Sunday, March 17, 2024

Between Missed Opportunities & Happy Coincidence


5th Sunday in Lent (B)


Readings: Jeremiah 31: 31-34; Psalm 50 (51): 3-4, 12-15; Hebrews 5: 7-9; John 12: 20-33

Picture: By on Tim Smurf Unsplash


My dear friends, what does it feel like to be blessed by a happy coincidence? Let’s say I’m in my car, desperately searching for a parking space. But the carpark is full. Then, just as I drive by a row of cars, one of them happens to move off. Isn’t that a good example of co-incidence? Two different events – me driving by, and a car vacating a lot – two different moments coinciding at the same time. How wonderful it is when that happens!… On the other hand, imagine how I’d feel if the car moves off, but I’m too far away, or too distracted to notice, and someone else gets there before me. No happy coincidence then. Just a missed opportunity…


Today, our scriptures point to the possible coincidence of two different events, two separate moments in time. The first is foretold by the prophet Jeremiah. The days are coming, he says, when God will plant God’s Law deep within the hearts of God’s people. And all of them – all of us – will know God. Will recognise God’s presence and action in our lives. And isn’t this also what the psalmist prays for? A pure heart create for me, O God… A heart uncluttered by sin. An unobstructed heart, that recognises and is drawn irresistibly to God… Whether we realise it or not, isn’t this what we all are seeking? With even more desperation than a motorist, still stuck in the parish carpark, at ten past twelve on a Sunday afternoon?


The second moment is announced by Jesus in the gospel. Now the hour has come, he says, for the Son of Man to be glorified. That paradoxical moment when the wheat grain falls on the ground and dies, to yield a rich harvest… When Jesus is lifted up to draw all people to himself… When, through the humiliation of God’s only Son, the name of God is glorified… When, by humbly and obediently emptying himself, Christ the Lord opens up for us a welcoming space in God’s embrace.


And how wonderful it is when these two moments coincide! When pure hearts recognise the glory of God revealed by Christ on the Cross. When God’s call is no longer dismissed as a clap of thunder, or ignored as a troublesome distraction. But receives, instead, a generous and courageous response. When this happens, so the second reading tells us, obedience is born in us, and the Crucified and Risen One becomes for us the source of eternal salvation.


Isn’t it precisely to prepare for such a happy coincidence that we observe this great season of Lent? By denying ourselves, confessing our sins, and sharing our blessings with others, we hope to dispose ourselves to recognise the Lord’s glory, revealed on the Cross. Not just in the solemn liturgies of Easter. But also in the ordinary events of daily life. Privileged moments when we may find ourselves touched by suffering – our own, as well as that of others. Moments in which our loving God gently calls us to follow Christ, and to open up more spaces for others, in our hearts, and in our world.


Sisters and brothers, in what remains of Lent, how shall we continue preparing to celebrate Easter as a truly happy coincidence, rather than just another missed opportunity?

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Of Crooked Ink & Innocent Blood


4th Sunday in Lent (B)

(Laetare Sunday)


Readings: 2 Chronicles 36: 14-16, 19-23; Psalm 136 (137): 1-6; Ephesians 2: 4-10; John 3: 14-21

Picture: By John Jennings on Unsplash


My dear friends, what’s the difference between a letter written in ink and one written in blood? Some of us may recall watching Chinese period dramas on TV, in which a righteous official is unjustly sentenced to death, for speaking the truth. To protest his innocence, the official composes a letter written in his own blood. Expressing not just the seriousness of the matter, but also his utter commitment to his cause. His willingness to sacrifice his own life, to shed his own innocent blood, for the sake of the truth… This story may help us ponder a challenging question found in our scriptures today.


In the psalm, the exiled people of Israel is asked to sing a joyful song of Zion. Prompting them to wonder, O how could we sing the song of the Lord on alien soil? Of course, one way is to simply ignore the truth of the Exile, to forget Jerusalem. But the people rightly refuse this way of apathy… If we are truthful, perhaps we will be moved to ask a similar question today, as our liturgy calls us to rejoice: How can we rejoice?… When our own hearts may remain burdened by worry, or broken by grief, or troubled by guilt? How can we rejoice?… While helpless children starve in war-torn lands, and desperate migrants drown in the depths of the sea? How can we rejoice?… Knowing that our comfortable lifestyles contribute to the ever growing quantity and intensity of natural disasters around the world? How can we rejoice?…


One response to this troubling question is expressed in the often heard saying, God writes straight with crooked lines. In the first reading, God uses the crooked lines of human history – the rise and fall of empires, and Israel’s own repeated episodes of infidelity – as an indelible ink with which to write the story of God’s steadfast love. To rejoice in the darkness, we need only recall God’s fidelity to us in the past, and trust that God’s light will eventually shine on us again in the future.


But – again if we are truthful – waiting in the dark often requires more trust than we ourselves can muster. Thankfully, in the gospel, Jesus reminds us that God’s love for us is written not just with the ink of crooked lines, but in the righteous blood of God’s only Son. The Son of Man must be lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert. As with the bronze serpent, God’s merciful love transforms the Cross of Christ from a cruel instrument of death to a secure gateway to New Life. So that even when we may be engulfed in darkness of any kind, we are not alone. The light of the Crucified and Risen One is already shining in the dark. Tenderly enfolding us in its healing rays. Offering us wisdom to recognise the truth, and courage to live by it. Enabling us to experience consolation, even in the darkness. Perhaps not quite the excitement one feels at a Taylor Swift concert. Nor the thrill one gets from a hard-won achievement. But joy, to be humbly received as a grace, as a pure gift from God.


Sisters and brothers, God’s steadfast love for us is expressed not just with crooked lines, but in the precious blood of Christ. What can we do to better allow this consoling truth to strengthen and sustain us in joy this Lent?

Sunday, March 03, 2024

When Fist Meets Palm


3rd Sunday in Lent (B)


Readings: Exodus 20: 1-17; Psalm 18 (19): 8-11; 1 Corinthians 1: 22-25; John 2: 13-25

Picture: cc affinity on Flickr


My dear friends, what’s the difference between an open palm and a closed fist? Well, a palm is typically soft and relaxed, a fist hard and tense. It’s with a palm, not a fist, that we caress a child’s cheek. But a palm can be firm too. Such as when a traffic assistant at a school raises a hand to stop traffic, creating a path for students to walk safely. Or when a sculptor’s hands lovingly mould a lump of clay, forming a new work of art. Here we see another difference between fist and palm. A palm makes or opens up space. A fist knows only to occupy it. So what happens when a fist meets a palm? This is the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today.


In the first reading, after freeing Israel from the iron fist of slavery in Egypt, and leading her to Mount Sinai, God now gives her a new Law. Through the Ten Commandments, the tender yet firm hand of God opens up a safe space for Israel to live in the land. By teaching her the proper way to relate to God and to neighbour, God bestows on Israel the precious gift of a new identity. Moulding her into God’s own work of art. If only she follows God’s Law, Israel herself will become an open palm, a sacred and safe space, where the loving presence and action of God can be experienced in the world.


But it’s not easy to remain open, to keep relying on God alone, through the many ups and downs of life. By the time Jesus arrives on the scene, the trustingly open palm has become an anxiously closed fist. God’s space-providing freedom-promoting Law has been turned into a stress-inducing life-cluttering collection of obligations. Which is why Jesus does what he does in the gospel. By raising a firm palm to interrupt the routine flow of business activity in the Temple, Jesus is not just reclaiming real estate for his heavenly Father. He is also reminding Israel of her own God-given identity as a sanctuary of the Lord. A privileged space dedicated to the worship of God, and to the care of others.


Of course, the Lord’s actions in the Temple immediately place him in direct conflict with the religious leaders. Opening up for him a path to the Cross. A difficult path of suffering and death. But also a safe and sure path to New Life. The same secure path on which Lent is training us to walk. For as the second reading reminds us, though others may see the crucified Christ as an obstacle, or even as madness, he remains for us the power and wisdom of God. To walk his path is to extend a tender hand of support to those who suffer, as well as to raise a firm hand of protest to those who cause the suffering. As when parents rightly call for an investigation, when they suspect their child is being abused at a preschool. And yet, isn’t it true that the dangerous fist of abuse can also appear in less obvious, but no less damaging ways? Including the unrealistic expectations some of us may unwittingly place, not just on our children, but even on our own already heavily laden shoulders as well?


Sisters and brothers, how is God continuing to make life-giving spaces, for us and for others, by transforming closed fists into open palms this Lent?

Sunday, February 25, 2024

The PT is for the Passover


2nd Sunday in Lent (B)


Readings: Genesis 22: 1-2, 9-13, 15-18; Psalm 115 (116): 10, 15-19; Romans 8: 31-34; Mark 9: 2-10

Picture: By on Shawn Levie Unsplash


My dear friends, what do physical training sessions and pep talks have in common? Apart from sharing the same initials – PT – they’re both also what athletes typically have to undergo before a competition. Together, the training and the talks form part of a process of preparation, or stretching. Just as the training stretches bodies, the talks broaden vision, and strengthen resolve. Preparing the athletes to face the challenges ahead. And the more they bear this larger purpose in mind, the more benefit they will be able to draw from both training and talks alike.


We find something similar in our scriptures today. What do the two mountains have in common – the mountain of testing in the first reading, and the mountain of transfiguration in the gospel? Like the PT that athletes undergo, we need to see what happens on each of these mountains as part of a single process of preparation. Otherwise, we can easily be misled. It’s easy to be scandalised, for example, by the apparently unreasonable demand God makes of Abraham, as well as by Abraham’s blind obedience. Yet, unlike our global economy, which so many often worship as an idol, our God does not require the taking of human life. Neither our own lives, nor those of our children, nor those of the poor victims of trafficking and war. Instead of torturing him, God is mysteriously training Abraham. Stretching his ability to trust, even when he's sorely afflicted. Preparing him to receive the gift of becoming the father of a multitude of descendants.


Similarly, seen in isolation, it’s easy to mistake the transfiguration as a final resting place. As Peter seems to do. Yet, before ascending the mountain, Jesus had already told his disciples about the challenges he would soon have to face. His Passion, Death and Resurrection (8:31). And it’s only to prepare them to face these challenges with him, that the Lord leads them up the mountain, and lets them hear the heavenly Father’s brief but powerful pep talk: This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him. Listen! Not only now, when he’s gloriously transfigured. But also later, when he’s cruelly rejected and crucified. And not just to him speaking in person. But also in all who suffer. Listen! So as to receive the incredible gift of God’s own Son, given up to benefit us all.


Like PT for athletes, both testing and transfiguration prepare disciples for the Passover of the Lord. And this can happen not just at Mass in Lent, but also in daily life. Whenever we encounter times of trial, or moments of glory. We need to recognise and treat these as precious opportunities for stretching. As St Augustine of Hippo tells us: Suppose you are going to fill some… container, and you know you will be given a large amount. Then you set about stretching your sack…. Why?… By stretching it… you increase the capacity… and this is how God deals with us…. (H)e increases our desire, which in turn enlarges the capacity of our soul, making it able to receive what is to be given to us…


Sisters and brothers, how might we better prepare for Easter, by graciously allowing the Lord to stretch us this Lent?

Sunday, February 18, 2024

Reaching to the Roots


1st Sunday in Lent (B)


Readings: Genesis 9: 8-15; Psalm 24 (25): 4-6, 7b-9; 1 Peter 3: 18-22; Mark 1: 12-15

Picture: By Lucia Sorrentino on Unsplash


My dear friends, can you imagine what the home of a hoarder looks like? Filled with so much clutter, there’s hardly any room for the residents to move around. Even the neighbours are affected. What to do? Will it be enough just to gather some volunteers to help clear out the junk, and clean up the house? Probably not. As the old Chinese proverb goes, weeds that are cut without removing their roots will grow again once the spring winds blow (斩草不除根,春风吹又生). And the roots of hoarding are often strong and complex. Requiring deeper engagement to adequately understand and properly address.


Isn’t this also what our scriptures tell us about sin? In the first reading, after having swept away all sinful flesh in a great flood, God offers Noah and the other survivors a fresh start, by entering into a Covenant with them. But we know that this ancient spring-cleaning project doesn't eradicate sin at its roots. Before long, the weeds will grow again. Even so, for us Christians, the story of Noah has a deeper meaning.


The second reading reminds us that the ancient waters of the flood point to the sacramental waters of Baptism, in which we have been washed, and for which our catechumens are now preparing. Sacred waters that draw their healing power from Christ himself. Whose innocent blood seals a new Covenant, just as the rainbow signals the one God made with Noah. Showing that though the roots of sin are strong and complex, God’s patience and loving mercy are even stronger and more enduring. Prompting Jesus to immerse himself in our human reality, and free us from the soul-cluttering effects of sin.


Isn’t this the deeper meaning of today’s gospel? Although himself without sin, Jesus submits to being baptised by John. Signifying the Lord’s deep immersion in our human fragility. But the roots of sin go beyond fragility. They’re also due to seduction by Evil. Which is why, immediately after his baptism, and before he begins his public ministry, the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. Where the Lord both suffers and also triumphs over temptation. Proving that, by his Life, Death and Resurrection, the Lord has the power to eradicate sin at its roots. And we can claim this power for ourselves, if only we keep submitting ourselves to Christ. Surrendering more and more of our lives to the workings of his Spirit.


Isn’t this why we observe Lent? Through the discipline of prayer, fasting and almsgiving, we allow Jesus to lead us into the wilderness of our own hearts. So often cluttered with attitudes and tendencies that prevent us from experiencing the peace and joy of the Spirit. Dispositions that may remain hidden even from ourselves. Through the self-denial of Lent, we allow Jesus to help us uncover the roots of our sinfulness. Such as the insecurity that may drive our anxious striving and obsessive need for control. Or the emptiness and pain that can lead us to fall prey to addictions of one kind or another.


Sisters and brothers, if sin is truly even more complex than hoarding, then how might we allow the Lord to touch and heal us from our roots this Lent?