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?

From Nuclear to Extended

The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary & Joseph (C)

Readings: 1 Samuel 1:20-22, 24-28; Psalm 127 (128):1-5; 1 John 3:1-2, 21-24; Luke 2:41-52

Picture: By Arian Malek khosravi on Unsplash

My dear friends, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when we hear the word nuclear? Perhaps many of us will think first of atomic energy. But it’s not just lifeless atoms that have nuclei. The living cells in our bodies do too. And as it is in an atom, so too in a cell. The nucleus is the most important part. It’s what lies at the core, at the very heart, of biological life. Which may be why we sometimes hear people talk about a nuclear family. Consisting of a man and a woman, united in marriage, together with any number of children. Which can then become the basis for a larger, more extended, family, including even members from different generations. And even if we may not use the word nuclear, we Christians believe that this arrangement lies at the heart of family life.

But does this mean then that every family must first conform to this ideal before it can be holy? What about those of us whose living situations appear to fall short of the ideal? What if, for example, we are single or separated, widowed or divorced, or even cohabiting or not married in church? And what if, for various reasons, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to change our situation? Can we still be holy? Does this lovely Feast of the Holy Family have something to say even to those of us who may find ourselves in these and similar situations?

Thankfully, the answer is yes, it does. And to see this, it helps to first acknowledge that each of the families we find in our readings is actually less than what we ourselves might consider conventional or ideal. In the first reading, although Hannah is the mother of Samuel, she is only one of her husband’s two wives. And, as we know very well, in the gospel, although Mary is the mother of Jesus, Joseph is not his biological father. But even though their situations may fall short of our ideal, there remains something nuclear about these families, albeit in a different sense. For at the heart of each of them, there lies something very important, something truly precious, something that actually makes them holy.

To appreciate what this something is, we need to recognise a second striking similarity in these readings. In both of them, much of the action takes place in a temple. First in Shiloh, and then in Jerusalem. But more important than their exact physical location, is what these temples signify. For what constitutes the nucleus of a temple, what lies at its very heart, what makes it holy, if not God, who lives in the worship and praises of the people? Isn’t this why a temple is also called the house of the Lord? And isn’t this true not just of buildings, but also of people as well? Both individuals and families? The presence and worship of God is what makes us holy. So that, even if our living situations may seem unconventional or less-than-ideal, through the loving mercy of God, we can still become living temples of the Lord. Isn’t this the experience of Hannah? When she is despised and abused for being barren, she courageously lays bare her heart to God. And when she finally gives birth to a son, she gratefully dedicates him entirely to the Lord. Leaving him in the temple for the whole of his life. After having first taken care to wean him. Allowing Samuel to eventually become a prophet of God.

Similarly, in the gospel, despite often facing situations that are beyond their comprehension and control, both Mary and Joseph continue to experience and to worship the presence of God. Mary also treasures their God-experiences in her heart. Even those that are challenging and difficult to understand. And it’s also helpful to notice that although, unlike Samuel, Jesus does not remain in the temple, he continues to live in God’s presence, in God’s house, by keeping himself occupied with his Father’s affairs, by doing his Father’s will. Which, for the boy Jesus, meant returning to Nazareth with his earthly parents, and being obedient to them. Isn’t this what it looks like when people do their best to keep God’s commandments, within the often messy constraints of their respective situations in life? And doesn’t the second reading tell us that, when we do this, we receive the grace to live in God, and to have God live in us? Making us grow in holiness, and allowing us to become part of a single extended holy family. One that recognises God as our heavenly Father.

All of which may remind us of these words of Pope Francis: In order to avoid all misunderstanding, I would point out that in no way must the Church desist from proposing the full ideal of marriage…. But I sincerely believe that Jesus wants a Church attentive to the goodness which the Holy Spirit sows in the midst of human weakness… “…even if in the process, her shoes get soiled by the mud of the street”… (AL, 307, 308).

Sisters and brothers, regardless of our current situation, what can we do to let the Lord be the nucleus of our lives today?

Between Floods & Tea

Christmas Day – Mass During The Day

Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 97 (98):1-6; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-18

Picture: By Jyoti Singh on Unsplash

My dear friends, what’s the difference between floodlights and tea lights? We know that floodlights are typically used to illuminate large venues, like soccer stadiums and concert halls. Where their great power enables them to illuminate everything they shine upon. Leaving nothing in the dark. Which makes floodlights all but impossible to ignore… In contrast, a tiny tea light is far more fragile and weak. When placed in a huge hall, it leaves many areas still shrouded in shadow. Which makes it so much easier to miss, especially if we don’t pay enough attention. Actually, to spot the tiny glow of a humble tea light, flickering in an obscure corner of a large space, we may need to be willing to search patiently among the shadows, and to peer bravely into the dark.

It’s helpful for us to keep this in mind, on this joyous Christmas Day, when our scriptures speak of the arrival of the true light that enlightens everyone, and give us the distinct impression of a mighty show of great power. In the first reading, for example, we’re told that the Lord bares his holy arm, achieves a victory so glorious that all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God. And the second reading refers to Christ as the radiant light of God’s glory, who not only sustains the universe by his powerful command, but has also destroyed the defilement of sin, and taken his place in heaven at the right hand of divine Majesty.

Listening to descriptions like these, isn’t it natural for us to imagine powerful floodlights being suddenly switched on, illuminating everything all at once, and leaving nothing in the dark? An image that may understandably be comforting for some. And yet, might there not also be those among us who can’t help wondering how realistic this image is? How closely it matches what we know of life in our chaotic world? Where a woman sleeping quietly on a NYC subway train is suddenly burnt to death, after being set alight by an apparent stranger. And where, in his most recent Christmas address to no less than the Roman Curia, the Pope feels the need to remind everyone of something as basic as not spreading rumours and gossip. Even in a relatively peaceful country like our own, a police presence needs to stand ready in the shadows, to ensure our safety as we gather to worship. And each of us will likely be able to add, to this far-from-exhaustive list, our own personal brushes with evil and tragedy.

Thankfully, when we take the trouble to peer below the surface, our readings reveal another image to complement the first. For while the gospel speaks about the coming of the true light, it also takes care to remind us that this is a light that shines in the dark. And although the darkness could not overpower it, the light still has to contend with the pain of ignorance and rejection: He was in the world that had its being through him, and the world did not know him. He came to his own domain and his own people did not accept him. A reminder to us that the glory of the Lord’s Resurrection comes only through his utter humiliation on the Cross. Prompting us to ponder more deeply what we are celebrating today. What it really means that the Word was made flesh. That the only Son of the Father should mercifully enter the darkness of our human condition, not as a mighty warrior, but as a helpless infant, lying among domestic animals. Lovingly showing us a form of power that works in and through weakness. And a form of illumination that looks less like mighty floodlights, and more like a tiny tea light.

All of which offers us helpful guidance for how we might spend the rest of this brief Christmas season. For if the light of the Incarnation is indeed as obscure as a tiny tea light, then perhaps we need to beg God for the patience and courage to keep gazing steadily and unflinchingly into the dark corners and shadowy recesses of our lives and of our world. As well as for the wisdom and perception to recognise the light that shines in the dark. And for the openness and generosity to allow that same light to ignite our own hearts, so that we too may become humble light-bearers. And, wherever possible, to do all this not just individually, but also together, as families, as communities, and as church.

In a scene from the movie, The Hobbit, An Unexpected Journey, Gandalf the wizard is asked why he chooses a little hobbit as a companion on a dangerous quest. This is what he says in reply: Saruman (a fellow wizard) believes that it’s only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I’ve found. I’ve found that it’s the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it’s because I’m afraid, and he gives me courage…

Sisters and brothers, how might we help one another to better welcome the humble tea light of Christ this Christmas?

Water for the Thirsty

4th Sunday of Advent (C)

Readings: Micah 5:1-4; Psalm 79 (80): 2-3, 15-16, 18-19; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-45

Picture: By Johnny McClung on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is it like to experience a burning thirst? And what does it feel like when that thirst is finally satisfied? As we’ve probably seen in the news, in recent days, attention has again been drawn to the dire water crisis in Gaza. According to a report by Human Rights Watch, between October 2023 and September 2024, Palestinians in Gaza had access to only a few litres of water a day in many areas, far below the 15-litre-threshold for survival. Here in Singapore, on the other hand, despite water being so accessible, it is said that many of us are often so busy that we even forget to drink. Yet whether it’s due to scarcity or neglect, we know that if our bodies don’t get enough water, they become dehydrated, and we fall sick. So what a great relief it is when long-dehydrated bodies finally receive the water they need!

The joyful relief that comes from satisfying a burning thirst. Isn’t this what we find in our scriptures today? Although it may not be so obvious, the first reading is actually addressed to a people burning with thirst of a particular kind. A people besieged by their enemies, and feeling abandoned by their God. A people suffering the dire consequences of their own wilful refusal to drink from the life-giving stream of God’s presence in their lives. To this spiritually dehydrated and despairing people, God promises to send a saviour. A mysterious new ruler, who will feed and shepherd them. Leading and guiding them into the peace of God’s kingdom. And we believe that this promise finds its ultimate fulfilment, and the people’s thirst its final satisfaction, in Jesus.

But, in our scriptures today, we find more than just a thirsty people. Incredibly, in the second reading, we also discover the image of a thirsty God. Except that God’s thirst is not for what we may expect. Not for what the Law lays down as the things to be offered. Not for ritual sacrifices for sin, but for humanity to become holy. For God’s thirst is born not of a desire for domination, but of love. God wishes everyone to turn back to God, so that God can satisfy our burning thirst. And again, as in the first reading, this comes about through Jesus. God’s will is for us to be made holy by the offering of his body made once and for all by Jesus Christ.

All of which helps us to better appreciate the deeper significance of that delightful encounter in the gospel. More than just a conversation between two expectant first-time mothers, what we find here is the meeting of two mutually satisfying thirsts. On the one hand, the older woman and her unborn child represent the thirsty people. In Abraham, they were chosen to be a blessing for all the nations. But owing to their disobedience, for so many generations, they have remained barren. Then now, with the miraculous conception of John the Baptist, a new hope has dawned. The promise of a renewed willingness to return and to drink deeply of God.

On the other hand, the younger woman and her unborn child represent the efforts of our thirsty God, who lovingly and mercifully reaches into the dryness of our hearts and of our world, to bring forth a refreshing stream of life-giving water.  And it’s striking how all this is made possible through humble obedience. First of all, the obedience of God’s only begotten Son, the Eternal Word, who humbles himself to take on human flesh, eventually dying on a cross, before being raised up again on the Third Day. And, second, the obedience also of Mary his Mother, whose precious consent to God’s will makes such a great blessing accessible to us all. 

Humble obedience to God’s will. This is what mediates the meeting and mutual satisfaction of the respective thirsts of humanity and of God. This is what the second reading labels holiness, and what the gospel calls blessedness. The same holiness and blessedness that both John and Elizabeth somehow recognise, in Mary’s greeting. Prompting the child to leap for joy, and his mother to cry out in wonder: Of all women you are the most blessed, and blessed is the fruit of your womb… Yes, blessed is she who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled.

What a great relief it is, when long-dehydrated lives finally receive the water they need! And how important it is for us to keep pondering this blessedness. For as rich and modern as our society may be, don’t we still see painfully obvious signs of thirst? Not just in the recent news reports of alleged vice activities uncovered in the heartlands, or the record $12.2 billion in bets placed with Singapore Pools in the last financial year, or the puzzling Labubu craze. But also in the various bad habits and addictions, as well as the mental health issues, which cause such suffering to so many.

Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another better allow God to satisfy our burning thirst this Christmas?