Learning to Read & Write

2nd Sunday of Lent (C)

Readings: Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18; Psalm 26 (27):1, 7-9, 13-14; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 9:28-36

Picture: By Elements5 Digital on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is it like to learn to read and write in a given language? Don’t we have to begin with a process of recognition? With learning to make connections? We are shown some marks on a page, and taught to recognise their connection with something else. A… is for apple, B… is for boy, C… is for cat, and so on. And as we keep reading and writing, doesn’t transformation take place in, around and through us? Not only do we gain new knowledge, our brains get rewired. The ways in which we see and relate to the world are changed. Our lives take on a different shape. And we, in our turn, are better able to mould our environment for the common good. Actually, aren’t recognition and transformation key aspects, not just in learning to read and write in a new language, but also in acquiring and expressing our faith? Isn’t this what the scriptures show us today?

How does Abram grow in faith? In the first reading, we’re told that God shows him the stars in the sky, and teaches him to recognise, in their huge number, the multitude of descendants the Lord will grant him. God also instructs Abram to perform a sacrificial ritual, which the Lord then teaches him to connect with the promise of a gift of land. God even allows Abram to undergo an experience of darkness and terror, out of which Abram receives signs of a new covenant. A fresh expression of God’s loving and steadfast commitment to him and his family. And we know that, as Abram continues to grow in faith and trust in God––as he keeps learning to recognise and submit to God’s presence and action in his life, even and especially in dark times––transformation takes place in, around, and through him. His name will be changed to Abraham. He will become the father of Isaac, whom he will later be asked to offer to God in sacrifice, and through whom Abraham will eventually become our father in faith.

Recognition and transformation. Don’t we find these in the gospel too? Most clearly, of course, in the change in Jesus’ own appearance. But why does the Lord lead Peter, James and John up the mountain in the first place? As we will be reminded shortly, in the Preface to the Eucharistic Prayer, it’s to show… by the testimony of the law and the prophets, that the Passion leads to the glory of the Resurrection. By allowing his disciples to witness his own glorious Transfiguration, while he speaks prayerfully with Moses and Elijah about his passing… in Jerusalem, the Lord is helping the disciples to recognise, in his own sacrificial Death, the path to fullness of Life. He is teaching them, and us, to connect the shadow of the Cross, with the brilliance of heavenly glory.

And isn’t this connection between darkness and glory made especially clear when the three disciples find themselves engulfed by a shadowy cloud? It’s precisely out of the cloud’s terrifying darkness that God’s consoling and illuminating voice is heard saying, This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him. And doesn’t this instruction prompt us to recall the challenging words that Jesus had addressed to his disciples just before going up the mountain? If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me (9:23). Just as reading and writing start with the ABCs, so too does following the Lord begin with learning to recognise the close connection between the cross we are called to carry everyday, and the glory of the Lord’s Dying and Rising. And as we keep learning to make this connection, transformation happens. As the second reading tells us, the Lord Jesus Christ… will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body.

But isn’t there something important that remains to be said? Just because we know our ABCs doesn’t mean we have to read every book ever printed, or write down every thought that happens to float into our minds. If that’s even possible. No, we need to choose what and when to read and write. Similarly, just because we recognise the Cross of Christ as the way that leads to life-giving transformation, doesn’t mean we have to carry all the crosses that burden the world. No, as followers of Christ, we’re expected to bear only the cross that’s actually meant for us. Which means we need to learn to recognise, or discern, the one that’s truly ours to bear. And to be humble enough to let the others go. Even if letting go may sometimes be as, or even more, painful. Just as it’s painful for the family of an addict to witness their beloved’s suffering, while refusing to enable the addiction… So recognition, discernment and transformation… Aren’t these among the graces we fervently desire in this beautiful season of Lent? And by desiring them, aren’t we imitating the psalmist, in seeking the face of the Lord in the land of the living?

Sisters and brothers, in addition to teaching us the precious ABCs of our faith, how might the Lord be uncovering to us the glory of his scarred yet beautiful face this Lent?

Marking Memories

1st Sunday of Lent (C)

Readings: Jeremiah 17:5-8; Psalm 1:1-4, 6; 1 Corinthians 15:12, 16-20; Luke 6:17, 20-26

Picture: katiebordner on Flickr

My dear friends, what happens when we take off a watch, or a ring, or a pair of glasses that we’ve worn for some time? Don’t each of these things often leave a mark on our skin? The watch on the wrist, the ring on the finger, the glasses on the bridge of the nose. The body bears a memory of the burden it once carried. Of course, marks like these often fade with time. But some do not. Like how our muscles retain the memory of riding a bicycle. So that once the skill is acquired, it’s not easily lost. Which is fine, when it’s something helpful, like cycling. But what if it’s something harmful? What to do when, for example, the body is marked by trauma or addiction, leaving painful memories that refuse to go away?

Isn’t this the question Moses is helping the Israelites to address in the first reading? For generations, they had suffered the trauma of harsh slavery in Egypt. Until God heard their cry of distress, and sent Moses to rescue them. But even after the yoke of oppression was lifted, Israel continued to bear its ugly marks. The people kept acting like slaves. Resisting the guidance of the Lord, and even begging to return to Egypt. Isn’t this why their journey to freedom took so long? Forty years of wandering in the wilderness. And now, even as they finally arrive at the doorstep of the Promised Land, the people are still marked by slavery. Which makes their destination a dangerous place for them. For the land doesn’t just flow with milk and honey. It’s also occupied by many other peoples, who worship foreign gods. Gods by whom the Israelites could easily allow themselves to become enslaved. What to do? To counteract the effects of the old memories of slavery, Moses helps the people form new memories of freedom. He prescribes rituals for them to observe, including the one in the reading: the offering of the first fruits of the harvest. Which includes a pronouncement with the lips, an offering with the hands, and a bow––a sign of the heart’s submission to God. Through these rituals Israel allows her body to be inscribed with the moving memory of all that her merciful God has done for her. The Lord heard our voice and saw our misery… the Lord brought us out of Egypt…. He brought us here and gave us this land…

With the Israelites, we Christians share a similar spiritual itinerary. We too have been rescued from slavery. Not the oppression of Egypt, but the burden of sin. By his Passion, Death and Resurrection, Jesus mercifully leads us from the slavery of sin to the freedom of God’s kingdom. But again, like the Israelites, we too continue to bear the marks of oppression. We remain prone to enslavement by false gods, like money and popularity. We need to allow our bodies to be inscribed with the life-giving memory of what Jesus has done for us. Isn’t this why he allows himself to be led by the Spirit through the wilderness? By fasting for forty days––just as Israel wandered for forty years––the Lord shares our experience of vulnerability, and shows us the way to safety. By suffering temptation, Jesus also helps to uncover for us the devil’s devious tactics. Showing us how evil keeps trying to turn good and beautiful things toward crooked and ugly ends. Good things like the ordinary human appetite for food, the Lord’s own precious identity as Son of God, and his merciful mission to establish God’s kingdom on earth. All these the devil tries to subvert into an idolatrous quest for control. Control over one’s surroundings (tell this stone to turn into a loaf), control over others (I will give you all this power and the glory of these kingdoms), and even control over God (He will put his angels in charge of you to guard you). In contrast, what Jesus models for us isn’t control, but utter submission, and trust in God.

Still, it’s not enough for us simply to listen to this consoling story of the temptation of Christ. We also need to let it be inscribed in our bodies through practice. Isn’t this the deeper significance of the season of Lent? Traditionally a time for catechumens to prepare more intensely for baptism, and for us the baptised to dispose ourselves to renew our baptismal promises. Through bodily disciplines––like signing our heads with ash, and kneeling for the Stations of the Cross, curbing our appetites, and assisting those in need, along with many others––we allow the Lord not only to draw close to us, but to actually become part of our very bodies. Isn’t this what St Paul means when he says that, in order to be saved, we have only to confess with our lips that Jesus is Lord and to believe with our hearts that God raised him from the dead?

Some of us may still recall these words from an old song: In your time, in your time, you make all things beautiful in your time. Lord, my life to you I bring, may each song I have to sing, be to you a lovely thing, in your time… Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another allow the Lord to transform all the ugly marks, left in our bodies by trauma and sin, into beautiful memories of his love and mercy this Lent?

Of Dependence, Deprivation & Habit

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Jeremiah 17:5-8; Psalm 1:1-4, 6; 1 Corinthians 15:12, 16-20; Luke 6:17, 20-26

Picture: By Saurav S on Unsplash

My dear friends, how is an addiction uncovered? Whether it’s chocolates or cigarettes, Pokémon or pornography, overwork or gambling, alcohol or narcotics, how do we tell when an occasional indulgence, a mere guilty pleasure, has become something more problematic? Well, addictions are typically born of habit. Behaviour is repeated to the extent that it becomes compulsive. The addict becomes so dependent on the drug as to even experience withdrawal symptoms when deprived of it. Addictions are cultivated as habits, and experienced as dependence, which is then revealed through deprivation. Isn’t this why we rightly tend to be sceptical whenever someone engaging in addictive behaviour claims to be able to stop whenever they want to? They just never seem to want to. Without being deprived of the drug, it’s hard to tell whether we are actually addicted to it or not. I imagine that it’s sort of like playing Jenga. That popular game where wooden blocks are stacked up to form a stable tower. Players then take turns to remove a block and place it on top of the tower, making the structure ever more unstable, until it eventually collapses. The tower’s collapse reveals how much it had depended on that last-removed block to prop it up.

Dependence is revealed by deprivation. This is true not just of addiction, but also of what we find in our scriptures today. Both the first reading and the psalm present us with a striking contrast between two kinds of people. Those who trust in things of flesh, and those who place their hope in the Lord. Those who keep restlessly chasing after material things, versus those whose hearts seek and find their rest in God. The first type of people are cursed, and the second are blessed. But how to tell one from the other? How to uncover what is often kept hidden deep within a person’s heart? Again, dependence is revealed by deprivation. In a time of trial, those who hope in the Lord are like a tree by the waterside. They continue to thrive and even to bear fruit. While those who trust in the flesh are like dry scrub or winnowed chaff. The winds of adversity blow them away.

Dependence is revealed by deprivation. Could this be why it’s precisely those who are deprived in some way, whom Jesus proclaims happy or blessed? The poor and the hungry, those who weep, those who are persecuted on account of the Son of Man. And the second reading would have us include even those who are deprived of their very lives. Those who have died in Christ, hoping in the Lord’s Resurrection. Could it be that all these people are blessed, not so much because of the deprivation they suffer, but because of what that deprivation reveals? Their dependence on the Lord. In contrast, it is those who never suffer deprivation who are cursed. Why? Could it be it’s not so much because riches and satisfaction, laughter and popularity are sinful in themselves, but because their continual enjoyment serves to conceal one’s dependence or even addiction to them? And didn’t Jesus himself choose the path of poverty and humiliation over that of riches and popularity? And hasn’t Pope Francis reminded us that (i)n the Beatitudes, we find a portrait of the Master, which we are called to reflect in our daily lives (GE, 63)?

So what are we to do, particularly if we happen to live lives of relative comfort, and even luxury? Could it be that this is where it’s helpful to recall something else we considered earlier? Dependence is not only revealed by deprivation, it’s also cultivated through repetition. So could we not intentionally cultivate a habit of learning to accept our trials as opportunities to trust more in the Lord? And could we not also consciously try to depend more on God? Such as by repeating simple acts of self-denial, perhaps to benefit those in need. Not to build up our own pride, but to learn humility. To better recognise how much we need God. And to do this, not just as individuals, but also as families and communities, as a parish, and as a whole Church, the living Body of Christ. For scripture scholars remind us that when Jesus uses the words yours and you in today’s gospel, he is using them in their plural form, meaning you all. Rather than a bunch of individuals, the Lord is really speaking to his disciples, to us, as a group. Which may lead us to ask ourselves this important question: Even as many of us may work hard to build up our own families and communities, our own parish and the whole Church, what version of these realities are we really building? One that’s rich and satisfied, laughing and popular? Or one that’s poor and hungry, weeping and persecuted, because it stands and speaks on the side of the Lord? Following faithfully and courageously in his steps. Reflecting the portrait that he paints for us in the Beatitudes.

Sisters and brothers, if it’s indeed true that dependence is both revealed by deprivation, and cultivated as habit, then what kind of dependence are we really cultivating? Upon what foundation is our Jenga tower standing today?

Keeping Water Pipes Clean

5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 6:1-2, 3-8; Psalm 137 (138):1-5, 7-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Picture: By Paul Wolke on Unsplash

My dear friends, what happens when we turn on a tap that hasn’t been used for a very long time? Apart from hearing the old pipes groan and complain as we rouse them from sleep, aren’t we also likely to see dirty brown water flowing out of the tap? It’s only after we’ve let the water run for some time, that it eventually becomes clear again. Isn’t this interesting? Most other things––like pots and plates, for example––need to be cleaned only when we use them. But pipes are just the opposite. As long as they’re used, as long as the system is running, the pipes stay clean. It’s when they are not used, and the system is asleep, that problems arise.

This interesting feature of water pipes can help us ponder a curious point in our scriptures today. As we may have noticed, in each of our readings, God draws close to someone, and calls and commissions him for a particular work. In the first reading, it’s the prophet, Isaiah. In the second reading, it’s the pharisee, Paul. And in the gospel, it’s Simon Peter, the fisherman. All these persons react to God’s closeness in the same way. Before the holiness of God, each one is overwhelmed by his own unworthiness, his own need for purification… I am a man of unclean lips, Isaiah exclaims, and I live among a people of unclean lips… (S)ince I persecuted the Church of God, Paul writes, I hardly deserve the name apostle… And, very dramatically, Peter falls at the knees of Jesus saying, ‘Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man’…

But there is also a difference. God responds to Isaiah’s unworthiness by cleansing him straightaway. An angel touches the prophet’s lips with a live coal, saying, your sin is taken away, your iniquity is purged. But we find no mention of cleansing in the other stories, except when we’re told that Peter and his fellow fishermen were washing their nets, the way we wash our pots and plates after using them. Jesus responds to Peter’s confession of sinfulness by simply saying, Do not be afraid; from now on it is men you will catch. The Lord seems to assume that just by remaining close to him, by following him, and by sharing in his God-given mission of catching people for the kingdom, Peter and his companions will somehow be made clean. Which is also what Paul seems to imply when, despite his own unworthiness, he says that, by God’s grace, he has not only become an apostle, but the most hardworking one. So although Isaiah, Peter and Paul all feel unworthy, it seems only Isaiah is cleansed before being sent. How to understand this?

Could this be where our discussion of water pipes may be helpful? Could it be that, for us Christians, Jesus is the One who purifies us, even more effectively than a live coal from heaven? For he is the Eternal Word-Made-Flesh. As long as we keep drinking deeply from him, he becomes in us a spring of water gushing up to eternal life (Jn 4:14). To follow him ever more closely, to share in his mission ever more faithfully, is to allow the waters of God’s grace to flow through us, not only benefitting others, but cleansing ourselves as well. For to do this is to die with the Lord to sin, and to be raised with him to newness of Life. In contrast, it’s when we are distracted by other preoccupations––like money, popularity and material success––that problems arise. Making it difficult for us to find meaning in life, or hope in dark times. And leading us to rely on various bad habits to cope with boredom and stress.

And don’t we typically respond to our own unworthiness by gritting our teeth, and trying harder to keep ourselves clean? Often without success. Yet the Lord still insists on drawing close to us, calling us to focus first on following him, and on sharing his gospel mission. Letting him be our Way to true spiritual cleanliness. And this call is addressed not only to individual Christians, but also to families and (parish) communities, and the whole Church as well. Isn’t this why, at the end of Mass, we are told to go in peace, glorifying the Lord by (our) lives? And isn’t this a particularly urgent call today, when our world seems engulfed in deep shadows of different shades and shapes? From looming climate catastrophe to worrying conflicts and tensions everywhere. When many seem lost, like sheep without a shepherd. And we ourselves may feel confused. Lacking a sense of how to properly respond, of what we are to do, and where we are to go. Perhaps even feeling unworthy of the name Christian. And yet, could this often unspoken sense of our own need for cleansing actually be a sign that the Lord is drawing close to us? That, like someone turning on a long unused and forgotten tap, he is calling us anew. Inviting us to share more fully in his mission for the life of the world.

Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another become more like functioning life-giving water pipes, allowing God’s grace to keep flowing through us today?

Between Toilet & Temple

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

Readings: Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 23 (24):7-10; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

Picture: By Vadim Artyukhin on Unsplash

My dear friends, why do you think the toilets in a hotel or a mall are often so much cleaner than those in the coffeeshops? Isn’t it tempting to think that the users are the reason? That the patrons of a hotel or a mall are somehow more careful, more hygienic, even more cultured than those of a coffeeshop? I’m ashamed to admit it, but until quite recently, this was my own unspoken assumption. Until I happened to watch an interview given by Mr Jack Sim, the founder of the WTO. Not the World Trade Organisation, but the World Toilet Organisation. According to Mr Sim, the reason why coffeeshop toilets are so much dirtier, is not because their patrons are messier, but because their owners simply refuse to take the steps needed to clean them. To be honest, Mr Sim’s words came as something of a light-bulb moment for me. I found them at once enlightening, humbling and liberating. Enlightening, because they helped me see a fresh and intriguing point of view. Humbling, because they prompt me to entertain the possibility that I’m not that much different from everyone else. That however hygienic or careful or cultured I may think I am, like everybody else, the toilets I use need to be properly and regularly cleaned. To accept this fact is to be liberated from the heavy burdens of hypocrisy and guilt, snobbery and self-righteousness. And even to be freed to focus more on what truly keeps toilets clean…

Strange as it may sound, the feast we are celebrating today offers us a similar revelation. Of course, there is no mention of toilets anywhere in our Mass readings and prayers. Instead, our attention is drawn to a far more sacred place, the Temple in Jerusalem. But, though the Temple and a toilet seem as different as night and day, they do have one thing in common. Like a toilet, the Temple too is a place where cleaning, or purification, is needed. Isn’t this why Jesus, Mary and Joseph present themselves at the Temple in the gospel? They go there to be purified as laid down by the Law of Moses. Except that Jesus doesn’t really need cleansing. Instead, he is the One who cleanses us. In him, the promise made in the first reading finds its fulfilment. Through him, God enters the Temple to take his seat as refiner and purifier. And we may recall that what is carried out ritually for the baby Jesus today, the Lord will perform actually, as an adult, many years later. In chapter 19 of Luke’s gospel, Jesus will drive from the Temple all those who are selling things there (v 45, NRSV).

But not everyone is willing to allow themselves to be cleansed. Not everyone is ready to accept their own need for purification. Isn’t this why Simeon recognises Jesus not only as a light to enlighten the pagans, but also as a sign that is rejected? And who are the ones who will reject the Lord? Isn’t it those who take pride in their own efforts to keep themselves clean? Those who think they are more spiritually hygienic, careful, and cultured than everyone else. Who keep a scrupulous distance from, and even look down upon, those whom they consider unclean.

In contrast to this essentially elitist approach, the second reading reminds us that the Lord takes the opposite route. Instead of distancing himself, he draws closer to those who need cleansing. Even to the extent of sharing equally in our flesh and blood, so that by his death he could take away all the power of the devil. Becoming for us a compassionate and trustworthy high priest, able to help us in all our temptations, because he has himself been through temptation. Just as soap makes its cleansing power felt by coming into close contact with whatever is dirty. So too does Jesus draw close to us to purify us of our sin. Isn’t this the beautiful and consoling mystery we joyfully celebrate at this and every Mass?

All of which may help us reflect on our own approach to the spiritual life. Perhaps even offering us the possibility of a fresh light-bulb moment. One that may enlighten, humble, and liberate us anew. Enlightening us with a helpful reminder of how much we all need to remain close to the Lord, or rather, to allow him to draw close to us. Even and especially when, we may be feeling particularly unworthy of him. Humbling us to accept the truth that, however spiritually advanced we may think we are, however clean our spiritual lives may look, without the Lord, we all quickly go astray. Without him, none of us has the ability to remain clean. And doesn’t this truth serve to liberate us? For the more we realise, accept and live out of it, the better we are able to fixate less on ourselves and our own efforts, and to focus more on the Lord. Generously going wherever he may lead us, and doing whatever he may prompt and empower us to do.

Sisters and brothers, no matter whether we may be feeling as clean as a hotel toilet, or as filthy as the one in a coffeeshop, how might we better help one another to allow the Lord to draw ever closer to us today and everyday?

Still Or Sparkling?

2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 62:1-5; Psalm 95 (96):1-3, 7-10; 1 Corinthians 12:4-11; John 2:1-11

Picture: By Shayna Douglas on Unsplash

Still or sparkling? My dear friends, if the waiter in a restaurant asks you this question, how would you respond? How do you prefer your water? Still or sparkling? Sparkling water, as we know, is just a fancy name for water with bubbles in it. Sparkling water is fizzy. Still water is flat… And it’s not just water that can be fizzy or flat. Isn’t life the same as well? Aren’t there moments or periods when life seems to bubble with meaning and purpose, making it feel truly worth living? And aren’t there also times when life feels tediously empty, when we may even struggle to find a reason to stay alive?

Like water, life can feel fizzy or flat. But with one important difference. Although sparkling water can be fun to drink, we don’t really need the fizz to survive. Even flat water can keep us alive. But isn’t it a terrible thing to have to live without meaning and purpose? Isn’t this one of the reasons why we celebrate special occasions, like birthdays, weddings and anniversaries? More than just a chance to take a break from our routine, to let our hair down, and to have some fun, don’t such celebrations help us recall how meaningful life truly is? Perhaps this is why we often mark such occasions by drinking not just fizzy sodas, but also intoxicating wines. And on really special occasions, we may even have some champagne, which is both fizzy and intoxicating.

All of which may help us ponder the deeper significance of what we find in our scriptures today. The first reading is addressed to a broken and exiled people. A people whose land has been conquered, and whose Temple destroyed. The same land that the Lord their God had given their ancestors as a pledge of fidelity. The same Temple in which the Lord their God had promised to live among them forever. These key symbols of their identity as a people, these precious things that had given their life its meaning and purpose, have both been painfully stripped away. To this shattered and scattered people, God addresses a word of deep consolation. Promising a new beginning. A time when their glory will again shine out. When God will gather them back, like a bridegroom joyously embracing his radiant new bride.

We Christians believe that this promise finds its fulfilment in Jesus. Through his Dying and Rising, all of creation is gathered into the warmth of God’s loving embrace. This is what gives our life its deepest meaning. That whatever our current circumstances––however glorious our successes or agonising our failures, whether we are still young and energetic or already considered past our prime––we all continue to be nourished and sustained by the love of God. For with the outstretched arms of Jesus on the Cross, God embraces us as members of the Church, Christ’s beloved Body and Bride. Isn’t this what we celebrate at every Mass?

And isn’t this why it’s fitting that the first sign Jesus performs, to let his glory be seen, takes place at a wedding? By turning water into wine, Jesus doesn’t just save face for his hosts, and preserve the festive joy of their celebration. More than that, the miracle also points to how the Lord’s glorious Sacrifice on the Cross brings meaning and purpose to the lives of all who believe in him. All who choose to enter his loving and merciful embrace. Isn’t this the deeper connection between the transformation of water into wine, and the hour of the Lord’s glorious Sacrifice on the Cross?

Yet when the Lord reveals his glory at Cana, not many actually see and recognise it. Although the steward, and presumably the guests, get to enjoy the quality of the wine, they have no idea as to its true origin. Only the Lord’s Blessed Mother, the servants, and his disciples know… By nudging Jesus to perform his first sign, his Mother, in effect, hastens his Death, giving birth to him not just biologically, but also in faith. Then, by carefully obeying his instructions, the servants help facilitate the revelation of his glory. And, by believing in him, his disciples allow themselves to enter ever more deeply into the warmth of God’s embrace. Belief, obedience and birth. Three key steps by which true meaning and purpose is found in Christ. Steps that the Spirit of God empowers us to take. The same Spirit who, the second reading tells us, distributes different gifts to different people. 

Belief, obedience and birth. Isn’t it especially important for us to recall and to retrace these steps today? When many often seem to endure lives that feel terribly flat and boring? Either because we’re too busy or exhausted to ponder deeper things, or because we’ve lost whatever it was that gave our life its meaning. Such as an occupation or a relationship, a cherished ability or a prized possession…

So still or sparkling? Sisters and brothers, if the Lord were to ask us this question, how would we respond today?

The Blessing of Disruption

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord (C)

Readings: Isaiah 40:1-5, 9-11; Psalm 103 (104):1-4, 24-25, 27-3; Titus 2:11-14, 3:4-7; Luke 3:15-16, 21-22

Picture: By Isaac Quesada on Unsplash

My dear friends, what happens when a baby is born? We know that, for the baby, there is a radical change of environment: from the cosy warmth of the womb to the chilly wideness of the world. But doesn’t the baby’s arrival change its surroundings too? We may think, for example, of how a newborn infant disrupts the lives of its parents. Provided, of course, they allow themselves to be disrupted. Provided they make space in their lives for the baby, and receive the familial and societal support they need to do so. Actually, might we not say that, the warmer the welcome it receives, the more the baby transforms and blesses those around it?

And if this is true of any ordinary human birth, how much more true when the newborn is Jesus. As we've been pondering over the Christmas season, the Lord’s birth causes great disruption to those who receive him. Certainly to his parents, who have to endure considerable hardship, both to bring him into the world and to protect and care for him after he’s born. Disruption also to the magi, who have to travel a great distance to pay him homage. As well as to the many innocent babies, whom Herod slaughters to protect his own position. But even more radical than all this is the disruption that the Lord himself endures. For unlike any ordinary human baby, the scriptures tell us that Jesus traces his origin back to the infinite immensity of God. And yet, he humbly submits to the constraints of human flesh, of life in our beautiful yet troubled world. Such that the prophecy in the first reading is fulfilled: That the glory of the Lord might be revealed to us. That we might receive the blessing of being transformed. Provided we welcome him. As the gospel reading for Christmas Day reminds us: to all who did accept him he gave power to become children of God.

Which may help us appreciate why it’s fitting to celebrate the Baptism of the Lord as a Christmas feast. Even if it feels jarring, doesn’t it, that just a week after contemplating a tiny baby lying in a manger, receiving the magi’s gifts, we are now faced with a fully-grown man, praying quietly after rising from the waters of the Jordan? For Jesus chooses to undergo the ritual of baptism to mark the beginning of his public life and ministry. His professional birth as a travelling proclaimer of the good news. And, as with his biological birth, the scriptures carefully remind us who Jesus really is. After his baptism, heaven opens, the Holy Spirit descends on him, and a voice from heaven exclaims: You are my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on you. Jesus is the Son of the same God whose praises are sung by the psalmist, the One whose breath sustains the whole of creation: Lord God, how great you are…. You stretch out the heavens like a tent… you walk on the wings of the wind…. The earth is full of your riches…

As a result, whereas in ordinary baptisms, water is believed to purify the one baptised, in the case of Jesus, it is the Lord who cleanses the water. And more than just the water. For the Lord’s immersion in the Jordan points to his embrace of our fragile flesh, and of our fallen world. A world that, by his Dying and Rising, Jesus transforms into the kingdom of God. Empowering our flesh to bear the glorious weight of divine adoption. In him we become God’s children. Isn’t this the wondrous consolation that the prophet Isaiah speaks about in the first reading? The new revelation of God’s glory? Isn’t this how, by sending forth the spirit, God ultimately renews the face of the earth? The same Spirit by whom Jesus is conceived, and who then falls upon him when he is baptised.

Yet, as with the birth of a baby, we can enjoy the benefits of this great blessing only to the extent that we truly welcome it into our lives. Accepting whatever disruptions it may bring. Isn’t this what the second reading is referring to, when it tells us to give up everything that does not lead to God, and all our worldly ambitions, and to be self-restrained and live good and religious lives here in this present world? In other words, to strive to remain faithful to the vows professed at our baptism, and which we solemnly renew every Easter. Relying not on our own strength––for we are weak––but on the grace and mercy of God, revealed to us in Jesus Christ.

All of which might help us appreciate why it’s also fitting for us to celebrate the Baptism of the Lord not just as a Christmas feast, but also as a doorway to Ordinary Time. For the work of welcoming and receiving the Lord doesn’t end with Christmas. It’s an ongoing, lifelong process, in which we need to continually immerse ourselves. Just as the Lord generously immersed himself in the waters of the Jordan.

Sisters and brothers, if it’s indeed true that the warmer the welcome it receives, the more a baby transforms and blesses those around it, then how might we help each other to better allow the Lord to disrupt and bless us in the days ahead?

Turning Things Upside Down

Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord

Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 71 (72):1-2, 7-8, 10-13; Ephesians 3:2-3, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

Picture: By Jordan Whitt on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is it like to look at things upside-down? This may be the question I was trying to answer, in an old highly unflattering photograph of me taken when I was a little toddler. In the photo I’m bent over, with my head between my legs. A posture I’ll find very difficult to replicate today. I like to think that, back when that photo was taken, I was exploring a fresh perspective on the world. As any child filled with wonder might be expected to do. But I must confess that, as I grow older, it seems more challenging to do this. Not just to adopt the physical posture, but to seek out and to welcome fresh perspectives. To resist the temptation to become like my phone, which refuses to let me look at the pictures on it in any position other than right-side-up. Yet, don’t we sometimes have to turn our homes and our lives upside-down, to search for some valuable thing we’ve lost? Such as a wedding ring, a passport, or even our own identity?

It’s helpful to keep this in mind today. For if there’s one thing the Epiphany of the Lord invites us to ponder, it’s how the Light of Christ turns things upside-down. In our scriptures today, at least three things are turned upside-down. The most obvious being the division between Jew and Gentile, between citizen and foreigner, insider and outsider. As we know, it was believed that gentiles, or pagans––non-Jews like us––were excluded from the promises made by God to Abraham and his descendants. Gentiles were also considered ritually unclean. Yet who are the heroes in our gospel today, if not a group of gentiles? Those wise men… from the east, who let their lives be turned upside-down, in order to go in search of the newborn king of the Jews. Not only are the magi the heroes of the story, we are invited to see their arrival as the fulfilment of a promise made long ago, in the first reading. Which speaks of foreigners streaming to Jerusalem, bringing gold and incense and singing the praise of the Lord.

The second reading goes even further. It reminds us that, like the magi, we who used to be outsiders now share the same inheritance, that (we) are parts of the same body, and that the same promise has been made to (us), in Jesus Christ, through the gospel. This is the mystery that has now been revealed through the Spirit. The same mystery we celebrate at every Mass. Contrary to the emphasis our world places on race and class, as well as nationality and place of birth, the Light of Christ shows us something far more important: The willingness to allow one’s life to be turned upside down, so as to find and remain in the Lord. Just as the Eternal Word of God let himself be turned upside-down, to come in search of us. This is how outsiders like the magi become heroes. Which is, for us, at once a consolation and a challenge. A consolation to realise how blessed we are to be given a place in Christ. As well as a challenge to keep doing our best, both to remain in Christ, and to reach out to other outsiders. Bearing in mind that one doesn’t have to be a foreigner to be an outsider. Locals can often be made to feel like outsiders too.

Also, in addition to our usual bias toward insiders, there are at least two other things that are turned upside-down: The value we give to physical proximity, and to information. Why is it that properties located close to popular schools cost more? Isn’t it because we value proximity? And yet, what use is it to live near a school, if I have no heart to study? Similarly, in the gospel, even though Jerusalem is only about ten kilometres away from Bethlehem, Herod and company are initially oblivious to the birth of Jesus. It’s only when he is questioned by the magi, that Herod becomes perturbed. The Epiphany shows us that, far more important than physical proximity, is the heart or determination to search.

We all know, of course, how highly our world values information. Living as we do in an information age. But what good is information, without the humility to learn from it? In the gospel, although Herod has access to the information needed to locate Jesus, it doesn’t help him draw any closer to the Lord. On the contrary, he seeks more data for the same selfish reason that a scammer does: To benefit himself at the expense of others. He wants to know the exact date on which the star had appeared, only so that he can figure out how many babies he has to kill, if the magi don’t come back! The Epiphany shows us that, far more important than information, is the humility both to recognise the limits of what we know, and to learn from those who may know better.

The heroism, heart, and humility of the magi, in contrast to our world’s bias toward insiders, proximity and information respectively. Three ways in which the Epiphany of the Lord turns our world upside-down. Sisters and brothers, even if we may not be able to place our head between our legs, how else might the Light of Christ be revealing to us fresh perspectives on our lives and on our world this Christmas?