Clinging To The Rope

4th Sunday in Easter (B)

(Good Shepherd or Vocation Sunday)

Readings: Acts 4: 8-12; Psalm 117 (118): 1, 8-9, 21-23, 26, 28-29; 1 John 3: 1-2; John 10: 11-18

Picture: By Hieu Pham on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever seen a children’s walking rope? It’s often used by preschool teachers, and has three key features. The rope usually has handles attached to it, which kids can hold on to, allowing the teacher to gather and lead them to where they need to go. Gathering and leading. That’s what the rope is for. That’s its first feature. Second, the rope is used at transitional or in-between spaces and times, such as when the kids are moving outside the classroom, where it’s less safe, and they require more guidance and care. Third, for the rope to work, the children must keep holding on to it, and resist the temptation to wander off on their own.

So gathering and leading… transitional or in-between spaces and times… and the need to keep holding on. These three features also characterise each of the two images used in our scriptures today. In the first reading, Peter describes the Crucified and Risen Jesus as the stone rejected by… the builders, but which has become the keystone. What is a keystone used for, if not to gather other stones to itself, so that they can all be led to complete the architect’s project? And where and when is a keystone most important, if not at the site and stage of construction, a transitional or in-between space and time? Also, a cornerstone is beneficial only to those stones that hold on or align themselves to it.

In the gospel, Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep. By his Coming, his Dying, and his Rising, the Lord gathers us, his scattered sheep, into one flock. Leading us across the transitional space and time of this passing world, in between his First Coming and his Second. Ushering us ever more fully into God’s Kingdom. And in order to benefit from the Lord’s efforts, we need to keep holding on to him. We need to listen to his voice, to trust and take refuge in him. Which is not always easy to do, even for regular church-goers like us. For don’t we often encounter situations that captivate or burden us so much, that our attention is diverted away from the Lord? Like how the rich man, in Luke’s gospel, was so captivated by luxury, that he failed to notice the poor Lazarus at his door (Lk 16:19-21). Or how Martha  was so burdened by her chores, that she failed to keep her focus on Jesus (Lk 10:40). Similarly, we forget to listen to him, loosen our grip on him, even lose interest in him. And our hearts start to feel like scattered sheep. Broken into different pieces. Each one wandering off on its own. Getting lost in the darkness. Adversely affecting not just our spiritual wellbeing, but sometimes even our mental health as well.

Isn’t this why we need to heed St John’s advice in the second reading? Think of the love that the Father has lavished on us, by letting us be called God’s children… In other words, keep doing every day, what we are doing now, in this beautiful season of Easter. Keep pondering how, through the courageous yet humble sacrifice of Christ, and in the power of the Spirit, God the Father is ushering us into the joy of God’s Kingdom. For by regularly dwelling upon these mysteries, we allow the Lord to gather the different parts of our broken hearts, and to align them to him. So that he becomes the Unifying Principle of our existence. Isn’t this what it means to live a vocation? In whichever state of life we find ourselves – whether student or working or retired, single or married, separated or divorced or widowed, ordained or consecrated – to seek to be aligned to God’s will for us, and to keep moving in the direction in which God wishes us to go. Such that every experience we may have, every situation we may encounter, becomes a handle for us to cling ever more tightly to the One who died, and was raised to life for us.

Also, perhaps it’s important for us to recognise that, in this hyper-modern society of ours, there is at least one thing that makes it all the more challenging for us to remain focused on the Lord. Something that many of us have with us right now, sleeping snugly in our pockets or purses, or even buzzing busily in our hands. Something the use of which, researchers say, is rewiring our brains. Making it ever more difficult for us to focus our attention on any one thing in a truly sustained way. How are we to focus our hearts on the Lord, when our attention is continually fragmented by the notifications coming from our smartphones? Perhaps we need to cultivate habits that involve setting aside our attention-grabbing devices from time to time. So as to give our overloaded minds a much-needed break. Allowing us to regain the ability to recognise and resist the pull of darkness, so as to focus our attention on the One True Light.

Sisters and brothers, like preschoolers holding on to a walking rope, what must we do to cling ever more tightly to the Good Shepherd, as he leads us all into the justice and peace of God’s kingdom today?

The Power of Recognition

3rd Sunday in Easter (B)

Readings: Acts 3: 13-15, 17-19; Psalm 4: 2, 4, 7, 9; 1 John 2: 1-5; Luke 24: 35-48

Picture: By juana la loca on Flickr

My dear friends, do you ever worry about being scammed? It’s natural to be worried, since it has been announced that, in 2023, there were a record-breaking 46,563 scams reported. Almost forty seven percent more than in 2022! So what can we do? Perhaps it helps to begin by stating the obvious: Scams are the result of a failure of recognition. Victims mistake a lie for the truth, and surrender their valuables in exchange for false promises. How then might we strengthen our power of recognition, improve our ability to distinguish the authentic from the fake, the truth from the lie? This is also the question that our scriptures help us to ponder today.

In the first reading, after healing a lame beggar, by invoking the name of Jesus, Peter addresses a crowd of astounded onlookers. And isn’t it striking how he speaks to them as if they have been scammed? He begins by reminding them who they are, and what they’ve done. They are descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. And yet, they’ve handed over, disowned, and killed Jesus, the faithful servant of the God of their ancestors. They have surrendered the Holy One, the Just One, the One of infinite spiritual value, in exchange for a lie. And they’ve done all this in ignorance, out of a failure of recognition. So Peter helps them uncover the lie, and repent from their sin, to recognise and turn to the God of truth.

What Peter does for non-believers in the first reading, we find John doing for disciples in the second. Like Peter, John begins by reminding his readers who they are. In Christ, they are already children of God. But they still need help to distinguish truth from lies. To remember that Christ’s disciples are recognised not by what they say, but by how they live. For we Christians know God only by keeping his commandments. It’s through obedience that God’s love comes to perfection in us. Otherwise, we are living a lie, refusing to admit the truth.

And if Peter and John are able to help others recognise and reject lies, isn’t it only because they’ve both been taught to recognise and follow the One who is Truth itself? In the gospel, when the Crucified and Risen Christ suddenly appears among his disciples, they fail to recognise him at first. Despite his gentle greeting of peace, they still mistake him for a ghost, and are plunged into a state of alarm and fright. An understandable reaction, considering all that they have endured since Holy Thursday. It’s only when the Lord patiently shows them the wounds on his hands and feet, that their alarm turns to joy. Allowing him to open their minds to understand the scriptures. To accept that, in the trauma of the Cross, lies the sure path to peace and fullness of life.

Isn’t this the gift we are offered anew every Easter? The experience of how the wounds of love are our reliable touchstone for recognising Truth. And isn’t this gift more precious than ever today? When the prevalence of scams has become a sign of our times. An indication of our dire need to strengthen our power of recognition. To keep improving our ability to distinguish truth from lies. So that we might resist the temptation to surrender our valuables, in exchange for empty promises. Valuables, such as deep authentic peace of heart, or safe life-giving interactions at home and at work, out on the streets and here in church, or the ability to show tender care and concern for those in greater need, including our ailing planet… And empty promises, like luxury and material success, comfort and a carefree existence, power and control over others, or popularity and worldly acclaim…

As mentioned at the start, during his Passion, Jesus told Pontius Pilate: For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice (Jn 18:37). Sisters and brothers, could it be that there are far more dangerous scams than those that put our money at risk? What can we do to allow the Risen Lord to strengthen our power of recognition, so that we might follow, ever more closely, his voice and no other, today and every day?

Who We Are, Where We Come From...

2nd Sunday in Easter

(Divine Mercy Sunday)

Readings: Acts 4: 32-35; Psalm 117 (118) :2-4, 15-18, 22-24; 1 John 5: 1-6; John 20: 19-31

Picture: By Irene Jiang on Unsplash

Everywhere we go, people want to know,

who we are, where we come from. So we tell them…

My dear friends, do these words sound familiar? Some of us may remember singing them in the military, as part of a marching song. The singing isn’t just to tell people who we are, and where we came from. Particularly during a long energy-sapping route march, the singing also helps to boost morale. It spurs the singers to press on. In the process, their identity is strengthened. And, by their endurance, they are able not just to tell others who they are, but to show them. Through both singing and marching, a corporate identity is imparted, moulded and shown. We find something similar in our scriptures today.

In the gospel, when the Crucified and Risen Jesus appears to his frightened disciples, in addition to sharing greetings of peace, the Lord does three things to show them who he is. First, we’re told that he came and stood among them. Then, he showed them his hands and his side. And, third, he breathed on them the power to forgive and retain sins. These three actions – coming, showing and breathing – mirror the water, the blood, and the Spirit. The three signs that, the second reading says, bear witness to the Lord’s identity as Son of God. The water of baptism, in which Jesus was immersed, to express his solidarity with our sinful humanity; the blood of sacrifice he shed to free us from slavery; and the Spirit of power, by which he gathers us into one Body.

And more than just proving to his disciples who he is, Jesus is also imparting and moulding their identity. From now on, they too will be known by the water of solidarity, the blood of sacrifice, and the Spirit of power. These are the signs by which we Christians show who we are, and where we come from. Proving that, in Christ, we have been begotten by God, adopted as God’s children. And that we’ve already overcome the world, with its anxious craving for riches and honours, and its desperate need to keep comparing and competing with others. Isn’t this why the early Christians in the first reading are able to treat their own property no longer as possessions to be jealously hoarded, but as gifts to be generously shared, especially with those who might be in need? And why, elsewhere in the Acts of the Apostles, they show others who they are, by reaching beyond their community, to preach the Word, and heal the sick (Ac 3:1ff)?

Even so, while it may be true that we have already overcome the world, isn’t it also true that we have not yet completed our march through this earthly life? Isn’t this why we need this beautiful season of Easter? When, by joyously uniting to sing Alleluia, and to reach out to those in need, we allow the God of everlasting mercy to continue moulding our corporate identity as Christians, for the life of our troubled world.

Sisters and brothers, could it be that everywhere we go, people need to know, that who we are, and where we come from flow directly from the tender mercies of God? What can we do to deepen this God-given identity of ours this Easter?

Were You There...?

Easter Sunday

Readings: Acts 10: 34, 37-43; Psalm 117 (118): 1-2, 16-17, 22-23; Colossians 3: 1-4; Colossians 3:1-4

Picture: By Stephen Mease on Unsplash

My dear friends, were any of you there to watch Taylor Swift perform at Marina Bay? I wasn’t. But I wonder what it would have been like if I was, and what steps I’d have to take to make the most of the experience. First, I imagine I’d have to carefully keep in mind who the star is. Whom everyone had come to see. So as not to be distracted by other things. Also, I’d have to try to be as present as possible, to soak in all the action. And, finally, I’d probably share the experience with others in some way… To be mindful of the star, to be present to the action, and to share with others. We find these same three steps in our scriptures today.

In the first reading, the word witness appears no less than four times. We are those witnesses, Peter says. And in his witnessing to Cornelius and his household, Peter takes three steps. First, he tells us exactly who the star is. Not Peter himself, but Jesus, who was anointed by God, and through whom God was at work, when he went about doing good. Jesus, who was killed by the wicked, but raised… to life by God. As the psalm reminds us: this day was made by the Lord. Not by us. This is why we rejoice and are glad. Jesus is the star. Not us. And what a humbling yet blessed relief it is to remember this! Especially when, despite our best efforts, we fail to dispel the darkness that so often threatens to engulf us.

Second, although his focus is on what God has done in Jesus, Peter also talks about what he and his companions have been through. How they have been present to the action, and even changed by it. We find an example of this in the gospel, where Mary, Peter and the beloved disciple are gradually drawn out of the darkness of unbelief, and into the light of faith. Gently led to understand… that he must rise from the dead. And we too can lay claim to this illuminating and liberating power. By allowing ourselves to be present to the action. If not in body, then at least in spirit. As when we return in prayer to those places in our hearts that may remain clouded by the darkness of unbelief.

Isn’t this the good news Peter has been ordered… to proclaim? The experience he is sharing with Cornelius, and that we, in our turn, are called to share with others? Not just in words, but also by our example. As when we keep looking for the things that are in heaven, while remaining engaged with the things on the earth. And isn’t it true that we cannot take this third step–of sharing with others–without also taking the earlier two steps, of being mindful of the star, and present to the action. Which may remind us of that haunting hymn we often sing on Good Friday, stopping at the question, Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?… But there’s one more verse, which we usually don’t sing… Were you there when the stone was rolled away? Were you there…? If not in body, then at least in spirit… Sometimes it causes me to tremble… and even to be changed… Were you there…?

Sisters and brothers, Taylor Swift’s fans often go to great lengths to be there at her concerts. What shall we do to be wherever the Lord is waiting to usher us into newness of life?

Welcoming the Uncovered

Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord (B)

Readings: Mark 11: 1-10; Isaiah 50: 4-7; Psalm 21 (22) :8-9, 17-20, 23-24; Philippians 2: 6-11; Mark 14: 1-15: 47

Picture: By Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

(At the Entrance:) My dear friends, today our attention is usually focused on the palms we bless and hold in our hands. For the scriptures say that people used such branches to welcome Jesus as an anointed king. But more than just waving branches, they also took off their cloaks, and laid them on the road. Which indicates not just a welcoming, but also an uncovering. Similarly, our scriptures today will remind us that the Passion of the Lord has power to uncover previously hidden things. About God, and about ourselves. So let us pray for the grace to welcome such revelations, as together we enter this holiest week of our year.

(At the Ambo:) My dear friends, what would it feel like to see a naked person in public? Isn’t it true that, despite the proliferation of pornography today, the sight of a bare human body can still embarrass and unsettle us? Yet, in the gospel we just heard, we find not just one, but two naked bodies. First, at Gethsemane, when Jesus is arrested, a young man who followed him is forced to run away in his birthday suit. And then later, at Golgotha, after Jesus is crucified, we’re told that they shared out his clothing. Which implies that, as he hung on the Cross, our beloved Lord had nothing to wear.

Why does the gospel shine such an embarrassing spotlight on public nudity? Could it be that, like the laying down of garments, the baring of bodies points to an uncovering of hidden things? What does the nakedness of the Crucified Christ indicate, if not the uncovering of the previously under-appreciated depths of God’s love for us? A love that, moves Christ to empty himself to the point of accepting death… on a cross. So that all who acknowledge him as Lord, all who imitate him in learning to listen like a disciple, and in standing and speaking on the side of Truth, all who walk the Way of the Cross as he did, will also be raised to fullness of life in him?

And what does the nakedness of the young man indicate, if not the uncovering of the true extent of the disciples’ faith in their Lord. Something previously hidden even from themselves. The terrible weakness of their flesh, despite the eager willingness of their spirits. For the gospel tells us that, when Jesus was arrested, his (male) disciples all deserted him and ran away. Even Peter’s insistent profession of loyalty leads only to a regretful profusion of tears. Still, to be fair, the Lord’s Passion doesn’t just uncover the hidden cowardice of some. It also reveals the quiet courage of others. Such as that unnamed woman at Bethany, who braves public ridicule, to anoint his body for burial. And those other women, who used to look after him… in Galilee, and who followed him, watching from a distance, right to the end. As well as that Pharisee from Arimathea, who was a disciple only in secret (Jn 19:38), but who boldly went to Pilate to ask for his body.

Sisters and brothers, the Passion of our Lord has the unsettling but life-giving power to uncover previously hidden things. In this holiest of weeks, as we accompany Jesus on his Way, what is the Lord uncovering for us, and what shall we do to more humbly welcome his revelations?

Between Missed Opportunities & Happy Coincidence

5th Sunday in Lent (B)

Readings: Jeremiah 31: 31-34; Psalm 50 (51): 3-4, 12-15; Hebrews 5: 7-9; John 12: 20-33

Picture: By on Tim Smurf Unsplash

My dear friends, what does it feel like to be blessed by a happy coincidence? Let’s say I’m in my car, desperately searching for a parking space. But the carpark is full. Then, just as I drive by a row of cars, one of them happens to move off. Isn’t that a good example of co-incidence? Two different events – me driving by, and a car vacating a lot – two different moments coinciding at the same time. How wonderful it is when that happens!… On the other hand, imagine how I’d feel if the car moves off, but I’m too far away, or too distracted to notice, and someone else gets there before me. No happy coincidence then. Just a missed opportunity…

Today, our scriptures point to the possible coincidence of two different events, two separate moments in time. The first is foretold by the prophet Jeremiah. The days are coming, he says, when God will plant God’s Law deep within the hearts of God’s people. And all of them – all of us – will know God. Will recognise God’s presence and action in our lives. And isn’t this also what the psalmist prays for? A pure heart create for me, O God… A heart uncluttered by sin. An unobstructed heart, that recognises and is drawn irresistibly to God… Whether we realise it or not, isn’t this what we all are seeking? With even more desperation than a motorist, still stuck in the parish carpark, at ten past twelve on a Sunday afternoon?

The second moment is announced by Jesus in the gospel. Now the hour has come, he says, for the Son of Man to be glorified. That paradoxical moment when the wheat grain falls on the ground and dies, to yield a rich harvest… When Jesus is lifted up to draw all people to himself… When, through the humiliation of God’s only Son, the name of God is glorified… When, by humbly and obediently emptying himself, Christ the Lord opens up for us a welcoming space in God’s embrace.

And how wonderful it is when these two moments coincide! When pure hearts recognise the glory of God revealed by Christ on the Cross. When God’s call is no longer dismissed as a clap of thunder, or ignored as a troublesome distraction. But receives, instead, a generous and courageous response. When this happens, so the second reading tells us, obedience is born in us, and the Crucified and Risen One becomes for us the source of eternal salvation.

Isn’t it precisely to prepare for such a happy coincidence that we observe this great season of Lent? By denying ourselves, confessing our sins, and sharing our blessings with others, we hope to dispose ourselves to recognise the Lord’s glory, revealed on the Cross. Not just in the solemn liturgies of Easter. But also in the ordinary events of daily life. Privileged moments when we may find ourselves touched by suffering – our own, as well as that of others. Moments in which our loving God gently calls us to follow Christ, and to open up more spaces for others, in our hearts, and in our world.

Sisters and brothers, in what remains of Lent, how shall we continue preparing to celebrate Easter as a truly happy coincidence, rather than just another missed opportunity?

Of Crooked Ink & Innocent Blood

4th Sunday in Lent (B)

(Laetare Sunday)

Readings: 2 Chronicles 36: 14-16, 19-23; Psalm 136 (137): 1-6; Ephesians 2: 4-10; John 3: 14-21

Picture: By John Jennings on Unsplash

My dear friends, what’s the difference between a letter written in ink and one written in blood? Some of us may recall watching Chinese period dramas on TV, in which a righteous official is unjustly sentenced to death, for speaking the truth. To protest his innocence, the official composes a letter written in his own blood. Expressing not just the seriousness of the matter, but also his utter commitment to his cause. His willingness to sacrifice his own life, to shed his own innocent blood, for the sake of the truth… This story may help us ponder a challenging question found in our scriptures today.

In the psalm, the exiled people of Israel is asked to sing a joyful song of Zion. Prompting them to wonder, O how could we sing the song of the Lord on alien soil? Of course, one way is to simply ignore the truth of the Exile, to forget Jerusalem. But the people rightly refuse this way of apathy… If we are truthful, perhaps we will be moved to ask a similar question today, as our liturgy calls us to rejoice: How can we rejoice?… When our own hearts may remain burdened by worry, or broken by grief, or troubled by guilt? How can we rejoice?… While helpless children starve in war-torn lands, and desperate migrants drown in the depths of the sea? How can we rejoice?… Knowing that our comfortable lifestyles contribute to the ever growing quantity and intensity of natural disasters around the world? How can we rejoice?…

One response to this troubling question is expressed in the often heard saying, God writes straight with crooked lines. In the first reading, God uses the crooked lines of human history – the rise and fall of empires, and Israel’s own repeated episodes of infidelity – as an indelible ink with which to write the story of God’s steadfast love. To rejoice in the darkness, we need only recall God’s fidelity to us in the past, and trust that God’s light will eventually shine on us again in the future.

But – again if we are truthful – waiting in the dark often requires more trust than we ourselves can muster. Thankfully, in the gospel, Jesus reminds us that God’s love for us is written not just with the ink of crooked lines, but in the righteous blood of God’s only Son. The Son of Man must be lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert. As with the bronze serpent, God’s merciful love transforms the Cross of Christ from a cruel instrument of death to a secure gateway to New Life. So that even when we may be engulfed in darkness of any kind, we are not alone. The light of the Crucified and Risen One is already shining in the dark. Tenderly enfolding us in its healing rays. Offering us wisdom to recognise the truth, and courage to live by it. Enabling us to experience consolation, even in the darkness. Perhaps not quite the excitement one feels at a Taylor Swift concert. Nor the thrill one gets from a hard-won achievement. But joy, to be humbly received as a grace, as a pure gift from God.

Sisters and brothers, God’s steadfast love for us is expressed not just with crooked lines, but in the precious blood of Christ. What can we do to better allow this consoling truth to strengthen and sustain us in joy this Lent?

When Fist Meets Palm

3rd Sunday in Lent (B)

Readings: Exodus 20: 1-17; Psalm 18 (19): 8-11; 1 Corinthians 1: 22-25; John 2: 13-25

Picture: cc affinity on Flickr

My dear friends, what’s the difference between an open palm and a closed fist? Well, a palm is typically soft and relaxed, a fist hard and tense. It’s with a palm, not a fist, that we caress a child’s cheek. But a palm can be firm too. Such as when a traffic assistant at a school raises a hand to stop traffic, creating a path for students to walk safely. Or when a sculptor’s hands lovingly mould a lump of clay, forming a new work of art. Here we see another difference between fist and palm. A palm makes or opens up space. A fist knows only to occupy it. So what happens when a fist meets a palm? This is the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today.

In the first reading, after freeing Israel from the iron fist of slavery in Egypt, and leading her to Mount Sinai, God now gives her a new Law. Through the Ten Commandments, the tender yet firm hand of God opens up a safe space for Israel to live in the land. By teaching her the proper way to relate to God and to neighbour, God bestows on Israel the precious gift of a new identity. Moulding her into God’s own work of art. If only she follows God’s Law, Israel herself will become an open palm, a sacred and safe space, where the loving presence and action of God can be experienced in the world.

But it’s not easy to remain open, to keep relying on God alone, through the many ups and downs of life. By the time Jesus arrives on the scene, the trustingly open palm has become an anxiously closed fist. God’s space-providing freedom-promoting Law has been turned into a stress-inducing life-cluttering collection of obligations. Which is why Jesus does what he does in the gospel. By raising a firm palm to interrupt the routine flow of business activity in the Temple, Jesus is not just reclaiming real estate for his heavenly Father. He is also reminding Israel of her own God-given identity as a sanctuary of the Lord. A privileged space dedicated to the worship of God, and to the care of others.

Of course, the Lord’s actions in the Temple immediately place him in direct conflict with the religious leaders. Opening up for him a path to the Cross. A difficult path of suffering and death. But also a safe and sure path to New Life. The same secure path on which Lent is training us to walk. For as the second reading reminds us, though others may see the crucified Christ as an obstacle, or even as madness, he remains for us the power and wisdom of God. To walk his path is to extend a tender hand of support to those who suffer, as well as to raise a firm hand of protest to those who cause the suffering. As when parents rightly call for an investigation, when they suspect their child is being abused at a preschool. And yet, isn’t it true that the dangerous fist of abuse can also appear in less obvious, but no less damaging ways? Including the unrealistic expectations some of us may unwittingly place, not just on our children, but even on our own already heavily laden shoulders as well?

Sisters and brothers, how is God continuing to make life-giving spaces, for us and for others, by transforming closed fists into open palms this Lent?

The PT is for the Passover

2nd Sunday in Lent (B)

Readings: Genesis 22: 1-2, 9-13, 15-18; Psalm 115 (116): 10, 15-19; Romans 8: 31-34; Mark 9: 2-10

Picture: By on Shawn Levie Unsplash

My dear friends, what do physical training sessions and pep talks have in common? Apart from sharing the same initials – PT – they’re both also what athletes typically have to undergo before a competition. Together, the training and the talks form part of a process of preparation, or stretching. Just as the training stretches bodies, the talks broaden vision, and strengthen resolve. Preparing the athletes to face the challenges ahead. And the more they bear this larger purpose in mind, the more benefit they will be able to draw from both training and talks alike.

We find something similar in our scriptures today. What do the two mountains have in common – the mountain of testing in the first reading, and the mountain of transfiguration in the gospel? Like the PT that athletes undergo, we need to see what happens on each of these mountains as part of a single process of preparation. Otherwise, we can easily be misled. It’s easy to be scandalised, for example, by the apparently unreasonable demand God makes of Abraham, as well as by Abraham’s blind obedience. Yet, unlike our global economy, which so many often worship as an idol, our God does not require the taking of human life. Neither our own lives, nor those of our children, nor those of the poor victims of trafficking and war. Instead of torturing him, God is mysteriously training Abraham. Stretching his ability to trust, even when he's sorely afflicted. Preparing him to receive the gift of becoming the father of a multitude of descendants.

Similarly, seen in isolation, it’s easy to mistake the transfiguration as a final resting place. As Peter seems to do. Yet, before ascending the mountain, Jesus had already told his disciples about the challenges he would soon have to face. His Passion, Death and Resurrection (8:31). And it’s only to prepare them to face these challenges with him, that the Lord leads them up the mountain, and lets them hear the heavenly Father’s brief but powerful pep talk: This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him. Listen! Not only now, when he’s gloriously transfigured. But also later, when he’s cruelly rejected and crucified. And not just to him speaking in person. But also in all who suffer. Listen! So as to receive the incredible gift of God’s own Son, given up to benefit us all.

Like PT for athletes, both testing and transfiguration prepare disciples for the Passover of the Lord. And this can happen not just at Mass in Lent, but also in daily life. Whenever we encounter times of trial, or moments of glory. We need to recognise and treat these as precious opportunities for stretching. As St Augustine of Hippo tells us: Suppose you are going to fill some… container, and you know you will be given a large amount. Then you set about stretching your sack…. Why?… By stretching it… you increase the capacity… and this is how God deals with us…. (H)e increases our desire, which in turn enlarges the capacity of our soul, making it able to receive what is to be given to us…

Sisters and brothers, how might we better prepare for Easter, by graciously allowing the Lord to stretch us this Lent?