Looking Beyond The Mirror

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Wisdom 7:7-11; Psalm 89 (90):12-17; Hebrews 4:12-13; Mark 10:17-30

Picture: By Jason Tadyanehondo on Unsplash

Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble,

When you're perfect in every way.

I can't wait to look in the mirror,

'Cause I get better lookin' each day.

To know me is to love me.

I must be a hell of a man.

Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble,

But I'm doin' the best that I can!

My dear friends, do these words sound familiar? They’re taken from an old country western song, about a man who’s convinced he’s perfect in every way, but who still can’t help feeling as though something is missing. Something important that, despite all his best efforts, remains stubbornly out of his reach. He calls it being humble. And his own frustrated desire for humility is what gives this hilariously funny song an unmistakeable touch of sadness… To have everything we ever wanted to have, to be everything we ever wanted to be, and to still feel as though something important is missing. Isn’t this the experience of that rich man in today’s gospel? For convenience, let’s call him P.

The reading makes it clear that P is rich not just materially, but also morally. He has kept the commandments from his earliest days. And yet, P still feels as though something important is missing. Something he calls eternal life. Which is why he asks Jesus for advice. And this frustrated desire for a fuller life is also why P goes away sad, when he realises that he’s too attached to his possessions to follow the Lord. Despite his best efforts, eternal life remains out of his reach.

But sadness does not have the final word. For although Jesus acknowledges that it is impossible for the rich to enter the kingdom of God, he also says that everything is possible for God. Which prompts us to look at the gospel with fresh eyes. To see beyond P’s weakness and sadness, and to consider the subtle yet powerful workings of God. First, to recognise that P’s own frustrated desire for a fuller life––his sense that something important is missing––is itself a sign of grace. The same grace that the psalmist prays for when she asks God to (m)ake us know the shortness of our life that we may gain wisdom of heart… In P’s restlessness and frustration lie the beginnings of the same gift that, in the first reading, King Solomon says he received from God. A gift given in response to prayer. I prayed, and understanding was given me; I entreated, and the spirit of Wisdom came to me…

Which helps us to see more clearly just where P goes wrong. For in his interaction with Jesus, P focuses too quickly on the demands that the Lord appears to be making on him. Go and sell everything you own and give the money to the poor, and… then come, follow me. This is what Jesus, the alive and active Word-of-God-Made-Flesh, identifies as the one thing that P lacks. But the reading also tells us that, before pointing out what P lacks, Jesus first looked steadily at him and loved him. In this loving and merciful gaze, is found the power that P needs to do what is required of him. But instead of receiving and basking in that gaze, rather than allowing himself to soak up from it as much spiritual strength as he needs, P focuses only on his own efforts, and his own limitations. As a result, he goes away frustrated and sad.

And yet, even if, at this point in his life, P is unable to follow Jesus, isn’t it reasonable to believe that the Lord’s piercing gaze will keep following him? That it will somehow remain imprinted on his heart, haunting his thoughts and dreams. Much like how the sun keeps shining upon us, even when we fail to notice it’s rays. Isn’t it reasonable to expect that there will come a time when the Lord’s gaze will eventually succeed in catching P’s attention? Drawing him more fully into the warmth of God’s loving embrace. And isn’t this what we ourselves prayed for earlier, in the opening prayer, when we asked that the Lord’s grace might at all times go before us and follow after and make us… carry out good works?

And isn’t this something that we sorely need, we who live in a country that takes such pride in its own improbable success against all odds? Yet, amid the perfection of our many notable achievements, isn’t it true that there are those of us who still can’t help feeling as though something important is missing? And despite our often desperate efforts at numbing or distracting ourselves from it––such as by working too hard, or buying stuff we don’t need, or scrolling endlessly on our phones––doesn’t this feeling continue to haunt us? 

Sisters and brothers, even if it truly is hard to be humble, when we’re perfect in every way, how might our good Lord be calling us to stop looking in the mirror long enough to receive and be strengthened by his loving and liberating gaze today?

Between Fantasy & Horror

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Genesis 2:18-24; Psalm 127 (128); Hebrews 2:9-11; Mark 10:2-16

Picture: By Kevin Wright on Unsplash

My dear friends, which is easier to believe, a fairy tale or a horror story? In a fairy tale, a pretty girl kisses an ugly frog, marries a handsome prince, and then lives happily ever after… In a horror story, the same girl marries a handsome prince, but realises he’s an ugly frog, divorces him, and then dies in a tragic car crash… We need both stories to help us deal with reality. The first teaches us to dream, the second to prepare for disappointment. But doesn’t it seem like it’s getting harder these days to believe in fairy tales? Is there even a place for them in our world anymore? This, I believe, is the question our scriptures help us to ponder today.

At first glance, the readings offer us no more than the usual familiar biblical explanation regarding the origin of marriage, and the unlawfulness of divorce. Both of which are rooted in God’s plan. This is why a man… joins himself to his wife… For God has arranged it such that the man sees in the woman that for which he longs: bone of my bones… flesh from my flesh. And what God has united, man must not divide. But if we are honest, doesn’t reality make all this sound more and more like an implausible fairy tale? Don’t the daily challenges and changing aspirations of life in an ultra-modern city like ours, often leave little time or space, desire or energy to devote to a spouse, let alone to bear and bring up children? And when things go wrong in a marriage, as they so often seem to, isn’t it better to let the parties call it quits in as quick and pain-free a way as possible? And how about those who feel left out, because they want to be with someone of the same sex, or because they don’t identify with the gender they were born into, or with any gender at all?

More than simply making the Christian view of marriage seem implausible, don’t experiences like these tend to call into question the relevance of life-long commitments of all kinds, including the priesthood and religious life? Why tie ourselves down unnecessarily, by making promises we struggle to keep? Instead of clinging to such romantic fairy tales, isn’t it more realistic, simply to live and respond to life’s events as they come? The readings help us ponder such concerns, by proposing five movements for our consideration. The first is the movement from isolation to companionship. It is not good that the man should be alone… God’s desire, in bringing the man and woman together, is to open up the possibility of true companionship between different persons of equal dignity. But for this to happen, there needs to be a willingness to submit to a second movement, from mastery to submission, from self-indulgence to self-sacrifice. So the man allows God to make him fall into a deep sleep, and to use one of his ribs to create the woman. And it’s helpful for us to recall that the early Fathers of the Church saw in this process a foreshadowing of the birth of the Church from the side of Christ, as he slept on the Cross. As the second reading reminds us, Christ submitted to death, so as to become the leader who would take us to salvation.

By submitting to the sleep of death, Christ leads us from the kingdom of this world into the kingdom of God. This is the third movement. More than just the companionship of husband and wife, God’s purpose is to gather all of creation into the universal communion of Christ’s Body. Signified so beautifully in the gospel, by how Jesus embraces the little children, as he lays his hands on them, and blesses them. The blessing of communion, in place of the curse of conflict. This is the fourth movement. This is what God intends for our life on this earth. But in order to receive this gift, we all need to undergo a conversion. In the gospel, Jesus calls the Pharisees unteachable, a word that can also be translated as hardness of heart. And Jesus also says that anyone who does not welcome the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. From the Pharisees’ hardness of heart to the openness of little children. This is the fifth movement.

From isolation to companionship… From self-indulgence to self-sacrifice… From the kingdom of this world to the kingdom of God… From curse to blessing… From hardness to openness of heart… These are the life-giving movements we need to believe in… Which bring to mind these words from the 2003 movie, Secondhand Lions: Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a (person) needs to believe in the most: that people are basically good; that honour, courage, and virtue mean everything; that… money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and… that love... true love never dies…. Doesn't matter if it's true or not… a (person) should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in…

Sisters and brothers, how is God offering us the courage to believe ever more deeply, and to invest our lives ever more fully, in the fairy tales of our faith today?

Fire With Fire

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Numbers 11:25-29; Psalm 18 (19):8, 10, 12-14; James 5:1-6; Mark 9:38-43, 45, 47-48

Picture: By Landon Parenteau on Unsplash

My dear friends, what does it mean to fight fire with fire? The expression is often used as a figure of speech, to mean adopting our opponents’ own methods against them. Such as by responding to violence with violence of our own. And we know that we Christians are not supposed to do this. Instead, we are called to follow Jesus’ example, and return good for evil (see, eg, 1 P 3:8). But there are people who fight fire with fire in a more literal way. In places where wildfires are prevalent, some indigenous communities start smaller controlled fires in cooler months, as a way to prevent larger fires when the days get hotter. The controlled fires help reduce the amount of fuel available to feed the more devastating wildfires. Fighting one type of fire with flames of another kind. Isn’t this what we find in our scriptures today?

In the gospel, Jesus describes hell––the ultimate consequence of sin––as a fire that cannot be put out. A fire so wild and devastating that drastic steps are needed to reduce the fuel available to feed it. Even if that fuel includes parts of my own body. If my foot or hand or eye should cause me to sin, I am to cut it off, or tear it out, for it’s better to be deprived of these body-parts than to be totally consumed by hellfire. This teaching is, of course, not meant to be taken literally. Otherwise, there’ll be a far higher proportion of physically disabled people among Christians than in the general population, including the one preaching this homily. So what then should I do with my errant body-parts?

In the second reading, what fuels the fire of sin isn’t human body-parts, but earthly riches that have been gathered corruptly, fraudulently, unjustly. Such as by withholding what others need to live a dignified human life. (L)isten to the wages that you kept back, calling out… Fuelled by unjust riches, the fire of sin becomes so strong, it’s able to corrode even precious metals like gold and silver. Yet it’s also subtle enough to consume less tangible forms of wealth. We may think of stocks and shares, bonds and futures, and yes, even cryptocurrency. This fire is so voracious, it gobbles up not just accumulated wealth, but also the one doing the accumulating. (T)he same corrosion will be your own sentence, and eat into your body… And if this stern reminder is needed, isn’t it because those in danger of being burnt up are often unaware of the peril they face? It’s possible to become numb to sin, and its deadly consequences. Isn’t this why the psalmist prays to be acquitted from hidden faults, and not to be ruled by presumption?

On earth you have had a life of comfort and luxury; in the time of slaughter you went on eating to your heart’s content. My dear friends, in a world where so many struggle just to survive, how does it feel to hear these words of warning? I have to confess that they make me tremble interiorly. For even if I may not have any personal wealth to speak of, I do benefit considerably from living in one of the richer parishes, and one of the most affluent countries in the world. Where much pride is taken, perhaps rightly, in the substantial reserves we’ve accumulated over the years. How sure can each of us be, that our national, familial, and personal wealth is truly free from the taint of injustice? That it’s not somehow fuelling the fires of sin? What steps might we need to take to prevent this from happening? What is the economic equivalent of cutting off a body-part to stay out of hell?

In pondering these questions, it’s helpful for us to see that there’s actually another kind of fire in our scriptures today. Without using the word explicitly, the first reading speaks of something that acts like fire. Except that, in contrast to hellfire, these flames do not consume or corrode. Instead, they purify and strengthen. Isn’t this what happens to the people on whom the Fire of the Spirit falls in the first reading? The Spirit ignites in them the wisdom and courage to truly hear and proclaim the prophetic life-giving word of God. Such that both those embraced by this Fire, as well as those to whom they prophesy, might become ever more truly who God calls them to be. Isn’t this why Moses wishes that the whole people of the Lord were prophets, and the Lord gave his Spirit to them all?

My dear friends, could it be that, whether it’s unjustly acquired wealth or wayward body-parts, the way to keep from fuelling hellfire is to offer all that we have and all that we are to the Fire of the Spirit? Just like how wise indigenous communities start controlled fires in order to prevent the devastation of wild ones. Which is not the same as cunningly setting aside some small portion of one’s time and money for charity, in order to appease God, and quiet one’s conscience.

Sisters and brothers, what type of flame is burning within and among us? How are we called to fight fire with fire today?

The Canary's Collapse

25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Wisdom 2: 12, 17-20; Psalm 53 (54): 3-6, 8; James 3: 16-4:3; Mark 9: 30-37

Picture: By Martin Hendrikx on Unsplash

My dear friends, what would it be like to imagine, just for a moment, an actual canary in a coal mine? A tiny, lively but fragile, bright yellow bird, trapped in a cage, and lowered into an eery pitch-black darkness. And what if that canary were to suddenly collapse? How will the miners feel? What will they do? Perhaps some will be too busy working to notice. And perhaps some others might pity the poor bird, and try to revive it. But what if, having failed to do so, they were to sadly shake their heads in resignation, and go back to work? How would this make us feel? On the one hand, the miners’ reaction seems understandable, since a coal mine contains toxic gases, like carbon monoxide. Gases that are deadly to a canary, which needs clean air to survive. So the bird’s collapse shouldn’t be a surprise. But isn’t carbon monoxide dangerous to miners too? Isn’t the canary’s collapse a sign of what will happen to them as well, if they were to remain in the mine? Shouldn’t they be trying to do something about it?…

In today’s gospel, like a canary lowered into a coal mine, Jesus descends from the Mountain of Transfiguration, and makes his way through Galilee. And for a second time, the Lord secretly tells his disciples what will happen to him in Jerusalem. How the toxic fumes engulfing and emanating from his enemies will eventually cause him to collapse. And it’s helpful for us to notice the disciples’ reaction, and to compare it with how they reacted the first time Jesus shared this shocking news with them. As we may recall from last week’s reading, the first time Jesus talks about his own Passion, Death and Resurrection, Peter starts to remonstrate with him. He tries to rouse Jesus from the troubling ideas that seem to be making the Lord dizzy. This time, after Peter’s failed attempt at reviving him, the disciples simply ignore Jesus. But instead of letting them off, Jesus questions them. For by arguing which of them was the greatest, the disciples show that they are breathing the same fumes as the Lord’s enemies. Fumes that are toxic to a full human life. Fumes that are incompatible with the life-giving breath of the Spirit, which sustains Jesus, and moves and empowers him to bravely and humbly accept the role of a helpless canary.

The stark contrast between the toxic fumes in a coal mine, and the life-giving breath that sustains a canary. Isn’t this what the other readings invite us to ponder more deeply? In the second reading, St James describes it as a contrast between two types of wisdom, two opposing kinds of logic, or orientations to life. The first we might name the logic of grasping. In an earlier verse, James calls it earthly, animal, and even devilish (3:15). It is characterised by jealousy and ambition or self-interest. It springs from the unruly passions of the human heart, and results in disorder in society, disharmony and hypocrisy, character assassination and murder, conflict and war. The second, we might name the logic of gift. James calls it the wisdom that comes from above, which is pure and makes for peace. It is full of compassion and shows itself by doing good.

The first reading tells us what happens when those who live according to one logic encounter those who live according to the other. What happens when the canary enters the coal mine, when the godly or virtuous person meets the ungodly or wicked ones. Annoyed by the witness of the godly person’s righteous life, the wicked are driven to persecute and even to kill her. Yet the psalm reminds us that, despite appearances to the contrary, God remains on the side of the virtuous. I have God for my help. The Lord upholds my life. Isn’t this also the experience of Jesus? And isn’t this what the Lord is trying to teach his disciples in the gospel? That even when, in the process of bearing witness to the wisdom of God, he collapses and dies, God will not only raise him up again, but will also draw others to follow his example. So that he might become the way to be free of the toxicity of the mine, and to find fullness of life. But to follow his example, the disciples need to be willing to make themselves last of all and servant of all. To welcome little children in his name. To pay close attention to other canaries in the mine, particularly those not there by choice, but by force of circumstance.

Which brings to mind that troubling piece of news from the front page of Friday’s print edition of the Straits Times. According to a recent nationwide survey on youth mental health, (n)early a third of young people aged 15 to 35 have experienced severe or very severe symptoms of depression, anxiety or stress. How do we feel when we read this? Could what is happening to our youth be a signal to the rest of us?

Sisters and brothers, through these and other canaries that may be collapsing around us, what might the Lord be teaching us today?

From Wall To Path

24th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Isaiah 50: 5-9; Psalm 114 (116): 1-6, 8-9; James 2: 14-18; Mark 8: 27-35

Picture: By Tan Kaninthanond on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is the connection between deafness and suffering? The answer seems obvious, right? We see deafness as a dis-ability, a lack, a form of suffering. And deafness can also act like a path that leads to even more suffering. Such as when hearing-impaired children aren’t given a proper education. But isn’t there also another kind of deafness, for which the opposite is true? A deafness that operates not as a path, but as a wall to keep suffering at bay. One example is the psychological defence of denial. When someone dies suddenly, his or her spouse may keep insisting that the beloved is actually still alive. Subconsciously, the bereaved person turns a deaf ear to the pain of loss. Time is needed for the wall of deafness to crumble, and for the path to suffering to open up, along with the possibility of moving on. We find something similar in our scriptures today.

We may recall that, in the gospel passage we heard last week, Jesus healed a deaf man, who had an impediment in his speech. In today’s reading, the Lord again encounters deafness, except that this time the affliction is more spiritual than physical. When Jesus shares with his own disciples the troubling news that he himself is destined to suffer grievously… to be rejected… put to death, and after three days to rise again, Peter is unable to accept it. Like someone grieving the sudden loss of a loved one, Peter’s first reaction is denial. His spiritual deafness acts like a wall, preventing him not only from sharing physically in the Lord’s suffering, but even from simply empathising with his friend.

Deafness that acts as a wall to keep suffering at bay. We find this in the second reading too, where St James makes a sharp distinction between a living faith, and one that’s quite dead. A living faith expresses itself in good works. It is down-to-earth. It hears and responds generously and practically to the cries of the poor. A dead faith, however, is deaf, walled-off from the sufferings of others. Even when faced with those who lack the bare necessities of life, all it does is offer pious platitudes. I wish you well; keep yourself warm and eat plenty.

But what causes this deafness, and how can it be healed? In the gospel, Jesus attributes Peter’s condition to the things that fill his mind and heart. The way you think is not God’s way but man’s. The world typically sees suffering as no more than something to be avoided at all costs, sometimes even to the point of ignoring and abandoning those who suffer. In contrast, our loving and merciful God hears the cries of those who suffer, and draws close to them. Isn’t this the experience of the psalmist? I love the Lord for he has heard the cry of my appeal… And more than just hearing and drawing close, God actually takes on our sufferings. Isn’t this what Jesus is doing in the gospel? Isn’t this what we celebrate at Mass? Like the suffering servant in the first reading, Jesus allows his ears to be opened to the cry of the poor, and they courageously accepts all of the suffering that results from his closeness to them. I offered my back to those who struck me… I did not cover my face against insult and spittle…

And it’s important for us to remember that this path through suffering is not a dead-end. Rather it leads to the fullness of life in God. Not just in heaven, but already here on earth. For after Jesus dies on the Cross, God raises him from the dead. Which is why the Lord can say that anyone who loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. This is the way deafness is healed. This is how a dead faith is raised. By seeking, finding and following the Lord. Not just here in church, but also out there in the world. Wherever suffering may be found. Not just in faraway war-torn or disaster-stricken countries, but also in our own backyard, our own workplaces and schools, our own families and homes. For how else can our deafness be overcome, except by drawing close to those who cry out? And how else can our faith become more down-to-earth, except by allowing our hands to get dirty?

Perhaps this is why, in his recent state address, even as he praised our nation’s achievements, Pope Francis also chose to highlight the risk entailed in focusing solely on pragmatism or placing merit above all things, namely the unintended consequence of justifying the exclusion of those on the margins from benefiting from progress. The Pope also expressed his hope that special attention… be paid to the poor and the elderly––whose labours have laid the foundations for the Singapore we see today––as well as to protecting the dignity of migrant workers…. (who) contribute a great deal to society and should be guaranteed a fair wage.

Sisters and brothers, what can we do, as individuals, as families, and as a community, to allow the Lord to gradually transform the wall of our deafness into a path to life today?