Prioritising The Peripheral

4th Sunday of Lent (A)

(Laetare Sunday)

Readings: 1 Samuel 16:1, 6-7, 10-13; Psalm 22 (23); Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41

Picture: By mohammed dawleh on Unsplash

What is the opposite of glaucoma? According to the Singhealth website, glaucoma is a group of diseases… resulting in irreversible loss of vision. It’s a scary one-way process leading to blindness. Usually this is caused by the build-up of pressure in the eyeball. Fluid accumulates in the eye faster than it is able to drain away. And the resulting pressure damages the optic nerve irreparably. But because vision is initially lost around the edges, or the periphery, sufferers don’t realise they’re going blind, until it’s too late… A process leading to blindness… involving the build-up of pressure… where vision is lost beginning at the periphery. Process, pressure and periphery. It’s helpful to keep these three characteristics in mind, as we ponder the scriptures on this Fourth Sunday in Lent. For what we find here is not just something like glaucoma, but also its opposite. Not just the tragic loss of sight, but also its joyful restoration.

In the first reading, the prophet Samuel is obviously undergoing a process, by which he is gradually being taught how to see as God sees. How to look beyond appearances to the very heart of reality. Samuel is being given the ability to do what the second reading encourages all of us to do: to discover (or to discern) what the Lord wants, and so to walk in the light of God. Actually, more than just Samuel, the whole people of Israel is being offered new sight. For, as we may recall, back when Samuel was still a boy, he lived with the old priest Eli, who was then going blind, in more ways than one. Not only had Eli’s eyesight… begun to grow dim so that he could not see (3:2, NRSV), he had also turned a blind eye to the sins of his two sons (2:22). They were stealing the sacrifices offered to God, and abusing the women who served at the tent of meeting. Nor was Eli the only one losing his sight. The scripture also says that the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread (3:1). In other words, the whole nation was growing spiritually blind. Likely due to the pressures exerted by its own idolatry, its worship of false gods. So by teaching Samuel to see, God is reversing this spiritual glaucoma, restoring the people’s sight.

And isn’t it remarkable how, even though one after another of Jesse’s sons are rejected by God, including Samuel’s own preferred candidate, the prophet doesn’t seem to feel any pressure? Rather than clinging stubbornly to his own preference, Samuel is quite happy to listen to the Lord, to follow God’s direction. And isn’t it striking how peripheral a figure the boy David is at this point in the story? So peripheral is he, that his father Jesse might well have forgotten all about him, had Samuel not asked, perhaps with more than a touch of irritation, Are these all the sons you have? And yet, it is precisely this peripheral character whom God sees fit to anoint as king. To be God’s chosen instrument to help restore the people’s sight.

 

Process, pressure and periphery. Don’t we find these in the gospel too? Like Samuel, the man born blind is undergoing a process, in which he is gradually receiving his sight. Not just his physical sight, but more importantly, his spiritual vision. The reading marks the progress of this healing process by the titles the man uses to address Jesus. First, he refers to him simply as the man called Jesus. Then, he calls him a prophet. And, finally, he recognises and worships him as Lord. In contrast, even as the man’s vision gradually sharpens and deepens, the people around him are going blind. From his neighbours, who should know him well, and yet now have trouble recognising him. To his parents, who seem unable to acknowledge their son’s healing, let alone to share his joy. To the religious authorities, who have clearly already made up their minds about Jesus.

And isn’t this blindness caused by pressure? Pressure experienced by the authorities, who wish to paint Jesus as nothing more than a breaker of the Law, but can’t explain how a sinner is able to give sight to the blind. And pressure that these same authorities then place on others to suppress the truth. In contrast, after experiencing Jesus’ healing touch, the once-blind man seems remarkably immune to pressure. Such that he is able even to talk back to those who have power to cast him out of the community. And who is this man, really, if not a peripheral figure? One whose name isn’t even recorded in the gospel. Yet it is this same peripheral figure in whom God chooses to show God’s power. As Jesus tells his disciples. he was born blind so that the works of God might be displayed in him. 

Even if glaucoma currently remains irreversible, God still has power to restore lost spiritual sight. This is the good news proclaimed in our readings today. This is the gift we are joyfully preparing to celebrate, when we renew our baptismal vows at Easter. But the scriptures also tell us that the sharpness of our spiritual sight depends on how well we attend to the little things and little ones that are too often pushed to the peripheries of consciousness by the pressures of modern life. Little things, like being kind, showing respect, and even getting enough rest and exercise, not just physically, but also spiritually. And little ones, like innocent civilians displaced by war, and children burdened by the so-called education arms-race, as well as migrant workers still relegated to riding precariously at the back of lorries.

Sisters and brothers, how shall we help one another to keep walking in the light of the Lord today?

Most Important Word

6th Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 15:16-21; Psalm 118 (119):1-2, 4-5, 17-18, 33-34; 1 Corinthians 2:6-10; Matthew 5:17-37

Picture: By Glen Carrie on Unsplash

What is the most important word in the English language? Is it a verb or a noun? An article or a preposition? What do you think? To be honest, I don’t know. I wonder, though, whether a possible candidate might be found in the name of a popular local podcast. Has anyone here heard of Yah Lah But? I suspect a good number of us have. Anyway, in an interview given last year, this podcast’s two hosts explained the reason for its interesting name. Our goal, they said, is to encourage people to empathise with other perspectives, so we called our podcast “Yah Lah But”… To illustrate, in a recent episode, one of the hosts spoke light-heartedly about the frustration he experienced, while talking to foreigners he had met on an overseas trip. Upon hearing that he hailed from Singapore, they would typically gush with praise for our little island nation. Isn’t this the world’s best place to live? Don’t locals here enjoy 80% home ownership? In response, our host felt a burning need to offer some qualifications. To say, yah lah, but… Unfortunately, he wasn’t given a chance to do so. To use that important word but. To let this tiny 3-lettered conjunction lead his conversation partners to consider other, deeper, more nuanced perspectives.

Before we go any further, perhaps I should state that I’m not connected in any way to this podcast. Nor have I received any incentive––monetary or otherwise––to mention it at the pulpit. So why do it? The reason is simple. In our ongoing reading of Matthew’s gospel, we have reached that portion of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in which one word keeps recurring. Have you noticed what it is? Actually, it’s not just a word, but a distinctive pattern of speech or argument. Again and again, we hear the Lord say, You have learnt how it was said… But I say to you… Or, roughly translated into Singlish, yah lah… but… By repeatedly using the word but, the Lord invites his listeners––including all of us––to consider other, deeper, more nuanced perspectives on the Law. Not to abolish or to weaken it, but to complete it. To better achieve its purpose. So, according to Jesus, it’s not enough, simply to refrain from engaging in acts of murder and adultery. We also need to continually struggle against the violent tendencies, and the lustful appetites that so often stir deep within our all too human hearts. 

By using the word but, the Lord calls us to go beyond the superficial legalistic approach of the religious leaders of his day. Reminding us that if your virtue goes no deeper than that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never get into the kingdom of heaven. Why? Isn’t it because, for the sake of certainty and control, the scribes and Pharisees transform what is meant to be a living word into a dead letter? They distort the Law. Changing it from a life-giving expression of God’s merciful and steadfast love, into an oppressive burden. And isn’t it possible for us, whether we realise it or not, to adopt this same legalistic approach even when applying the Lord’s teaching?

Such as when victims of domestic abuse are encouraged, or subtly pressured, to reconcile with their abuser prematurely, while the abuse is still ongoing. Or when, for the sake of avoiding scandal, or to safeguard the reputation of the institution, credible reports of abuse in a church setting are simply ignored or covered up. After all, doesn’t Jesus say that reconciliation should take priority over even the bringing of offerings to God?… Sure, reconciliation is indeed important. But… is this truly the reconciliation intended by God, when it comes at the expense of the safety and wellbeing of those more vulnerable?

Of course, we cannot deny that a yah lah but approach likely means less certainty and control. Which may make it even more demanding. Difficult enough to struggle with the sinful tendencies in our own hearts. Now we also have to figure out what exactly the Law requires in concrete situations too? Are we even capable of doing this? From where do we obtain the wisdom it requires? These questions lead us to consider yet another instance of yah lah but. For the first reading tells us in no uncertain terms that we are all blessed with the freedom to do what is right. If you wish, you can keep the commandments… And yet, doesn’t our lived experience prompt us to add a but? Yes, we may have the freedom to keep the Law, but we struggle in vain to exercise that freedom without the help of God. Isn’t this why the psalmist prays so fervently that God will not only teach me the demands of your statutes, but also train me to observe your law, to keep it with my heart? And doesn’t this prayer find its full and definitive answer in Jesus himself? For it is in his Life, Death and Resurrection that we find what the second reading calls the hidden wisdom of God. And isn’t this what we are celebrating at this and at every Mass?

Truly, we cannot say for sure whether or not but is indeed the most important word in the English language. What we Christians can say, with a conviction born of faith, is that we believe in a Living Word, an Eternal Word, a Word-Made-Flesh, a Word who was Crucified, Died and was Raised for us, a Word that even now begs to be inscribed most tenderly upon our inmost heart. Sisters and brothers, what do we need to do to allow the power and wisdom of this Word to continue animating our lives, as individuals, as families, and as Church today?

Before the Bubble Bursts

4th Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Zephaniah 2:3, 3:12-13; Psalm 145 (146):6-10; 1 Corinthians 1:26-31; Matthew 5:1-12a

Picture: By on Mayer Tawfik Unsplash

Uh-oh, we’re in trouble, something’s come along and it’s burst our bubble… Does anyone recall these words from a song released in the 1990s? Performed by a group named Shampoo, the song is about some teenagers, who’ve been out partying all night, and are now making their way home. Dreading the music they will have to face from their parents… The party was great, yeah, we were really thrilled. And when we get in, we’re gonna get killed… That’s the thing about bubbles. They can be great fun, while they last. But they don’t last. They’re insubstantial, fragile. Eventually the party ends, and we all have to go home.

Also, don’t some bubbles have a dark side? Financial bubbles, for example, are built on an illusion. Something that isn’t real. And when the bubble bursts, chaos ensues. Such as when a property bubble went bust in the US in the late 2000s, and contributed to the global financial crisis of 2008. And not just financial bubbles. Isn’t there something illusory about social bubbles too? As some experts have pointed out, in apparently meritocratic societies like ours, elites tend to think that they fully deserve their own success. While those who fail, deserve their failure. They just haven’t worked hard enough. But this is an illusion. What elites tend too easily to forget are all the fortuitous circumstances and structural advantages that have facilitated their success. And, in their forgetfulness, they end up living in a bubble that’s not just illusory, but also insular. They lose touch with, and compassion for, those less successful.

Nor are bubbles only financial or social. They can also be spiritual as well. Isn’t this what we find in our scriptures today? In the first reading, the prophet Zephaniah speaks about the approach of an event of global significance. Something he calls the day of the anger of the Lord. It’s not clear exactly what he’s referring to. What is clear is that, on this day, God’s power will be made manifest, to the detriment of all who trust only in worldly things. All who rely only on their own efforts. All who operate under the illusion that they alone are the masters of their own destiny. God is going to burst their bubble. Sweep them away. Leaving behind the humble and lowly. Those who place their trust in God. Those who keep the Law of the Lord. Those who do good, and speak what is true. To prepare for this terrible day, Zephaniah calls not just the people of Israel, but all… the humble of the earth to seek the Lord. To obey his commands. To seek integrity and humility…

Similarly, we may recall that, in the gospel we heard last Sunday, Jesus began his public ministry by calling people to prepare for an event of global significance. Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand. The Reign of God is making itself felt in the world. And what will it be like when the kingdom arrives in its fullness? Isn’t this what Jesus is setting out today? The poor in spirit––those who recognise their utter need for God––will possess the kingdom. The gentle of heart––those who recoil from violence of every kind––will inherit the earth. The mournful––those who weep over the injustice they see around them––will be consoled. And so on… And it’s important for us to allow ourselves to be surprised and unsettled by just how incredible all this sounds. How contrary to the way our world is usually structured, and how our lives are typically organised. For like Zephaniah in the first reading, Jesus is proclaiming the bursting of a bubble. The eventual sweeping away of everything that’s built on the insubstantial, the illusory, and the insular.

But what to do if I myself am living in a bubble? If I happen to be more rich than poor in spirit, more violent than gentle of heart, more apathetic or, worse still, more arrogant and entitled than mournful? How to repent? Perhaps I might find what St Paul says in the second reading helpful. That it was to shame the wise that God chose what is foolish by human reckoning… to shame what is strong that he chose what is weak by human reckoning… And doesn’t God do this especially through the Cross of Christ? For if this is true, then perhaps what I can do, as an aid to repentance, is to keep gazing intently upon the Cross, and allow myself to be shamed by what I see. Not just the Cross I encounter here at Mass. But also the crosses that await me out in the world, in those who suffer. Those who have no bubble to insulate them from the harsh realities of life.

Which brings to mind Oxfam’s recently released annual report on global inequality. According to which, the world’s 12 richest billionaires (just the top 12) (now) have more wealth than the poorest half of humanity, or more than four billion people. Also, in a recent interview, former diplomat and law professor, Tommy Koh, saw fit to highlight the fact that, here in affluent Singapore, more than a hundred thousand seniors currently live alone in poverty. Unable to afford even a single hot meal a day. How can we accept this situation? He asks. Or, if we may rephrase the professor’s question, shouldn’t this make us feel ashamed?

Uh-oh, we’re in trouble, something’s come along and it’s burst our bubble… Sisters and brothers, from a spiritual point of view, it may actually be a blessing when certain bubbles burst. What can we do to help one another prepare for that event today?

Hanging On & Letting Go

3rd Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)

(Sunday of the Word of God)

Readings: Isaiah 8:23-9:3; Psalm 26 (27):1, 4, 13-14; 1 Corinthians 1:10-13, 17; Matthew 4:12-23

Picture: By sehoon ye on Unsplash

What does it feel like to have to let go of something we are clinging to very tightly? Some of us may remember this old story… An atheist falls off a steep cliff, and grabs hold of a dry branch. But he knows it’s only a matter of time before the branch breaks, and he falls to his death. What to do? There’s no one else around. In his desperation, he looks up at the sky, and shouts, If there’s anyone up there, please help me! To his surprise, a voice answers, Don’t worry. I’ll help you. Let go! The atheist thinks for a moment. Then he looks up again and yells, Is there anyone else up there?… How difficult it is to let go, when we have nothing else to hang on to, except a strange voice. Wouldn’t it be easier for the atheist, if an actual person were to show up, and stretch out his hand for him to cling to instead?

In each of our readings today, we find people having to let go of something to which they are clinging tightly. The first reading tells us that the people living in the north––in the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali––are walking in darkness. For their nation has been conquered by the Assyrians. Their land occupied. Their lives oppressed. It’s as though they have fallen off a cliff. And the prophet knows why. It’s because they have turned away from the one true God, and worshipped foreign gods. What they need to do is to let go of their idolatry, and turn back to God. But it’s hard for them to do this on their own. Like the atheist, they find it difficult to trust an invisible God. Easier to cling to idols. But still God refuses to forsake them. God promises to send them a light to brighten their darkness, a leader to release them from oppression.

In the gospel, Jesus begins his public ministry in the exact same places mentioned in the first reading. And the gospel identifies him as the One who comes to fulfil God’s promise. He is the chosen Leader and Light sent by God. Not just for those who live in the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali, but for all peoples. All who have separated themselves from God. All who have fallen off a cliff, and into darkness. Everyone, including us. For God knows how hard it is to trust an invisible voice. So, to make it easier, through Jesus, God becomes a living breathing human being. A warm caring hand, reaching out to us. Someone we can cling to, in order to more easily let go of our sin. Isn’t this why, in the gospel, we find Jesus inviting us to do two different things? Not just to repent, but also to follow him. Not just to let go of our sinful habits and attitudes. But also to cling to Jesus. To be his disciple. To share his mission. To allow him to transform us into fishers of people.

And it’s important for us to realise that these two things are closely connected. The letting go of sin, and the clinging to Jesus. For just as it’s difficult for the atheist to let go of his branch, so too is it hard for us to repent of our sin. Unless we follow Jesus. Unless we keep committing our lives to him. As the first disciples are doing in the gospel. Not just once and for all, but every single day. Isn’t this what St Paul is asking the Corinthians to do in the second reading? For even though they are baptised Christians, even though they’ve already committed themselves to Jesus, the Corinthians seem to have again fallen into darkness. By clinging to their slogans, they are allowing themselves to be divided, instead of united. So Paul encourages them to let go. How? By clinging instead to Jesus. By remembering how he loved us so much that he allowed himself to be crucified to save us.

As difficult as it is to let go of our sins, God actually makes it easier for us, by sending Jesus for us to cling to instead. And isn’t this something we need to constantly keep in mind, especially when we may find ourselves struggling with something we need to let go? A bad habit. An unhealthy relationship. A persistent worry weighing heavily upon our heart… For doesn’t it often feel as though the harder we try to let go of such things, the tighter they cling to us? Such that it’s easy for us to be discouraged, and to feel like giving up. Especially at such times, perhaps we might try shifting our focus away from ourselves, and onto the Lord. Remembering how much he loves us. How much he has suffered for us. How much he wants to draw us ever closer to him. And then to gently allow him to do so. Allow our hearts to be drawn to him. Allow our thoughts, actions, our whole life to be reorganised around him.

And isn’t this where the Word of God can be so helpful? Whether we’re listening to it attentively as it’s proclaimed at Mass, or sharing our reflections on it in a group, or pondering over it prayerfully on our own, the Word of God can help us encounter the Lord. Not just as a historical person, who lived long ago. But as someone alive and active even now, within us and among us. Someone who’s still reaching out to us, to befriend us and rescue us. Regularly meditating over the Word of God. Isn’t this how we can follow the psalmist’s instruction? To hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord.

Brothers and sisters, whether or not we may be feeling like we’ve fallen off a cliff, what can we do to cling ever more tightly to the Lord today?

About Aqua-Aerobics

2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Isaiah 49:3, 5-6; Psalm 39 (40): 2, 4, 7-10; 1 Corinthians 1: 1-3; John 1: 29-34

Picture: By Documerica on Unsplash

What would happen if we were to immerse ourselves in a swimming pool, while carrying a heavy backpack? Isn’t the backpack likely to feel much lighter? And we know why. The water helps lift the load off our shoulders. Actually, not only does the backpack feel lighter in the water, our own body does too. Isn’t this why low-impact water-based exercises like aqua-aerobics are so helpful, particularly for those who may have issues with their joints?… The amazing burden-relieving power of water. Isn’t this something like what our scriptures invite us to ponder, on this 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time?

In the gospel, John the Baptist catches sight of Jesus, and excitedly invites everyone to look at the One who takes away the sin of the world? And it may be helpful for us to recall that the word translated as takes away can also indicate the act of lifting a burden. For example, in Mark’s gospel (15:21), this same word is used to describe what happens to Simon of Cyrene on the road to Calvary. He is forced to carry Jesus’ cross. To bear, or to lift, the Lord’s burden. So sin is likened to a burden, which Jesus comes to lift or remove from our shoulders. The same burden that the Baptist himself has been encouraging everyone to let go, by repenting and being baptised in the waters of the Jordan. And yet, John knows very well that neither he nor the water has power to wash away sin. To be able to do that, the water must first be infused with the Holy Spirit. Which is what the Fathers of the Church believed happens when Jesus is baptised. Instead of being cleansed by the water, he makes the water clean, and spiritually powerful.

Even more, as we likely already had occasion to recall last week, we believe that the Lord’s baptism in the Jordan points to his own immersion in the beautiful yet chaotic waters of our human reality. Not just by his Birth as a helpless baby at Christmas. But also by his Death as a condemned criminal on Good Friday. Before he is raised to New Life at Easter. Which helps us better understand what happens to us at our baptism. We believe that the baptismal water has power to set us free from the burden of sin, not so much because of the water itself, but because of what the act of being washed in it signifies: our solemn commitment, made before witnesses, to continually immerse ourselves in the sacred and cleansing waters of the Life of Christ. The Word of God, sent by the Father, and anointed by the Spirit. The lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world.

Not only that, our scriptures also offer us two further ways of describing this great and powerful mystery. In the first reading, taken from one of Isaiah’s moving Songs of the Suffering Servant, beyond being simply a restorer of the scattered tribes of Jacob, God promises to make God’s servant the light of the nations. The One who has power to remove the burden of spiritual blindness and ignorance. And isn’t this what, by our baptism, we promise to let Jesus be for us? To allow his Life, Death and Resurrection to continually illuminate our path. Helping us not only to distinguish between good and evil. But also, whenever necessary, to make the difficult choice for the greater good over the lesser. And not to be deceived when evil tries to masquerade as good. Such as when Peter tries to dissuade Jesus from submitting to the Cross (Mk 8:32). Or when Judas scolds Mary of Bethany for anointing Jesus’ feet with costly perfume. Asking why the perfume wasn’t sold, and the money given to the poor (Jn 15:5).

To let Jesus become the Light that illuminates our path is, of course, also to accept him as our Leader and Master. Or, even better, to ascribe to him the title used by St Paul in the second reading. To acknowledge Jesus as Lord. To accept ever more fully his authority over the whole of our lives. Allowing him to direct and orientate our daily decisions. And so to release us from the crushing burden borne by the crowds that Jesus encountered in his public ministry. Those described in Matthew’s gospel as being harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd (Mt 9:36).

A Lamb who takes away the burden of our sin. A Light who lifts from us the burden of blindness and ignorance. A Lord who frees us from the burden of being oppressed and disoriented, like sheep without a shepherd. Isn’t this what we all need so much today? Labouring as we do under many and different burdens. Not least of all a global economy that the late Pope Francis describes as one that kills (EG, 53)? And isn’t this the precious gift that John the Baptist is encouraging everyone to recognise and receive in the gospel? And also what we ourselves will be invited to acknowledge later in this very Mass. When we hear, addressed to us, the words, Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world?

Actually, in aqua-aerobics, the water doesn’t just serve to provide buoyancy, to lighten one’s burden. It also offers needed resistance. Not a resistance that oppresses and destroys, but one that restores and strengthens. Sisters and brothers, how might we help one another to gratefully receive this same blessed buoyancy and resistance from the Lord today?