Beyond Our Immediate Point Of View

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Wisdom 12: 13, 16-19; Psalm 85 (86): 5-6, 9-10, 15-16; Romans 8: 26-27; Matthew 13: 24-43

Picture: By Natalia Marcelewicz on Unsplash

How many of us have ever witnessed a baby being born? What does it feel like? It depends, right? For one thing, it depends on where we happen to be. I remember visiting the old Singapore Science Centre as a child, and being captivated by a video of a human birth. But watching a recording is very different from actually being in the birthing room itself. And even in the room itself, there are different possible points of view. That of the midwife or doctor is different from that of the mother, which is, in turn, different from that of the little one being born. Nor does our point of view vary only with where we happen to be. Doesn’t it also depend on when? At the beginning, just before the contractions start? Or at the end, when the freshly sponged and tightly swaddled newborn is safely placed in its mother’s arms? Or right smack in the messy middle, when all the excitement and action, the pain and confusion, is still going on?

And isn’t this true not just of childbirth, but of other experiences as well? Our point of view depends on our particular location, both in space and in time. It’s helpful for us to keep this in mind today, as our scriptures draw us to ponder another experience. Not exactly the birth of a child, but the coming of the kingdom of heaven. Isn’t this what Jesus is describing, in those three parables? The kingdom of heaven may be compared to… first, weeds (or darnel) among the wheat… second, a mustard seed in a field… and third, yeast mixed with flour… And in each of these comparisons, there are different possible points of view, depending on one’s specific location.

For a start, there are at least three possible locations in time. A calm beginning and a peaceful end, as well as a messy middle. Both at the start and at end of the first parable, the wheat and the weeds are neatly separated. It’s only in the middle, when they are mixed, and easily confused, one for the other. Similarly, although it starts out very small, the mustard seed already enjoys a useful existence. It can spice up our food. Just as the mature plant can offer shelter to birds. It’s only in the middle, when things get messy. When the seed has to struggle to survive and grow, wherever it’s been sown. And can’t the same be said about the yeast and flour? For we know that, the mixing of yeast into dough involves a process of great agitation. Plenty of kneading and pounding, folding and flattening. Which is difficult enough for the one doing the work. But think of what it must feel like for the dough, which has to suffer the agitation… Or what it must feel like for the tiny mustard seed, fighting to grow… Or the fragile wheat, struggling to avoid being strangled by its dangerous parasitic impersonator. Against which it has to carefully guard itself in order to survive…

And yet, as challenging as these experiences are, Jesus’ parables invite us to see them as part of the coming of God’s kingdom. Just as labour pains are part of natural childbirth. To accept the struggles and trials, the dangers and risks of the messy middle, convinced that they will lead to a fuller life in the end. But isn’t this easier said than done? Especially if one has lost one’s family in war, for example, or one’s life-savings to a scam, or one’s childhood innocence to abuse, or one’s mobility to a drunk driver, or one’s reputation to gossip, or one’s freedom to addiction… In such situations, and wherever our lives may otherwise be touched by evil, isn’t it natural to take the point of view of an unsuspecting baby, in the midst of being born? Forced to suffer the rude shock of being expelled from its mother’s body? Without any inkling of the new life that awaits beyond? Feeling as if the process must lead only to death? How then, and from where, do we find the strength to carry on?

The scriptures address this question by offering us a glimpse into yet another point of view. One that transcends space and time. No less than the eternal perspective of God. Calling us to believe that if God permits the presence of evil in our world, it’s not out of malice or negligence or incompetence, but an expression of power mingled with mercy. As the first reading reminds us, God shows strength when (God’s) sovereign power is questioned… And God’s power is what enables the mustard seed to grow into a tree, and the yeast to leaven the dough. Yet God is also mild in judgement. Giving ample opportunity for sinners to repent. Patiently waiting till harvest time, before eradicating the weeds, so as avoid destroying the wheat. Even more, God’s power and mercy is shown especially when God humbly shares our own fragile human point of view. Isn’t this what brought Jesus from heaven to earth, to Cross and grave, and then back from whence he came? And isn’t this also what the Spirit continues to do even now, for us and in us? For when we cannot choose words in order to pray properly, the Spirit…expresses our plea in a way that can never be put into words…

But in order for us to keep clinging to God’s perspective in times of trial, we need the ability to look beyond our own obvious points of view, to what so often remains hidden. We need the three virtues that we prayed for at the start of this Mass, when we asked God to make us fervent in hope and faith and charity, so that we may be ever watchful in keeping (God’s) commands. Fervour in hope, faith and charity. By which we may keep seeking the good and resisting evil. So as to enjoy rebirth, into the fullness of life in God’s kingdom. Sisters and brothers, how is God helping us to receive this precious grace anew today?

Beyond A Fresh Coat of Paint

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Zechariah 9: 9-10; Psalm 144 (145): 1-2, 8-11, 13b-14; Romans 8: 9, 11-13; Matthew 11: 25-30

Picture: By Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

My dear friends, what are we likely to think, if we were to walk along the corridor of a block of flats, and come across a unit where both the main door and front gate have been rudely splashed with bright red paint? Will we conclude that those who live there must have an appreciation for abstract art? Probably not. More likely we’ll recognise the paint-spattered entrance as a sign that the occupants are labouring under a heavy burden. The burden of debt. And not just any debt, but debt owed to a loan-shark. And what if, after making discreet inquiries, our suspicions are confirmed, and we feel moved to help them? Will it be enough to give the entrance a fresh coat of paint? Or even to pay off the debt? Doing so will surely go a long way. And yet, to truly help, isn’t it necessary also to explore the circumstances that led to the loan in the first place? To uncover other, less obvious, burdens? Even tracing these to their roots?…

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to truly set the burdened free. Isn’t this what we find in our Mass texts today? As we’ve probably already noticed, both the Collect––the prayer we offered at the start––and the responsorial psalm, present us with a moving image of God as One who humbly bends low, in order to mercifully raise up all who are bowed down by heavy loads. And the other readings help us ponder more deeply just how God does this…

The first reading is addressed to a people oppressed by foreign armies, bowed down by the horrors of war. To them, God proclaims a consoling message, promising to send a king to set them free. But, when examined closely, this message is also puzzling. For although this king is described as victorious and triumphant, the enemy he vanquishes isn’t just any foreign army, but war itself. And the peace he brings is not just for Israel alone, but for all the nations. Since his empire shall stretch… to the ends of the earth. And how does he bring this about? Not by the usual instruments of war. But through his own lowliness and humility. Instead of chariots and horses, he comes riding on a baby donkey… Some of us may recall that old war movie, Crimson Tide, in which a nuclear submarine’s second-in-command, played by Denzel Washington, speaks these memorable lines: Yes, the purpose of war is to serve a political end, but the true nature of war is to serve itself…. In the nuclear world, the true enemy is war itself… The true nature of war is to serve itself… In other words, war isn’t just an obedient servant, but a self-serving tyrant. Isn’t this something our world is now having to face, again and again, with every passing day?

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to set the burdened free… Isn’t this also what Jesus is doing in the gospel? As in the first reading, the people he addresses are oppressed by foreign armies. They live under the yoke of Roman occupation. And yet, it is not on this heavy load that Jesus chooses to focus. Instead, scholars tell us that, when the Lord speaks of people who labour and are overburdened, he is referring first to those bowed down by the arbitrary rituals and practices imposed by the religious authorities of his day. The scribes and Pharisees, who tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them (Mt 23:4). In their place, Jesus invites the people to come to him. To enter into an intimate relationship with him. To take upon themselves the gentle yoke of his merciful love. A yoke that he chooses to bear with them. A yoke that will lead him to Calvary and beyond.

But why? Why focus on something so apparently trivial, in the face of something as urgent and terrible as military occupation? Could it be that, like the red paint on a debtor’s door, Jesus sees the conquest of the land by a foreign political power as a sign pointing to the occupation of the heart by alien spiritual powers. And rather than simply re-painting the door, Jesus chooses to enter through it. To trace the sign to its roots. The better to truly set the burdened free. Which explains what St Paul is telling us in the second reading, when he says that there is no necessity for us to obey our unspiritual selves. Or, in another, more literal, translation (RSV), we are debtors, not to the flesh… By our acceptance of the Lord’s gentle yoke, we are freed from the crushing burden of our debt to sin. Our hearts are no longer occupied by alien powers, but possessed by the Lord’s Spirit. And we can now share in the fullness of life in him.

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to set the burdened free. Isn’t this something we Christians need to remember whenever we encounter those labouring under a heavy burden of some kind? Including our own fragile selves? Burdened people, such as migrant workers owed months of unpaid wages. Or victims of bullying and other forms of abuse. Or silent sufferers of loneliness and depression. As well as those who fall prey to various addictive behaviours, while struggling to cope with the overwhelming stresses and strains of daily life….

Sisters and brothers, could it be that, whether or not it’s splashed with paint, behind the door of our burdens, the lowly Crucified and Risen Lord patiently awaits, and gently beckons? If so, how might we help each other to hear and answer his call?

Discerning Doorways Amid Darkness & Danger

12th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Jeremiah 20:10-13; Psalm 68 (69):8-10, 14, 17, 33-35; Romans 5:12-15; Matthew 10:26-33

Picture: By Milo Bauman on Unsplash

My dear friends, what do these two brief biblical phrases have in common? The first is, away with you. And the second, let it be. Away with you, and let it be… Each phrase has a meaning that’s the opposite of the other. The first is an expression of firm resistance. It’s what Jesus tells the devil in the wilderness, in Matthew’s gospel (4:11): Away with you, Satan!… The second phrase speaks not of resistance but of humble submission. The Blessed Virgin Mary uses it to respond to the angel Gabriel, at the Annunciation, in Luke’s gospel (1:11): Let it be with me according to your word… Firm resistance versus humble submission. Away with you, and let it be. What could these two phrases possibly have in common? Isn’t it true that both resistance and submission require courage? It takes courage to resist the devil, and to submit to God. And not just courage, but also wisdom. Wisdom to know when to resist and when to submit. But if this is true, then how, or from where, might we receive such courage and wisdom, especially if we happen to find ourselves surrounded by darkness and danger? Isn’t this the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today?

The first reading, presents us with another brief but striking phrase. This time spoken by the prophet Jeremiah: Terror from every side! In its biblical context, this phrase has more than one meaning. First, it refers to the persecution that the prophet himself is suffering. Most recently, he has been beaten up, and imprisoned overnight in the Temple. But beyond that, he has also been tormented by dark whispers, disparaging rumours, that others, including his friends, have been spreading about him behind his back. And what is the reason for this cruel persecution? It’s because Jeremiah has ignored repeated warnings from the authorities, telling him to stop preaching the unpopular message that God has given him. He has persisted in calling the people to surrender to the invading Babylonian army. In other words, through his actions, the prophet has been both resisting and submitting. To his opponents, he has effectively been saying, away with you. And to God, let it be. But that’s not all. The phrase terror from every side is not just a reference to Jeremiah’s sufferings. It’s also the nickname that the prophet gives to his chief persecutor. The one responsible for his beating and imprisonment. The priest, Pashur. For whether Pashur realises it or not, he too has been resisting and submitting. But in the opposite way. By submitting to popular demand, Pashur has been resisting God. And, as a result, a great disaster will soon befall the people. They will all experience terror on every side. The horrors that follow from being defeated in war.

But from where does Jeremiah receive the wisdom and courage to keep recognising and submitting to the will of God, while resisting all who oppose it? The prophet himself gives us the answer. Despite his own painful experience of terror from every side, Jeremiah is still able to cling to his faith and hope in the presence and action of God. He believes he is not alone. (T)he Lord is at my side, a mighty hero… And it is the Lord who sustains him. Giving him the wisdom and courage he needs to persevere. To know when to resist, and when to submit.

In the gospel too, we find yet another brief but striking phrase. One that Jesus utters repeatedly: Do not be afraid… Again, in order to better appreciate the significance of these words, it’s helpful to recall their biblical context. Just a little earlier, Jesus had summoned the Twelve, given them authority, and then sent them out to proclaim the good news, ’The kingdom of heaven has come near’ (10:7). But not before telling them to expect persecution, even from the closest members of the family. Then, in today’s reading, Jesus gives an indication of how they might receive the wisdom and courage needed to persevere in their difficult mission. How to not be afraid. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the daylight; what you hear in whispers, proclaim from the housetops… Implying that, even amid the dangers of persecution, the Lord remains with them, mysteriously guiding them, through whispers in the dark.

All of which may help us better understand the distinction St Paul is making in the second reading. The difference between Adam and Jesus. By disobeying God, and listening to the serpent, Adam makes himself a doorway for sin and death to enter and rule the world. In contrast, by resisting the devil, and submitting to God, Jesus becomes the Doorway for divine grace, overflowing from his Cross, as an abundant free gift for us all. And isn’t it true that, even amid the darkness and dangers of our hyper-modern world, both these spiritual doorways remain open to us? Inviting us to choose between them?

Some of us may recall that let it be is not just a phrase found in the Bible. It also happens to be the title of an old Beatles hit. It seems fitting to conclude our reflection with these memorable words from that hopeful song: And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow. Let it be. I wake up to the sound of music. Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom. Let it be…. Whisper words of wisdom. Let it be…

Away with you, and let it be… Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another receive the wisdom and courage we need to continue properly resisting and submitting today?

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 undergo? 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-absorbed 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 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?