creatures shall thank you, O Lord, and your friends shall repeat their blessing. Isn’t this also what is described in the second reading? When we open ourselves to receive the love of God in Christ, our interests begin to change. We turn away from the unspiritual toward the spiritual. We allow the Spirit of God to make his home in us. To give us the strength to gradually put an end to the misdeeds of the body. To pray more devoutly. To give more wholeheartedly. To serve more selflessly. To experience, even here on earth, something of the joys of heaven.

Sisters and brothers, if I may, I’d just invite you now, once more, to clench your fists... And then to slowly open them up again… Notice how you feel... Two different postures. Two contrasting approaches. One grabbing… The other receiving… One anxious… The other trusting…

Which one will you choose for yourself today?

Sunday, July 02, 2017

Between Money Changer & Marriage Registry


13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Pictures: cc PJ R & Matt Gibson

My dear friends, have you ever been to a money changer? Do you know what it’s like? How about the marriage registry? Ever been there? And if I were to ask you the difference between what goes on at each of these places, what would you say? How would you describe it? What is the difference between changing currencies and registering a marriage? 

It’s really quite simple, right? What happens between us and the money changer is basically a transaction. The surrender of one currency in exchange for another. The concern is with the management of assets. Which tends to be an impersonal activity. I don’t even have to do it myself. Someone else could do it for me. As long as I trust that person with my money. Also, what happens at the money changer is typically a one-off deal. I could, of course, keep going back to the same guy. But I don’t have to. Each transaction is complete in itself.

In contrast, the couples at the marriage registry aren’t just performing a transaction. At least we hope not. What they are doing is committing themselves to a new intimate relationship. That of marriage. Which is nothing if not deeply personal. The focus is not so much on the management of their assets as on the investment of their very selves. The donation of their very lives. Which is why what takes place at the registry is significant not just for that one day, important as it may be, but for the whole of the couple’s new life together.

Money changers handle transactions. Marriage registries mediate relationships. Transactions have to do with possessions. Relationships connect persons. The changing of currency can be a one-off affair. But marriages affect one’s whole life. For better or for worse. Till death do us part. It’s helpful and important to keep these differences in mind, as we ponder what our Mass readings are saying to us today. The message is quite clear, isn’t it? Or so it seems. There is an obvious recurring theme. Can you make out what it is?

Yes, it’s hospitality. Welcome. Welcome shown especially to God present in God’s representatives. In the gospel, Jesus tells his apostles, Anyone who welcomes you welcomes me; and those who welcome me welcome the one who sent me. In other words, those who show hospitality to the apostles are being hospitable to Jesus himself. And, in welcoming Jesus, they welcome the heavenly Father who sent him. But that’s not all. We’re also told that this hospitality shown to God actually attracts a reward. Anyone who welcomes a prophet because he is a prophet will have a prophet’s reward…

The first reading gives us a very helpful illustration of what all this looks like. The Shunamite woman welcomes the prophet Elisha precisely because he is a prophet, a man of God. She quite literally makes room for him in her home. As a result, she receives a reward. A great blessing. New life. This time next year, the prophet tells her, you will hold a son in your arms.

The message couldn’t be clearer, right? Show hospitality, and you will receive a reward. Which is an important message for us, especially today. When hospitality often seems to be in such short supply. Even as more and more people experience the dire need for it. The most striking example is, of course, refugees fleeing their war-torn and conflict-ridden countries, in the hope of finding a safe place in which to live.

But it’s not just faraway refugees who need hospitality. It’s also the strangers among us. Not just those who may bear different passports, but also those who think and speak and look different from us. Or even those unnoticed guests who come to our parish for Mass for the first time. And what about the members of our own family? Strange as it may sound, isn’t it true that our own spouses, and parents, and children also often yearn to receive a welcome from us? Dearly wish that we might give them room? Not just room in our homes, but room in our hearts. Room that we offer when we truly listen to what they might have to say. Truly receive and accept them as they are. Could it be that to welcome all these people is also to welcome God? And so to receive a reward?

And yet, much as all this may be true, it still falls short of the deeper message in our readings today. For it is possible to approach hospitality as I would a money changer. As though I were performing a transaction. Seeking to welcome others by focusing only on the transfer of my assets, instead of the investment of my own self. So that hospitality becomes something impersonal. And what’s worse is when I show hospitality to others only in the hope of receiving a reward. Not unlike how I might exchange one currency for another.

Of course, I don’t typically realise that this is what I’m doing at the time. But how do I react when things don’t go well for me despite all my good works? Am I not prone to anger and resentment? To doubt and depression? As though God owes me something for all the good that I have done?

The hospitality that our readings propose is quite different. It’s not a commercial transaction, but a loving relationship. A relationship initiated first of all by God. It is God who has shown hospitality to me. It is God who has made room for me, given me new life, through the dying and rising of Christ the Son. As the second reading reminds us, when we were baptised we went into the tomb with Christ… so that as Christ was raised from the dead… we too might live a new life.

Isn’t this the prophet’s reward? Not a cushy existence in the secular world, but an intimate relationship with God. A new life in God. A secure place in the kingdom of God. A kingdom of love, and justice, and peace, attained not through the exchange of assets, but by the loving self-donation of Christ. So that for us Christians, hospitality is not simply an occasional one-off activity, but a life-long commitment to follow Christ in laying down one’s life in love of others. In love for the Lord. To be hospitable is first to enjoy the hospitality of God in Christ. The same warm welcome that we are gathered here at this Mass to experience and to celebrate. And then to go out and to share it with the many who are in such great need of it.

My dear friends, there is a big difference between the money changer and the marriage registry. Between commercial transactions and true relationship. When we look at our own lives today, which of these do we see?

Sunday, June 25, 2017

A Light in Dark Places...

Solemnity of St Paul the Apostle
Patron of the Pauline Family

Readings: Isaiah 49:3, 5-6; Galatians 1:11-20; Matthew 10:16-22

My dear friends, are you familiar with the Lord of the Rings movies? If you are, you may recall a scene in the first movie, The Fellowship of the Ring, in which the elf queen, Galadriel, presents Frodo, with a precious gift. Do you remember what it is? It’s a glass bottle containing the light of EƤrendil, the elves’ most beloved star. May it be a light for you, the queen tells Frodo, as she hands him his gift. May it be a light for you in dark places, when all other lights go out. Later in the story, this gift comes in handy when Frodo is captured by a giant flesh-eating spider, and trapped in the black cave where it lives. The starlight proves useful not just for finding an escape route, but also for warding off the spider’s deadly attacks.

A light in dark places, when all other lights go out. A light that can dispel the deepest darkness, and lead us out, from danger into safety. Isn’t this a gift that we would all dearly love to have? And isn’t this also something like what we find in our Mass readings on this solemn feast of St Paul the Apostle, Patron of the Pauline Family? But in order for us to appreciate the gift, we need first to see the reason why it is given. We need to realise that, in each of our readings today, there is actually a growing danger. An encroaching darkness that manifests itself in different forms.

In the second reading, this darkness threatens the Christians in Galatia. And it comes in the form of a certain teaching that some have been spreading. As you know, Paul writes this letter mainly to refute this teaching, which he considers to be false. It is a dark and distracting cloud that casts a shadow of doubt on the joyful message that the Galatians had received earlier. The gospel that was preached to them by Paul. What is this false teaching? It is the apparently pious yet dangerously insidious insistence that non-Jews must be circumcised in order to become Christian. An insistence that makes salvation depend more on human performance than on the grace of God. Doubt and distraction arising from false teaching. This is the darkness we find in the second reading.

In the first reading, the darkness is even less obvious, mainly because a verse is missing. As you may have noticed, the reading is taken from verses three, five and six of Isaiah forty-nine. Verse four has been left out. Yet, it is in verse four that we find a helpful reminder of the darkness that the other verses are meant to dispel. Here, we find the prophet saying to himself, My toil has been futile, I have exhausted myself for nothing, to no purpose. In the midst of the considerable difficulties and setbacks he has had to face, in carrying out his God-given mission, the prophet has been feeling discouraged and disillusioned. What’s the point of all my hard work?! Nothing seems to change anyway… Discouragement and disillusionment arising from the trials of ministry. The apparent lack of effectiveness and success. This is the darkness we find in the second reading. A darkness that threatens to engulf not so much the people to whom he is sent, but the prophet of God himself.

And whereas the first two readings deal with darkness in the present, the gospel looks to the future. As Jesus gathers his apostles, and prepares to send them out on mission, he warns them of the terrible trials that are to come. The challenges that they can expect to face. And not only the challenges, but also the worry and anxiety that is likely to result from them. Worry about how to speak and what to say when they are dragged before their persecutors. Anxiety over the sight of brother betraying brother, and a father his child… Worry and anxiety for the future. This is the darkness that we find in the gospel.

Doubt and distraction caused by a false teaching focusing only on human performance. Discouragement and disillusionment resulting from a lack of success. Worry and anxiety at one’s own weakness and inadequacy before the considerable challenges that lie in the future. These are the forms that darkness takes in our readings today. Forms that we ourselves may experience from time to time. But if this is the darkness that threatens, then what is the light that dispels it? What is the precious gift that is being offered to us anew?

Don’t you find it striking, my dear friends, that although the forms of darkness may be different, in our readings, the gift given to dispel it is actually essentially the same? In the second reading, Paul counters the darkness of false teaching not just by presenting the light of true teaching. At least not in a purely academic or intellectual way. Instead, Paul takes care to share with the Galatians his own personal experience of meeting and being called and transformed by the Crucified and Risen Christ. God set me apart, Paul insists, from the time when I was in my mother's womb, called me through his grace and chose to reveal his Son in me.

In the first reading too, in his discouragement, the prophet finds new strength and purpose by a renewal of his own God-given calling. And now the Lord has spoken, who formed me in the womb to be his servant… I shall make you a light to the nations so that my salvation may reach the remotest parts of earth. And what do we find in the gospel, if not a description of Jesus calling and sending his apostles. Inviting them not so much to be effective, but to persevere, to stand firm, in living out their call. You will be universally hated on account of my name; but anyone who stands firm to the end will be saved.

And isn’t this an important reminder for us as we celebrate this solemn feast of the patron of the Pauline family? A family that seeks, especially through its use of communications media, to dispel darkness in all its various forms? The darkness of conflict and division, of selfishness and greed, of discouragement and despair, of rumour-mongering and fake news. And perhaps what is most insidious of all, the darkness that springs from the false belief that the salvation of our world depends only on us. On our own performance. On our own strength. On our own success. In the midst of all these forms of darkness, our readings remind us of the truth expressed in those famous words of St Mother Theresa: God has not called me to be successful. He has called me to be faithful.

My dear sisters and brothers of the Pauline family, truly, a precious gift has been given to us. The same gift that Paul and the apostles received. The gift of our call to be faithful disciples and joyful witnesses of Christ. Which is for us a light in dark places, when all other lights go out. What must we do to keep cherishing and sharing this undying light today?

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Ways to the Heart

Solemnity of the Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ (A)

Picture: cc laszy

My dear friends, can you complete this sentence for me? The way to a man’s heart is… There is, as you know, a variety of possible answers. The usual and most well-known one is, of course, his stomach. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But other responses are possible too. For example, I recently watched a TED talk, in which the speaker argues that the way to a man’s heart is actually through his brain.

There are also those who will be quick to point out that all this can just as easily be said about women. The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach… or her brain… Although some terribly wicked people maintain that the way to a woman’s heart is actually through her sole. Spelt S-O-L-E. As in the soles of her expensive Prada shoes.

Whatever it may be. Whether the stomach, or the brain, or something else entirely. The fact remains that these things are not the true focus of the discussion. Important though they may be, they are not the final destination. As far as the saying goes, the stomach and the brain are important only as ways to reach another location. Efforts are made to fill the stomach, or to entertain the brain, only as a means finally to connect with the heart. Heartfelt connection. Authentic relationship. This is what we seek. This is what makes life worth living.

And it’s helpful to keep this in mind especially today, when we celebrate Corpus Christi. The solemn feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ. What exactly is this feast about? What are we really celebrating? At first glance, it may seem that it is only a matter of stomachs being filled. For, in the gospel, Jesus scandalises his listeners by referring to himself in terms of food. I am the living bread, he says, which has come down from heaven…. the bread that I shall give is my flesh, for the life of the world… 

And yet, we would be greatly mistaken, if we were to think that the Lord’s main concern here is only to fill up empty stomachs. Important though it may be to provide food for the hungry, in this particular passage, the stomach is important only as a way to the heart. That is how we draw life from the Lord. By allowing him to establish a connection with our heart.

But how do we eat and drink in such a way that our hearts are touched? Indeed, how often does this actually happen to us? Aren’t the vast majority of our meals not simply a matter of routine? To the extent that we don’t even pay much attention to what we might be stuffing into our mouths? Let alone where it came from or the hands that prepared it? Occupied as we often are with all that happens on the screens of our smartphones? How does one eat in such a way that the stomach truly becomes a way to the heart?

We find an answer in the first reading. Where, after forty long years of wandering in the wilderness, the people of Israel are finally preparing to cross the river Jordan, to enter and occupy the Promised Land. Before they set out, Moses gathers them for a final pep talk. He encourages them to do one crucially important thing. Not so much to fill their stomachs with food, as to occupy their minds with memories. Remember, he says. Remember how the Lord your God led you for forty years in the wilderness, to humble you, to test you and know your inmost heart… Remember how God freed you from slavery. Guided you through the wilderness. Fed you with manna. Brought you water from the rock. Do not become proud of heart. Do not forget the Lord your God… Remember… Remember… Remember…

In the first reading, Moses urges the people to exercise their brains. To occupy their minds. To remember all that God has done and continues to do for them. Why? So that the food that God has provided them, with which they have filled their stomachs, might not only nourish their bodies, and then be quickly forgotten. But that it may serve also to touch their hearts. So that, even as they now enter a fertile land, where they can grow their own food, they may not forget all the blessings they have received. So that they may take care always to remain connected to God. To allow God to connect with them. To keep them connected to one another. For this is the true meaning of life. Man does not live on bread alone but… on everything that comes from the mouth of the Lord.

Food for the stomach. Accompanied by memories for the mind. Leading to connections of the heart. This is also what we find in the second reading. In which St. Paul explains the true meaning of what we do every time we gather, as we are gathered now, to celebrate the Holy Eucharist. The blessing-cup that we bless is a communion, a connection, with the blood of Christ. The bread that we break is a communion, a connection, with the body of Christ. This is what we are meant to experience, whenever we participate fully and actively and consciously at Mass. Food for the stomach. Accompanied by memories for the mind. Leading to connections of the heart. This is what it means to celebrate the Eucharist. And, by extension, to engage in the practice of Eucharistic Adoration.

This is also what it means to live Eucharistic lives. To allow not just what passes into our stomachs, but also everything that we experience in daily life–the bad as much as the good, the desolations as much as the consolations–to allow all our experiences to be continually coloured by our memories of God’s super-abundant love for us in Christ. Memories that we have in common. But also memories that are quite personal to each of us. Memories of our blessings. Memories that allow us always to remain connected deep within our hearts. Connected to God. Connected to one another. Connected also especially to those who may continue to have to struggle to fill their stomachs with good food. Struggle to occupy their minds with pleasing memories. Struggle to warm their hearts with loving connections.

Heartfelt connection. Authentic life-giving relationship. This is what Corpus Christi is all about. In a world where life often seems to revolve only around the more superficial things, like food and entertainment and footwear, we Christians are called to bear witness to the deeper more important concern of establishing and maintaining heartfelt connections.

My dear sisters and brothers, if it is indeed true that the way to someone’s heart is through the stomach, then how is God connecting with your heart today?

Sunday, June 11, 2017

From No-Man’s-Land to Path of Life

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity (A)

My dear sisters and brothers, have you watched the new Wonder Woman movie? The one that’s showing in local cinemas now? Those who have will know that there is a particular scene, somewhere in the middle of the movie, where Wonder Woman crosses a battlefield. Well, it’s actually more of a no-man’s-land. A strip of disputed territory separating two warring armies that have been deadlocked for more than a month. A place of great violence and terrible danger. Where no one has been able to make it across alive.

Which may not be a problem, except that there is a small village trapped within this fearsome place. Its food has run out. And the violence is preventing fresh supplies from getting in. The way things are going, these poor people will probably not survive much longer. Into the scene steps our hero, Wonder Woman. Without a second thought, she propels herself into the danger. She braves heavy machine gun fire, in a daring attempt to cross the deadly stretch of ground. To blaze a life-giving pathway for supplies to get through. To save the suffering people. Does she make it to the other side? I guess I should leave you to find that out for yourself…

To cross a no-man’s-land, transforming it into a path of life. This is what Wonder Woman tries to do in the movie. And this is also what we find God doing in our readings today.

It may not be so obvious, sisters and brothers, but that place that is mentioned in the first reading, the mountain of Sinai, should really be a no-man’s-land. For this is not the first time that Moses is going up this mountain. He has done it before. And, as you know, it was while he was up on this mountain, receiving the Ten Commandments from God for the first time, that the people of Israel, who remained below, effectively declared war on God. By manufacturing and worshipping a golden calf. So that, at this point in the story, Sinai should really be a scary place separating two parties in conflict.

And yet, what should be a dangerous boundary between enemies, becomes instead a meeting place between friends. Sinai is where God warmly welcomes Moses. How does this happen? It happens only because of the kind of God we have. Not a God of vengeance and retribution. But rather a God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in kindness and faithfulness. A God who chooses to descend from the highest heavens to save a defiant and undeserving people. A people marked for death by their own sins. Whom God still sees fit to adopt as His very own.

Nor is Sinai the only piece of no-man’s-land. The whole world should be the same as well. Wherever there are those who defy God. Who disobey God’s commands. Who turn to the worship of idols. Wherever sin reigns in human hearts, we should find a dangerous no-man’s-land, impossible to cross.

But, the gospel tells us that God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son. Sent Him to cross over into our world of sin and selfishness, of conflict and division, of danger and death. Sent him not to condemn the world, but so that through him the world might be saved. So that everyone who believes in him, everyone who follows him, may have eternal life. In other words, God sent his Son into the world to do what Wonder Woman seeks to do in the movie. To transform what should be a no-man’s-land into a pathway to life.

And it’s important for us to remember how this happens. How Mary comes to conceive and to bear her Son. It is not through the seed of any ordinary man, but through the overshadowing of the Spirit of God. The same Spirit who descends upon the Lord when he is baptised by John in the Jordan. The same Spirit who then drives Him into the desert to be prepared for public ministry by being tempted by the devil. The same Spirit whom Jesus then breathes onto the world from the Cross, and again after He has risen from the dead.

This is how God crosses into a dangerous world in order to save a sinful humanity. This is how God transforms what should be a desolate boundary separating enemies into a fruitful meeting place joining friends. A path that leads to the fullness of life. A way that we are all called to walk. That the second reading calls us to walk, when it tells us to try to grow perfect… To help one another… To be united… To live in peace… So that the God of love and peace might be with us. This is the way that Christ himself walked, in the power of the Spirit. The path that leads through the passion of the Cross, into the loving arms of the heavenly Father.

This, my dear friends, is the meaning of the solemn feast we celebrate today. A celebration not just of any ordinary holy man or holy woman. Not even of a Wonder Woman. But a celebration of nothing less than an all-powerful yet ever-merciful God. A Trinity in Unity of Father, Son, and Spirit. Who continually crosses barren wastelands to gather lost children to Himself. And who calls us to walk His way. To follow His steps. To enjoy His life. A God who keeps transforming the no-man’s-land of our divided world into a precious pathway to life.

And what a consoling thing it is for us to have a God like this. Especially when we see around us, in our world today, so many examples of people being separated by ever-widening divides. By ever-hardening borders. By boundaries between right and left… between conservative and liberal… between religious and secular… Where general elections intended to unite a nation, end up dividing it all the more. And, while this is happening, people continue to suffer as a result. Not unlike those villagers in the movie. Innocent civilians trapped by war and conflict. Fleeing refugees pitifully searching for safety. Hopeful migrants anxiously seeking a better life. Retrenched workers desperately trying to make a living. Struggling families heroically coping with the ordinary stresses of daily living…

Isn’t it an encouraging thought that, across each of these many and different stretches of dangerous ground, our loving God continues to dash? Braving the dangers. Seeking to rescue those who feel  helpless and alone. And challenging us to do the same. To follow in the footsteps of the Son. In the power of the Spirit. Into the warmth of the Father’s embrace.

Sisters and brothers, how is our merciful and compassionate God transforming no-man’s-lands into pathways-to-life for you and through you today?

Saturday, June 03, 2017

Gathered, Scattered, United

Pentecost Vigil

Picture: cc Inbal & Nir

My dear friends, I’ve been doing some travelling in the past few months. And, as a result, I’ve come to realise that however far you go, no matter how remote your destination, you can always find one thing. Do you know what it is? Some of you may be able to guess... It’s a McDonald’s.

I recently visited a small island, for example, where there are no cars, because the island doesn’t have proper roads. But what do you see the moment you step off the ferry? You guessed it. Right in front of the ferry terminal, the unmistakable golden arches of a McDonald’s restaurant.

But that’s not all. Not only can you find a McDonald’s anywhere you go, but even though all these restaurants are scattered, it seems, in every nook and cranny of the known world, separated from one another by great distances, they all still appear to be united in some way, don’t they? They all bear the same name. They share the same brand. They belong to the same franchise. They speak the same language. The language of fast food and even faster profits.

It is possible, in other words, to be scattered across great distances, and still be united in some way. This is a truth that perhaps McDonald’s can teach us. And, strange as it may seem, it is in some ways similar to the truth that our readings are inviting us to ponder today.

We see this especially in our first reading, which ends with people being scattered. But the scattering is not the real problem. For scholars tell us that it was actually God’s intention, God’s explicit instruction to the people, to multiply and to scatter themselves across the face of the earth. To go to the respective places to which God had assigned them. To fill the earth and to subdue it. This was God’s plan for them. But the people defy God. They disobey. Instead of scattering about, they choose to settle down. Instead of serving God’s will, they focus on their own selfish interests. Let us build ourselves a town, they say. Let us make a name for ourselves, so that we may not be scattered about the whole earth

But, much as the people want to gather together in one place, their narrow concern for their own selfish interests causes their company to disintegrate. They begin to speak different languages. And, like married couples, who gradually stop communicating, they eventually find themselves splitting up. They experience the very thing they had been resisting at first. They are scattered across the face of the earth. Except that there is one important difference between the scattering at the end of the reading and what God had in mind for them at the beginning. Do you know what this difference is?

What God had in mind for them was a scattering-in-unity. A dispersal of people belonging to the same God-given franchise, as it were. Working on the same God-given project. Speaking the same God-given language. Not the language of fast food and faster profits. But the language of selfless love. The language of a love so strong that it is willing even to lay down its own life to benefit others. To sacrifice itself for the salvation of the world.

This is what God intended. But what the people end up experiencing is instead a dispersal not in unity but in division. The disintegration of those who care only for themselves. A scattering of selfish competitors, instead of the spreading out of loving friends. So that what is lost in the first reading is actually connection. Unity. That true connection that is able to survive even when people are scattered. That authentic unity that comes from God alone.

And isn’t this the same thing for which the second reading tells us the whole of creation is groaning? And not just creation, but we ourselves are groaning for it. We ourselves desire this unity. This connection. Something we would realise, if only we took the time to pay closer attention to our own hearts. We are all yearning for this unity that has been lost. This harmony, born of love, that is God’s gift to us. God’s plan for us. This deep bond that gives those who experience it the ability to maintain long-distance relationships. To be out of sight and yet not out of mind. To be separated even by death, and still feel bound by the unbreakable bonds of love. 

This is what Jesus offers in the gospel, when he calls all those who are thirsty to come to him and drink. This is the living water that he promises to all who respond to his call. All those who truly come to him. Truly follow him. Truly surrender their hearts and their lives to him. This is what the Spirit brings to those whose hearts are open enough to receive it. To those who recognise their own deep longing for connection. For unity. For peace and harmony. This is what we celebrate at Pentecost. The power to remain united, even when we may be separated by time and space… By trial and tribulation… By suffering and death…

And isn’t this a power that our world needs so very much today? Torn as it is by conflict and division. By violence and strife. Where everyone seems so very close on social media, and yet so very far in real life. Where a McDonald’s can be found everywhere, but tolerance and understanding, mercy and compassion, seem to be in such short supply. A world where the only language people seem to care to speak is that of speed. And of greed. Of fast food and faster profits. A false language that ends up splitting people up. Whereas a true language should really gather us in.

Isn’t this why we celebrate Pentecost? The feast of the coming of the Spirit. God’s Gift of unity and harmony. Of love and joy and peace. A Gift that we need first to receive for ourselves, as we gather here at this Mass. Allowing the Spirit to express our plea in a way that could never be put into words. And, having received this Gift, to then allow ourselves to be sent out. To be scattered about. To speak this language of love to a waiting world.

My dear friends, thankfully McDonald’s is not the only thing that can be found everywhere we go. The Spirit can be found too. The question is, of course, which of them are we really seeking? On which of them are we really feeding today?

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