Meal, Memory & Metamorphosis

Solemnity of The Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ (A)

Readings: Deuteronomy 8:2-3, 14-16; Psalm 147:12-15,19-20; 1 Corinthians 10:16-17; John 6:51-58

Picture: By Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash

What do butterflies and frogs have in common? One is a winged insect, flitting about from flower to flower. The other is an amphibian, hopping around ponds and streams on webbed feet. Yet we know that each of these creatures begins life with a very different appearance. A butterfly starts out looking like a worm, a frog like a fish. Then, at some point, a big change takes place. Something called metamorphosis. The lazy leaf-chewing caterpillar turns into an airborne nectar-sipping beauty. And the guppy-like water-breathing tadpole grows lungs and legs, to begin a new life on land. Both creatures undergo a radical transformation, not just in diet, but also in form. We might say that, in the process of growing up, both butterflies and frogs have to make a crossing from one way of life to another.

In contrast, we are spared such biological upheaval. A human baby is really just a tiny version of the adult. And as tumultuous as the teenage years may be––perhaps even more so for the parents than for their children––no real metamorphosis takes place. Even so, isn’t there another kind of crossing we need to undertake? One that’s not so much biological as it is spiritual? Isn’t this what our scriptures are inviting us to ponder today? To better see this, it helps to consider what the first reading and the gospel have in common. In each, we find someone giving a speech. First Moses, and then Jesus. And we need to pay attention not just to the content of the speech, but also especially to its context.

In the first reading, Moses addresses the people at a very specific point in their journey. They have recently completed a forty-year crossing of the wilderness. And now, they are preparing to cross the Jordan River, in order to begin a new life in the Promised Land. But more than just a change in geographical location, these 2 crossings have a profound spiritual significance for the people. They point to an ongoing journey, a process of radical transformation, of spiritual metamorphosis. By which a bunch of nobodies are being formed into the People of God. Isn’t this what Moses is asking them to remember and not forget? How the Lord your God… brought you out of the land of Egypt… guided you through this vast and dreadful wilderness… How God humbled you, made you feel hunger… fed you with manna… Why? To make you understand that… man does not live on bread alone but… on everything that comes from the mouth of God… It was to refine their spiritual appetites. To help them learn to be nourished by the Word of God. Much like how, in order to become an adult, a leaf-chewing caterpillar must learn to drink nectar. And a tadpole must learn to breath air, so as to live a new life on land.

Similarly, in the gospel, Jesus has been making crossings. As we may recall, he had earlier crossed from Capernaum to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. Where he had miraculously multiplied bread for the people to eat. Before crossing back again to Capernaum. And those he had fed also crossed the lake in search of him. Likely hoping to keep enjoying free food. But Jesus takes care to point out that both his miraculous provision of food, as well as his multiple crossings of the lake, have a deeper spiritual significance. They point to the need for human beings to undergo a radical transformation, a spiritual metamorphosis, in order to reach maturity. A crossing from slavery and idolatry, to freedom and true worship. From selfishness and sin, to love and new life in the kingdom of God. And to help us make this life-changing crossing, Jesus himself will soon make another crossing of his own. He will Pass-Over from Death on the Cross to the Resurrection on the Third Day.

Through his Sacrifice on Good Friday, and the Supper eaten with his disciples the night before, Jesus will offer his flesh and blood as true spiritual nourishment. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I live in him… When we gather to remember and give thanks for his Sacrifice, and to be nourished at his Table, as well as when we subsequently disperse to become what we celebrate, we allow our appetites to be refined, and our lives to be transformed. So that together we may grow to true maturity. To become who we are meant to be. As the second reading tells us, by partaking of the one cup and the one loaf, we are drawn into communion in and with the One Lord. We are formed into a single maturing Body of Christ.

Isn’t this the deeper spiritual significance of the feast we are celebrating with such solemnity today? Isn’t this what it means to share in the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ? To celebrate and live the great Mystery of the Most Holy Eucharist? And isn’t this something we need to bear firmly in mind and heart? Not least because we live in a society devoted to and defined by a juvenile form of consumption? Where appetites are warped by advertising, and attentions waylaid by compulsions that may appear and feel so urgent, but are actually illusory. A world that, for all its technological advancements, often finds itself still stuck in a tumultuous self-centred adolescence.

Sisters and brothers, a caterpillar is meant to become a butterfly. A tadpole must grow into a frog. What can we do to help one another to keep making that crucial crossing from adolescence to true maturity in the Lord today?

The Right Bag

 Solemnity of The Most Holy Trinity (A)

Readings: Exodus 34:4-6, 8-9; Daniel 3:52-56; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; John 3:16-18

Picture: By Wasa Crispbread on Unsplash

My dear friends, do you BYOB? In an effort to reduce our reliance on single-use plastics, these days, whenever we go grocery shopping, many of us heed the call to BYOB. To bring your own bag. Of course, this is also partly to avoid having to pay the fee that many supermarkets now charge for plastic bags. But not everything can be contained in a reusable grocery bag, right? For example, when we send our children for a piano or swimming class. Or when we ourselves decide to take up something like yoga or qigong. How do we go about receiving and retaining the new knowledge and skills gained? What does BYOB look like in situations like that? Strange as it may sound, I believe our scriptures invite us to ponder a similar question on this solemn feast of the Most Holy Trinity.

When the first reading tells us that Moses went up Mt Sinai with two tablets of stone in his hands, we know that he is, in a sense, bringing his own bag. For those tablets are meant for a specific purpose. On them will be inscribed the commandments of God. But God is offering Moses and the people something far more precious than just a set of written instructions. God is offering nothing less than God’s very Self. How then to receive this wonderful Gift? Easy enough to carve a bunch of words on tablets of stone. How to receive and retain the Sacred Presence of the Lord of all Creation, the Almighty and Eternal God?

Isn’t this the deeper significance of God’s commandments? For it is by faithfully putting them into practice, that the people will allow themselves to be made holy. To be rendered fit for relationship with God. To be moulded into a worthy receptacle, a suitable vehicle, for the life-giving presence and action of God in the world. We might say that, if God is the intended Gift, then the people themselves are the designated bag. Unfortunately, right from the start, the bag proves unfit for purpose. The people fail to BYOB. As we may recall, the stone tablets mentioned in the first reading are actually a replacement for an earlier pair. Which Moses had smashed in anger, upon discovering the people’s idolatry. Their production and worship of a golden calf.

And yet, quite incredibly, God responds to the people’s infidelity by drawing even closer. By revealing even more about God. Whereas God had previously admitted to being a jealous God, punishing… those who reject me (Ex 20:5), now the Lord is described as a God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in kindness and faithfulness… In reply, Moses dares to make no commitments on the people’s behalf. He merely begs God to live up to God’s own revelation. To forgive us our faults and our sins, and to adopt us as your heritage. In other words, even though we are plainly unfit to receive you, please still stay with us. Still keep claiming us as your very own…

And God’s positive and compassionate response to this pitiful plea reaches its climax in the gospel. Where Jesus explains to Nicodemus exactly who he is, and why he was sent. God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him… may have eternal life… Seeing that, on our own, we are unable to BYOB, by the refreshing Breath of God’s Spirit, and the merciful descent of God’s Word in the Flesh, God prepares for humanity a Sacred Receptacle for God’s precious Gift. And to enjoy its benefits, all anyone needs to do is to believe in Jesus. To cling to him. To allow our hearts to be overwhelmed by his love for us. The same love that led him to lay down his life for us on a Cross, and to be raised again on the Third Day. To continually recall his Sacrifice––as we do at every Mass––and to allow his Spirit to move us to follow in his steps. Putting into practice everything that he taught.

And to do this not just as a scattered bunch of individuals, but especially as a single people, a gathered community, the Body of Christ. Isn’t this what St Paul is telling his readers to do in the second reading? To try to be perfect… To help one another… To be united… To live in peace… For it is by doing this, by putting all this into practice, that the community truly becomes Christ’s Body. A receptacle for God. And then the God of love and peace will be with you… The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit––the presence and action of the Most Holy Trinity––(will) be with you all. Not just for our own benefit, but for the life of the whole world.

Isn’t this what we celebrate in this solemn feast? Isn’t this what it means to believe in a God who is Father, Son and Spirit? Not only that God is continually revealing and offering God’s very Self as a precious Gift. But also that God is pleased to provide us with the appropriate Receptacle with which to receive it. And isn’t this good news, this precious Gift, still so very much needed today? In a world that often seems to be losing sight of what it means to be truly human? To be made not just to receive God, but also in God’s very image and likeness?

Unlike the groceries in a supermarket, there are certain things that cannot be contained in a reusable bag. Practical knowledge and skills like playing the piano, as well as our relationships with others and with God. Such things can be received and retained only through consistent practice. Sisters and brothers, as we recall the love of the Holy Trinity, how might we help one another to bring the right bag, today and in the days ahead?

Disappearing Dishes

7th Sunday of Easter (A)
(60th World Day of Social Communications)

Readings: Acts 1:12-14; Psalm 26 (27):1, 4, 7-8; 1 Peter 4:13-16; John 17:1-11

Picture: By Chell on Unsplash

Does anyone here use the PIE and BKE regularly? Those who do may have noticed a big change at the place where these expressways meet. The two large satellite dishes that once graced that intersection have disappeared. About a month ago, a spokesperson for Singtel was reported as saying that the dishes were dismantled earlier this year, to make way for future infrastructure… (to) support… evolving connectivity needs… So it seems that, while the dishes are gone, the purpose they once served is set to endure, through the new structures that will soon replace them. Even so, their removal evoked passionate reactions online, with many expressing nostalgia for what they described as a distinctive and enduring landmark. Questioning why the dishes were not preserved… A changing place, an enduring purpose, and a call for preservation. Don’t we find something similar in our celebration today?

Although the scriptures don’t quite spell it out, tradition has it that the events described in both the first reading and the gospel occur at the same location. The place that the Acts of the Apostles calls the upper room, is also believed to be where Jesus gathers his disciples to eat the Last Supper, the setting for today’s gospel. And yet, like that junction where the PIE and BKE meet, it’s clear that between the gospel and the first reading, this place sees a big change. What is the change? In the gospel, the spotlight falls on a single face. The air is filled with the sound of one specific voice. None other than the face and the voice of Jesus himself. Like a spiritual satellite dish, Jesus is the one who facilitates true connectivity with God. It is through him, and in him, that authentic communication signals between God and humanity are both received and transmitted. Yet by the time we get to the first reading, Jesus is no longer seen or heard in the upper room, at least not in the same way as before. Instead, the spotlight shines on many other faces. The air is filled with many other voices. People named and unnamed. Both men and women. All disciples, obediently following the instructions of their Crucified, Risen & Ascended Lord.

Even so, despite this noticeable change, something yet endures. Something important. Even essential. It’s likely no coincidence that the disciples in the first reading are engaged in the exact same activity as Jesus in the gospel. They are praying. A sign that the Divine Purpose, which Jesus served while on earth, lives on in and through them. Isn’t this what the Spirit empowers them, and us, to do? To keep serving the same purpose that Jesus served? To be the new receivers and transmitters of God’s glory on the face of this earth. The spiritual infrastructure of connectivity between God and Creation. Not just through the prayers we offer, but also and especially through the lives we lead. Not just as individuals, but also and especially as a consecrated community. The Body of Christ. Extending beyond life in this world, to what awaits us beyond. 

Isn’t this why the second reading encourages us to be grateful to God, whenever we may have to suffer for bearing the name of Christ? For when this happens, we are being given a share in the sufferings of Christ himself. And painful though such experiences may be, they are signs that we have with us the Spirit of glory, the Spirit of God resting on us. That we are continuing to serve the Lord’s purpose. Isn’t this the paradoxical call that is addressed to us? At once to embrace change, and to ensure preservation. To accept the role of being the Lord’s new way of being present in the world. So as to preserve his purpose of receiving and transmitting God’s glory. Not merely out of a sense of nostalgia, but because this is our dignity, our vocation.

A changing place, an enduring purpose, and a call for preservation. Beyond satellite dishes and the sacred scriptures, don’t we find these same things in the wider world? On the one hand, to say that the world is changing, is to state the obvious. The stable global order we once enjoyed is unravelling. And much as the rapid advance of technology, including the advent of artificial intelligence, is bringing us many benefits, there are also new challenges. Such as a worsening climate crisis, growing wealth inequality, job insecurity, and an ever-accelerating, stress-inducing pace of life. With dire consequences for our physical, mental and spiritual well-being. More fundamentally, doesn’t it seem more difficult to remember what it means to be human? To distinguish truth from falsehood? To keep seeking the good, while rejecting evil?

And yet, the gospel reminds us that humanity does indeed have a purpose. That we are made for life in its fullness. The same life that Jesus died and rose again to secure for us. And eternal life is this: to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. Isn’t this why it’s appropriate that the theme chosen for our Pope’s message, on the occasion of the 60th World Day of Social Communications, is Preserving Human Voices and Faces? And what better way to do this than by first seeking and contemplating the face of Christ? By first hearing and heeding the consoling yet challenging sound of his voice?

Sisters and brothers, if the disappearance of two rusty satellite dishes can evoke such feeling, how might the Lord’s call move us to help preserve what is truly human in our world today?

Shivers & Sweaters, Shelters & Structures

5th Sunday of Easter (A)

Readings: Acts 6:1-7; Psalm 32 (33):1-2,4-5,18-19; 1 Peter 2:4-9; John 14:1-12

Picture: By Tom the Photographer on Unsplash

When is it a good time to put on a sweater? Probably best not to wait till we’re already shivering, right? For the sweater is meant to help us stay warm. So it’s wise to put it on once our surroundings start draining away our body-heat, even before we actually feel cold. Which may help to explain what Jesus is doing in the gospel today. The setting is the Last Supper. Judas has just gone off into the night, on his way to betray his Master. And soon the disciples’ surroundings will turn deathly cold. Causing their hearts to shiver, and their faith to waver. Faced with this imminent threat, Jesus shows his compassion and care for his disciples by offering them something like a sweater. Do not let your hearts be troubled, he advises. Trust in God still, and trust in me… Even before they start to shiver, the Lord reminds his friends to keep warm by clinging tightly to the conviction that, despite all appearances to the contrary, he will never desert them. Rather, he is going now to prepare a place for them. A safe refuge in the very house of God.

More than just a sweater, through his Dying and Rising, the Lord is gaining for his disciples privileged access to a permanent shelter from the cold. And in case we may think this place can be found only in some faraway heaven, after we are dead, the second reading assures us otherwise. Writing some time after the Resurrection, the author identifies God’s house with the community of Jesus’ disciples, which includes us. For the Lord is the living stone, rejected by men but chosen by God… And by setting ourselves close to him–by clinging tightly to him in trust–we his followers become living stones making a spiritual house. A safe shelter from the world’s cold. Not just for ourselves, but for all who long to find life in its fullness.

Even so, the cold doesn’t come only from the outside. It can also emanate from within. In the first reading, the early Christian community in Jerusalem is, in a sense, starting to shiver. Rumblings of complaint are surfacing. Not so much due to the external temperature, but because of certain internal inadequacies. Rapid growth in numbers has led to inequality. Certain people are being overlooked. So, like truly living stones, the apostles respond by introducing a daring change of structure. They show their trust in the Lord’s ongoing presence and action among them by delegating authority to others. Appointing them to see to legitimate needs that the apostles themselves do not have the bandwidth to meet. Through this simple structural change, the community’s interior temperature is adjusted. Making it more life-giving for all.

Which may be something like what sociology professor and bestselling author, Teo You Yenn, is calling for in an insightful new book. Titled Unease, the book highlights the deep disquiet that marks family life in Singapore. Relating this to the structural conditions found locally, which tend to engender a distinctive culture, the book invites readers to dare to imagine how things could be different. How structures might and need to be changed. In order to provide a more conducive space for family life to truly flourish here… Sometimes, beyond slipping into a sweater, the appropriate response to cold is to adjust the settings on the air-conditioner.

Sisters and brothers, as we continue to celebrate the hope and joy of Easter, how is our Crucified and Risen Lord teaching and helping us to shield one another from the cold today?

Beyond Colour-Correction

 3rd Sunday of Easter (A)

Readings: Acts 2: 14, 22-33; Psalm 15 (16): 1-2, 5, 7-11; 1 Peter 1: 17-21; Luke 24: 13-35

Picture: By Diana Polekhina on Unsplash

My dear friends, this may seem like a strange question to ask, but what does the liturgy have in common with toothpaste? Some of us may have seen that commercial for a popular brand of toothpaste, which still plays frequently on YouTube. It features a pretty young K-Pop star, explaining the benefits of using purple-coloured toothpaste. Why purple? Because purple colour-corrects yellow. Yellow teeth… plus purple toothpaste… equals… a whiter more beautiful smile. Or so the theory goes…

Forgive me if it seems disrespectful to say so, but doesn’t this sound strikingly similar to what we are celebrating liturgically over these days? The transition from the penitential purple of Lent to the glorious white of Easter? And we know that, beyond the penitential practices undertaken in Lent, the colour purple points especially to the Passion of Jesus. The humiliation and death he suffered at the hands of his enemies. The soldiers dressed him in royal purple to make fun of him. We believe that by humbly accepting the painful purple of his Passion, Jesus was able to correct the ugly yellow of our selfishness and sin. Changing it into the glorious white of God’s adopted children. All this we know. At least in theory. A theory we happily mark by the changing of liturgical colours.

Which is actually a fairly easy thing to do. Especially since we have a conscientious sacristan and her capable assistants to do it for us. But what about the deeper reality that these symbols are meant to signify? The transformation, not just of the colour of our vestments, but of the texture of our hearts. How to change hearts that may have been broken by the painful sadness of the Cross, into hearts renewed and made bold again by the joyful hope of Easter? Isn’t this the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today?

The marvellous transition from the painful purple of the Passion to the joyous white of the Resurrection. Isn’t this what Peter is describing to the crowd, on the Day of Pentecost, in the first reading? How, through the Resurrection of Christ, and the descent of the Holy Spirit, he and his companions have received power to conquer their grief and trauma, their guilt and shame, their fear and anxiety. So as to courageously proclaim the Good News. But, again, how does this actually happen? Is it really as easy as changing one’s vestments, or using a different-coloured toothpaste? Requiring no more than a gritting of the teeth, or a clenching of the fist? Something we can accomplish on our own? If so, why did we pray as we did at the start of this Mass? We asked God to enable us to exult in renewed youthfulness of spirit, so that rejoicing now in the glory of our adoption, we may look forward in confident hope to the rejoicing of the day of resurrection? Doesn’t our need to ask imply that what we seek is a grace, a gift from God? So how to go about receiving it?

Two words from the responsorial psalm––which Peter quotes in the first reading––provide us with valuable insight. You will show me the path of life, the psalmist says, the fullness of joy in your presence… Path and presence. In order to receive the grace of Easter, there is a path we need to traverse. A way marked by the presence of the Crucified and Risen One. Who comes to us not only bearing the gift we seek, but also helping us to receive it. Isn’t this the experience of the two disciples in the gospel? The reading begins by telling us that Cleopas and his companion are on the way. They are walking along a particular path. How might we describe this path? Geographically, it’s the road leading to a town about half a day’s journey from Jerusalem. But isn’t this also a spiritual path? One that we have already encountered before? Isn’t it recognisable as part of that road that Jesus invited us to walk with him all through Lent, and especially in Holy Week? Isn’t the Road to Emmaus simply an extension of the Way of the Cross? Isn’t this why it’s no surprise that this path should be graced by the Lord’s consoling and encouraging presence? Could it be that Jesus comes to walk with his friends, because they are walking in his footsteps?

And it’s helpful for us to pay attention to how the disciples do this. How they engage in certain practices, which help them remain on the Way. First, they feel safe and comfortable enough to surface the confusion that still burdens their hearts, and to share it wth each other. Then they are led to ponder the Scriptures. Allowing God’s Word to help them realise that it was ordained, or necessary, that the Christ should suffer. For it is by doing so that he becomes the spotless lamb that sheds its precious blood to set us free. And, finally, they press the Lord to stay, or to abide, to remain, with them, as they break bread together… The surfacing of burdens, the pondering of scripture, the breaking of bread… Aren’t these also the practices in which we are engaging at this Mass?

Path, presence and practices. This is how we come not only to receive the gift we seek, but also to share it with others. Just as our brave and beloved Pope is doing now on the world stage. For unlike purple toothpaste––which is marketed as no more than a beauty hack, a mere cosmetic, an agent of superficial change––what the Lord offers is something far deeper. No less than the transformation of hearts: from broken to burning to bold. Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another better receive and rejoice in this precious gift this Easter?