Of Babies & Sirens

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

(World Mission Sunday)

Readings: Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 120 (121); 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

Picture: By Muhammad Shakir on Unsplash

What do these two things have in common?… A tiny baby bawling her eyes out, and the piercing siren from a speeding ambulance, screeching loudly in the night. Obviously, in each case, a cry rings out for some reason. The baby cries because there’s something it needs. Something it has a God-given right to receive, and yet is powerless to obtain on its own. When it’s hungry or thirsty, when it needs to be changed or carried, in its helplessness, the baby cries for assistance. And the siren too is a kind of cry, but for different reasons. To fellow road-users, it serves as a warning to make way. And to those waiting for the ambulance, it's also a cry of assurance. Encouraging them to hang on, to take heart, because help has arrived, or is at least on the way. A baby and a siren. Two cries with different motives. One seeking assistance, the other offering assurance. Don’t we find something similar in our scriptures today?

What is that widow in the gospel parable doing, if not crying for assistance? We’re not told exactly why. Perhaps a scammer has taken her life-savings, or an employer has failed to pay her a living wage. We don’t have the details. All we know is that it’s a matter of justice. Meaning that it’s something she has a right to receive. And yet, like a baby, she is powerless to obtain it on her own. Which is why she keeps begging the judge for help. And even though he is unjust, and doesn’t really care about her, the judge eventually gives her what she wants, just to stop her pestering him. And Jesus says that, if even an uncaring judge can be worn down by a widow’s persistence, what more our loving God, who cares so much for us? Implying that whenever we encounter injustice of any kind, whenever our best efforts to seek redress keep falling short, we should still persist in crying to God for help. And isn’t it reasonable to expect that we should do this not only when we ourselves are victims of injustice, but also whenever we encounter those who suffer the same, whether near or far away? For in any case, Jesus promises that God will see justice done… and done speedily.

Then, in the second reading, St Paul gives Timothy the duty to proclaim the (gospel) message and, welcome or unwelcome, (to) insist on it… In other words, like John the Baptist, Timothy is asked to become the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight’ (Lk 3:4). To persist in screeching like a siren piercing the night. At once warning people to make way, and also offering them assurance. Encouraging them to hang on, to take heart, for help is coming. Indeed, in Christ, it is already here. And more than just something that Timothy must do, isn’t this a duty that, by virtue of our common baptism, we too share?

All of which might help us appreciate the deeper significance of what Moses is doing in the first reading. He climbs to the top of a hill, and raises his arms, while carrying the staff of God in his hand. The same staff he has been using to show God’s powerful presence and action on behalf of the people. The staff that parted the Red Sea for the people to cross, and that drew water from the rock for them to drink. So that, even if no sound may escape Moses’ lips, just by his place and his posture, isn’t he effectively uttering a two-fold cry? On the one hand, from the hilltop, he must surely be engaged in prayer. Interceding for his people. Crying to God for assistance on their behalf. But that’s not all. His elevated position also probably makes Moses visible to those fighting below. Which may explain why, the tide of battle keeps shifting in their favour, whenever Moses is seen to raise his arms, with the staff of God in his hand. For isn’t it likely that this posture serves as a quiet morale-boosting cry of assurance for those who struggle? Encouraging them to hang on, to take heart, to keep going, for help is at hand.

And doesn’t Moses' place and posture on the hilltop easily bring to our minds the One whose arms were raised on Calvary? Not to wield a staff, but to hang on the Cross. From which he both cries out to God for unfailing assistance on our behalf, and offers us blessed assurance that help is truly here. Isn’t this what we celebrate every time we gather for the Eucharist? And isn’t this also why we commemorate World Mission Sunday? For as followers of Christ, what is our mission, if not to share in the Lord’s two-fold cry? At once begging God for assistance for the world, and offering assurance to those who need it most. Especially those who suffer injustice of one kind or another. Encouraging them, by our words and actions, to hang on, to take heart, for in the Dying and Rising of God’s only Son, help is truly here. And isn’t this cry still much needed in this troubled world of ours? Where, around the world, armed conflict continues to inflict terrible suffering on helpless civilians. And here at home, yesterday’s issue of the Straits Times carries a moving report, highlighting the needs of those caring for loved ones stricken with dementia…

Some of us may recall this moving opening line from that old hymn by John Foley: The Lord hears the cry of the poor. Blessed be the Lord… In Christ, this is what we believe. This is our faith. Sisters and brothers, inspired by this same faith, like both bawling babies and screeching sirens, how might we help one another to keep on crying out today?

A Light in Dark Places

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Habakkuk 1:2-3, 2:2-4; Psalm 94 (95):1-2,6-9; 2 Timothy 1:6-8, 13-14; Luke 17:5-10

Picture: By Satyajit on Unsplash

What does it feel like to receive a gift just when we need it most? In the first instalment of the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy, a group of companions undertake a dangerous quest to destroy an evil ring of power. On the way, they are forced to pass through the terrifying Mines of Moria, where they lose the wisest and strongest member of their company. Then, just when they are exhausted, traumatised and grieving, the group arrives at a kingdom of elves, who offer them welcome, and a safe place to rest. And when they are finally ready to resume their quest, the elven queen speaks with them, and presents each with a gift. From her, the ring-bearer, the little hobbit, Frodo, receives a small glass bottle of starlight, along with these words of blessing: May it be a light for you in dark places, when all other lights go out. A precious gift that proves very useful, later in the story, when Frodo is trapped in the dark lair of a giant flesh-eating spider. 

A light… in dark places, when all other lights go out. Consoling words from a pivotal conversation, within the context of a titanic struggle between good and evil, between darkness and light. And despite the sharp contrast between the immensity and power of the dark, and the smallness and fragility of the light, the ring-bearer finds in these words the courage he needs to stay committed, and to persevere.

Context and conversation, contrast and commitment. These are also what we find in our scriptures today. In the first reading, the prophet Habakkuk finds himself surrounded by the darkness of tyranny and oppression, outrage and violence, contention and discord. This is the difficult context of his painful struggle. The frustrating and discouraging experience of the great contrast between his own meagre efforts, and the pervasiveness of evil. Yet, rather than allow himself to be swallowed up by the dark spider of despair, the prophet cries out to God. He engages the Lord in conversation. And God responds by offering him a timely gift: a consoling vision of future vindication, as well as a call to persevere. The prophet is asked to put down the vision in writing, so that it may be more easily understood and shared with others. And he is also encouraged to stay committed. To remain faithful, even if the vision’s fulfilment is delayed. For the upright man will live by his faithfulness… 

Context and conversation, contrast and commitment. These are also what we find in the gospel. As we may recall, from the reading of two Sundays ago, through the Parable of the Dishonest Steward, Jesus had been teaching his disciples how to relate with money. And after his opponents, the Pharisees, take offence at his teaching (16:14), last week we heard Jesus respond with the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. Warning his disciples of the dangers of idolising and being blinded by money. The Lord then goes on to speak about the importance of resisting temptation, of not tempting others, and of forgiving those who repent, after falling into temptation (17:1-4). This is the immediate biblical context of today’s reading: the Lord’s struggle with the powers that be, the forces of darkness. This is what Jesus has been conversing with his disciples about.

Then, today, after hearing the Lord’s demanding teachings and, presumably, seeing the great contrast between their own weakness, and the immensity of the task at hand, the apostles are moved to ask the Lord to increase our faith. But rather than teaching them how to make things bigger, Jesus responds by highlighting the benefits of being small. Faith the size of a tiny mustard seed, he says, can overturn even a stubborn mulberry tree. A plant known for its extensive and invasive root system. On the one hand, we could interpret this to mean that faith is like chilli padi. Just a tiny bit goes a long way. But perhaps it also means that faith works best precisely when it feels fragile and small. How else will we learn the disposition of a servant, humbly waiting upon the master, except by realising how small and fragile our own efforts are? And isn’t this the commitment Jesus calls us to make? And the pattern of sound teaching the second reading encourages us to emulate? A pattern we see every time we contemplate the Lord’s agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, where, surrounded by darkness, Jesus cries out in anguish, before humbly submitting to his Father’s will?

A gentle reminder that faith works best precisely when it feels small and fragile. Isn’t this a gift we need very much today? When our world seems engulfed in such darkness, and so many are in danger of being swallowed up by the twin soul-devouring spiders of apathy and despair? Sisters and brothers, like the gift that Frodo received, how might we help one another allow the Lord’s teaching to be for us truly a light… in dark places, when all other lights go out?

Behind the Price of a Haircut

25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Amos 8:4-7; Psalm 112 (113): 1-2, 4-8; 1 Timothy 2:1-8; Luke 16:1-13

Picture: By cheng feng on Unsplash

My dear friends, if the going rate for a 10-minute express haircut is around $15, why would anyone charge less than $10? Aren’t there at least three possible reasons? Back in June this year, an elderly gentleman discovered the first of these reasons the hard way. He went for what was supposed to be an $8 haircut at a shop in Ang Mo Kio, and was tricked into paying $1,000 for scalp treatments he did not need. But a low price doesn’t always indicate a swindle. Sometimes it may just be a way to attract more customers, with the hope that a higher sales volume will more than make up for the lower profit margin of each haircut. Shrewd business strategy. This is the second reason for charging less. Then there are also those who offer free haircuts to seniors and the disabled, because they genuinely wish to serve those in need. Swindle, strategy and service. More than just different motivations for charging less, these three reasons also reflect different ways of relating to money. Swindle, strategy and service. Don’t we find something similar in our scriptures today?

In the first reading, through the prophet Amos, God exposes the unjust practices of the rich people in Israel. Not satisfied with offering less goods for higher prices, they also engage in swindling and tampering with the scales. They even sell goods that are barely fit for human consumption. The sweepings or, in another translation (RSV), the refuse of the wheat. Like that hair salon in Ang Mo Kio, these people are shameless swindlers. Ruthlessly, they prey on the vulnerable, just to turn a profit. They trample on the needy, and suppress the poor. Yet, from a spiritual perspective, they’re not really making money, as much as they’re allowing themselves to be enslaved by it. They’re not so much using money, as being used by it. As a result, they are separating themselves from God. For we cannot be the slave both of God and of money.

Swindling is also what we find in the story told by Jesus in the gospel. Except that, here, it is the rich man who is being swindled by his own steward, whom he had earlier sacked for being wasteful with his property. Yet when the rich man discovers his steward’s dishonesty, instead of taking him to court, and demanding full restitution, he praises him for his astuteness. Why? Could it be because the rich man realises that he himself stands to gain from the swindle? For isn’t it reasonable to expect that, by accepting less in his master’s name, the steward has raised his master’s reputation in the eyes of his debtors, who may decide to borrow even more from him? And when others hear of this, they too are likely to want to borrow from the rich man. Thus increasing the number of his customers, and making him even richer. So the rich man’s reaction may well be an example of sound business strategy. Like a shrewd hairdresser charging less, he’s willing to accept a strategic loss, in the hope of achieving a longer term gain.

But Jesus tells the story as a parable, not a case study. The lesson he seeks to impart is spiritual, rather than financial. Just as it makes good business sense for the rich man to accept less now, in order to build up his customer base, and make even more money in the long run, so too does it make good spiritual sense for us to use money to serve the poor while on earth, so as to be welcomed by them into eternity. The unspoken assumption is that the poor are friends of God. As the psalmist tells us, from the dungheap (the Lord) raises the poor, to set him in the company of princes. To serve the poor is really to serve the Lord himself.

Swindle, strategy and service. Three different ways of relating with money, with the poor and, ultimately, with God. Swindle, strategy and service. Don’t we continue to find all three in our world today? And not just among hairdressers. So what can we do to reduce the swindle, and increase the service? In the second reading, St Paul offers one basic way. My advice, he says, is that… there should be prayers offered for everyone… especially for kings and others in authority… Praying for those who may have power to safeguard the well-being of the most vulnerable, including Mother Earth herself.

Which brings to mind something Pope Leo XIV said in a recent interview. Asked about the polarisation we are witnessing in the world, the Pope saw fit to highlight one factor that he thinks is very significant. Namely, the ever widening gap between the income levels of the working class and the money that the wealthiest receive. For example, CEOs that 60 years ago might have been making four to six times more than what the workers are receiving, now make 600 times more…

Sisters and brothers, as important as it is to manage our own financial affairs strategically, what can we do to help reduce the swindling, and increase the service in our world today?

Resisting Resistance to Rehab

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 77 (78):1-2, 34-38; Philippians 2:6-11; John 3:13-17

Picture: By Simon Reza on Unsplash

My dear friends, do we still remember Amy Winehouse? The late British singer and songwriter is famous for having won 5 Grammy awards on a single night in 2008. 3 of those awards were for the hit single, Rehab. An autobiographical song about her own refusal to receive treatment for alcoholism. The song’s first line goes, They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, "No, no, no”. Yet despite her initial resistance, Amy did check herself into a rehab facility. Only to lose her battle with addiction, and die from alcohol poisoning in 2011, at the tender age of twenty-seven. Leaving the world to mourn her tragic loss, and to wonder if there was anything that could have helped this talented young performer overcome her resistance to rehab, remain sober, and save her own life…

How to overcome resistance to rehab? Doesn’t the feast we are celebrating today invite us to ponder a similar question? For in the first reading, we’re told that the Israelites lost patience while making their way through the wilderness. And what is the wilderness, if not an ancient form of rehab? An unavoidable place of transition – a necessary crossing point – from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land. A very challenging place to be, because this is where the people need to learn to let go of their attachment to the comforts of slavery, their craving for satisfying food. Here they have to endure the pains of withdrawal, the torment that comes with being weaned from one’s addictions. Pains that must feel to them like death itself, but which actually lead to a fuller life. Why did you bring us out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? What do we find in this angry query the people address to Moses, if not their resistance to rehab?

And what about those fiery serpents? Rather than a cruel punishment sent by a vindictive God, aren’t they more of a timely warning? A reminder to the people, that to return to Egypt, and to submit again to addiction, is to condemn themselves to certain death. Which may then explain why gazing upon the elevated, or exalted, bronze serpent, brings healing. Not so much because the image has any power in itself, but because of what it signifies. For all who gaze upon it with the proper dispositions, the bronze serpent is a helpful means to recall both the terrible consequences of addiction, and the loving care shown to them by their merciful God. Memories that then generate the strength needed to persevere through rehab, and to reach sobriety.

The wilderness as a place of crossing and challenge, and the elevated serpent as a reminder both of the consequences of addiction, and the care offered by God. Crossing and challenge, consequences and care. Don’t these elements of rehab provide the wider spiritual background for the feast we are celebrating today? Isn’t Jesus saying as much in the gospel, when he compares his own Crucifixion on Calvary to the raising of the serpent in the wilderness? Like that cold bronze statue, the Lord’s lifeless body will be elevated on a Cross to strengthen those who require rehab. Reminding us of both the terrible consequences of addiction, and the loving care offered by the God who refuses to let us go. Except that now the consequences and the care are increased by an infinite measure. For the Cross points not just to the consequences we ourselves have to bear, but also to those borne by God for our sake. As the second reading reminds us, Christ did not cling to his equality with God but emptied himself… even to accepting death on a cross… Death suffered at the hands of cruel men, angrily resisting rehab. But God raised him high. God glorified, exalted him…

Isn’t this the same life-giving memory we recall every time we celebrate the Eucharist? A memory from which we draw the strength we need both to undergo rehab, and to help others do the same. A memory that should be evoked not just here at Mass, or when we happen to look at a crucifix. But also every time we encounter those who suffer the effects of addiction. Both their own, and that of others. People enslaved by more obviously addictive stuff, like narcotics, alcohol and pornography. And also those who suffer the effects of addiction to less obviously dangerous things, like wealth and power, luxury and popularity, technology and work. As well as innocent lives torn apart by distant wars, or unjustly excluded from the benefits of economic growth, or tragically scarred by domestic abuse. And even Mother Earth herself, so ruthlessly exploited by corporate greed…

It has been said, by those who knew her, that Amy Winehouse saw the song Rehab as her own cry for help. If this is true, then could the Exaltation of the Holy Cross be God’s loving response? Not just to Amy, but to all who require and yet resist rehab? Sisters and brothers, how might we help one another better receive and live out of the power of this merciful and tender response today?

Getting Back Together

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Wisdom 9:13-18; Psalm 89 (90):3-6, 12-14, 17; Philemon 9-10, 12-17; Luke 14:25-33

Picture: By andri onet on Unsplash

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh. We called it off again last night, but ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh. This time I’m telling you… we are never ever getting back together… Does anyone recognise these lines? I suspect a good number of us do. They’re taken from a popular Taylor Swift song. Addressed to an unworthy ex-boyfriend, with whom the singer has been in an on-again, off-again relationship, the song is a declaration that this is the end. We are never ever getting back together. But more than just calling it quits, the song also reveals what the singer is looking for in a steady relationship. The non-negotiable requirements that her ex seems unwilling or unable to meet. Despite repeatedly professing his love for her, he can’t accept the practical implications, the necessary repercussions of love. And by breaking up with him, the singer also reveals something about herself, who she is, what she values.

Relationship and revelation, requirements and repercussions. Don’t we find something similar in our scriptures today? The first reading paints a rather pathetic portrait of our shared human condition. One that closely resembles Taylor Swift’s ex. It tells us that, left to our own devices, we struggle to remain in right relationship with God. For on our own, we cannot divine the will of the Lord. We can’t figure out what God wants. Yet, instead of breaking up with us, God has not only mercifully revealed to us the non-negotiable requirements for relationship, God has also taken steps to help us meet them. By sending us Wisdom and the holy spirit from above, God has straightened our paths, so that we may walk more closely with God. So that we can truly be together.

Revealing to us the requirements for right relationship, and helping us to meet them. Isn’t this what Jesus is doing in the gospel? And yet, at first glance, the requirements he sets may seem far too onerous, even unreasonable. To hate not only the closest members of my family, but even my own life too? To carry my cross, and to give up all my possessions? Surely, any girl making such demands of a boyfriend will end up remaining single for the rest of her life! But God isn’t just any girl. For very shortly, as we do every Sunday, we will profess our common faith in God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible… Enlightened by revelation, we believe not only that God is Creator, but also that we are all mere creatures. And a loving relationship between Creator and creature has its proper requirements and repercussions. For if God has created everything, then everything belongs to God. And God deserves first place in our lives and in our hearts. Our primary relationship with God should configure all our other relationships. This is not an unreasonable demand. It flows naturally from who God is, and who we are in relation to God.

But it’s important to bear in mind that, much as God isn’t just another girl, neither are we just any creature. The requirements set by Jesus in the gospel aren't for just any animal, plant or mineral. They are meant for the only creature (we currently know of) capable of becoming a disciple. The only one able to share in Christ’s mission of stewarding the rest of creation back into right relationship. Which is what St Paul is really doing in the second reading. At a time when the unjust institution of slavery was still accepted without question, Paul feels free to ask Philemon to treat Onesimus no longer as just another item of private property, but as an equal, a fellow Christian, a brother in the Lord. In effect, Paul is asking his friend to allow his primary relationship with God to properly configure all his other relationships, including his relationship with his slave.

All of which should help us better appreciate what the Season of Creation is really about. Why should we Christians bother to live more sustainably? To take care to reduce, re-use and recycle? It’s not just because, through generations, human exploitation has pushed Mother Earth to the brink. And stronger, more frequent typhoons, fires and floods are causing much suffering, especially to the most vulnerable. More fundamentally, it’s also because, as disciples of Christ, we are called to allow our primary relationship with the Lord to configure all our other relationships. Not just our relationships with other human beings, including those closest to us, but also our relationships with the rest of God’s creation. It's also because, according to our particular capacities and circumstances in life, we are all called to share in the Lord’s mission of restoring creation to right relationship with God.

Unlike that catchy Taylor Swift song, by setting out those sobering requirements in the gospel, the Lord isn’t really breaking up with us. Rather, he is calling us to rise to the challenge of discipleship. To draw from the graces offered at this Eucharist, and to reclaim our common dignity as stewards of God’s creation. Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another live up to this high calling today?

Of Gorilla Daddies & Garden Cities

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 3:19-21, 30-31; Psalm 67 (68):4-7, 10-11; Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24a; Luke 14:1, 7-14

Picture: By Gurth Bramall on Unsplash

What’s the difference between a garden and a wilderness? Of course, each is beautiful in its own way. But doesn’t a garden have a certain order to it that a wilderness does not? An order born of restraint? In a garden, things are taught to grow in a measured way, so that other things have enough space to grow too. Isn’t this why it’s much safer in a garden than in a wilderness? We’re much less likely to encounter things that could harm or kill us. Order and safety arising from restraint.

I’m reminded of a short video clip that was first posted on YouTube 5 years ago, and has since garnered almost 2.5 million views. Entitled Alpha Gorilla is Dad of the Year, it shows how gently the leader of a troop of wild gorillas treats his own babies. Although strong enough to snap a human in two, this daddy gorilla allows his little kids to treat him very disrespectfully. They climb all over him, slap his face, beat his back like a drum, and even bounce on him like a trampoline. Yet, despite suffering such indignities, daddy restrains his own immense strength, and plays with them. And if any member of his troop were to endanger the others by failing to show restraint, he will surely intervene to restore order. But in a measured way. Through the wise exercise of restraint, the lead gorilla provides a safe space for each member of his troop to grow and thrive. While living in the middle of a wilderness, he is, in a sense, actively cultivating a garden.

Don’t we find something similar in our scriptures today? By inviting us to compare two very different experiences, the second reading highlights the gentle restraint shown by God toward us. On the one hand, when God descended mightily upon Mount Sinai, in the book of Exodus, the people were so terrified, they begged never to hear God speak to them again. In contrast, in Christ, God has come among us as a helpless baby, becoming humble even to the point of accepting death on a cross. It is through this divine restraint, that a place has been prepared for us in the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, where everyone is a ‘first-born son’ and a citizen of heaven. And it’s helpful to recall that, in the final chapter of the last book of the Bible, this same heavenly city is described like a garden. For through it flows the river of the water of life. Along the banks of which grows the tree of life, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations (Rv 22:1-2).

A garden city founded on the loving restraint of God. This is the destination to which we are all called to journey. This is the safe home that the psalmist says God has prepared for the poor. But to gain access to it, we ourselves need to learn restraint. In the first reading, it is those who are gentle, those who behave humbly in their dealings with others, who are more likely to find favour with the Lord. In contrast, the proud person is described as someone in whom an evil growth has taken root. Just as a cancerous tumour, growing unrestrainedly, ravages the body, and deprives other cells the space they need to survive. So too does pride crowd the human heart, leaving no space for the love of God to flower and bear fruit. At once endangering others, and preventing us from reaching our heavenly home.

All of which helps us better understand the meaning of what Jesus is saying in the gospel. By encouraging us to take the lowest place at a wedding banquet, the Lord isn’t offering strategic advice on how to secure the best seats at a concert, or the corner office at work. Nor is he telling us to sit at the back of the church at Mass, so as to be invited to move up to the front. No, the banquet to which Jesus is teaching us to gain access is the kingdom of God, the heavenly garden city. By telling us to take the lowest place, the Lord is inviting us to follow him on the path of gentleness and humility. To learn how to exercise restraint, particularly in our dealings with those around us who are most vulnerable. Those whom society treats as the last and the least. Taking care to ensure that they too have the space they need to grow and thrive.

And isn’t this a timely reminder for us? Living as we do in a world that’s looking more and more like a wilderness with each passing day? Where even in this relatively safe and shiny country of ours, we may be seeing possible signs of a crisis of restraint. Bullying in our schools… Bad behaviour on our roads and sidewalks… Clutter lining our common corridors and other shared spaces… Could it be that we need to be reminded of a basic truth? That living in a garden city isn’t just about planting and preserving more and more greenery, important as this may be. It’s also about learning to restrain ourselves, so as to make space for others.

Sisters and brothers, like that strong yet gentle gorilla daddy in the video, how might we keep doing our part to help cultivate the garden of God’s kingdom today?

Surrounded & Struggling for Safety

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Jeremiah 38:4-6, 8-10; Psalm 39 (40):2-4,18; Hebrews 12:1-4; Luke 12:49-53

Picture: By Michael Hamments on Unsplash

What does it feel like to be surrounded? That depends on what or whom we are surrounded by, right? By friends or by enemies? By danger or by safety? Yet we know that the word surrounded is often used to refer to danger of some sort. Such as in those old crime dramas I used to watch on TV, as a child. We have you surrounded, the police would say, throw down your weapons, and come out with your hands on your heads! Then those surrounded would have to decide what to do. Typically, they would choose one of only two options. Either to obey and go quietly, or to disobey and engage in a violent shoot-out with the authorities. But is a third option ever possible? Such as to keep resisting, but non-violently?

In our scriptures too, we find people surrounded in various ways, and on different levels. In the first reading, the city of Jerusalem is under siege, surrounded by the fearsome army of the mighty Babylonian empire. And not only the city, but the king himself is surrounded. Not just by the foreign soldiers outside, but also by his own rebellious officials within. Against whom the king pitifully confesses that he is powerless. Which is how Jeremiah ends up both surrounded and sinking in mud, at the bottom of a well that has run dry. From all sides, danger closes in on him. Danger from vicious enemies. Danger from starvation. And danger, presumably, from the temptation to give his persecutors what they want. Which is for him to give up the unpopular message God had called him to proclaim. To stop telling everyone to surrender to the Babylonians. Somehow Jeremiah finds the courage neither to give in nor to fight back (he can’t), but simply to keep resisting. Thankfully, he finds an ally in the Ethiopian eunuch, Ebed-melech, who bravely breaks ranks with the others, and convinces the king to raise Jeremiah from his muddy tomb.

In the gospel, Jesus has been telling his disciples to stay alert. As we may recall, in last week’s reading, the Lord told them to be like men waiting for their master to return… ready to open the door as soon as he comes and knocks… Then, in today’s reading, Jesus goes on to speak about the danger he himself will soon have to face. About that literally crucial moment, when he will both baptise and be baptised – both surround and be surrounded – with the fire of his own Death and Resurrection. Like Jeremiah before him, Jesus will suffer the consequences of his own non-violent resistance to the sinful perspectives and practices of the powers that be. He will be lifted up on the Cross, and buried in a tomb, before being raised by God on the third day. And, like Ebed-melech, his disciples will somehow need to find the courage to break ranks with the others, in order to keep following the Lord. To embrace the reality that the One they follow has come to bring not peace, but rather division.

And not just the disciples in the gospel, but also all Christians down through the ages, including us. We too are called neither to give in cowardly, nor to fight back violently, but to keep bravely and patiently resisting sin in its different forms. How to find the courage and endurance to do this? Doesn’t the second reading help us answer this question, by advising us to do two things? First, to remember that, however much we may feel besieged by danger, we should never forget that we are also surrounded by generations upon generations of witnesses in a great cloud on every side of us. Fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers in the faith. Formidably arrayed like a friendly yet boisterous crowd of supporters at a stadium, enthusiastically cheering on the home team. Second, we are to keep the eyes of our hearts ever focused on Christ. Frequently calling to mind the Mystery we celebrate at this and every Eucharist. How for the sake of the joy which was still in the future, he endured the cross, disregarding the shamefulness of it…

In other words, when we find ourselves besieged by danger, the second reading teaches us how to surround ourselves with a space of spiritual safety. From which we may draw the courage and endurance we need to keep resisting sin. And isn’t this advice especially important today, when the very idea of being surrounded by danger has itself become highly dangerous? For many use it to fan the flames not of love, but of intolerance, xenophobia and unjust discrimination against minorities of all kinds. Faced with such dangers, we need more than just courage and endurance. We also need wisdom and discernment. Not just as individuals, but also as communities and societies. And how to foster wisdom and discernment, except by cultivating more spaces where people may safely engage in meaningful conversations across differences? In our homes and churches, in our schools and work-places, and beyond.

Sisters and brothers, amid the dangers that surround us, how might we cultivate more of such safe spaces today?