Saved from the Sinkhole

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Isaiah 35: 4-7; Psalm 145 (146): 7-10; James 2: 1-5; Mark 7: 31-37

Picture: cc horslips5 on Flickr

My dear friends, did you hear about that sinkhole, which appeared suddenly in Kuala Lumpur about a fortnight ago, and swallowed up a tourist walking along the pavement? How did the news make you feel? To be honest, I was very surprised, not just that a sinkhole should open up out of nowhere in the middle of a modern city, but also that despite an intense search lasting nine days, involving sniffer dogs and scuba divers, the unfortunate tourist still could not be found. I had naively thought that rescuing her would simply be a matter of lowering someone into the hole and lifting her out. Which just goes to show that a sinkhole is far more complex than I had imagined. And the same can also be said about what we find in our scriptures today.

The psalm tells us that the Lord is just to the oppressed, and raises up those who are bowed down. But what does oppression really look like? How does it feel to be bowed down? At first glance, each of our readings offers a simple enough answer. But upon deeper reflection, we find a far more complex reality. In the first reading, oppression comes in the form of a conquering foreign army, which both swallows up the nation, and carries off its people to a far-off land. Seems simple enough. And yet, the political sinkhole of conquest and exile has complex spiritual depths. For before being overrun by foreign armies, the people and their leaders had worshipped pagan gods. They had also oppressed the poor and vulnerable among them. And their idolatry and injustice have made them spiritually blind, deaf, and dumb. They have lost their ability to recognise the providential actions, to hear the loving communications, and to sing the joyful praises of the one true God. So more than simply releasing them from exile, rescue from oppression will have to involve somehow reopening their hearts to God.

Although the word oppression doesn’t appear in the second reading, the reality can be clearly seen in the discrimination suffered by the hypothetical poor person, who visits a synagogue and is treated as shabbily as he is dressed. At first glance, the remedy seems simple enough. Rebuke or replace the biased official. But the reading takes pains to point out that, although the official may play a part in it, the oppression doesn’t originate from him. It can be traced back to the double standards that he applies. Standards of the world, which are opposed to the standards of God. While the world favours the rich and powerful, God chooses those who are poor… to be rich in faith… and heirs of the kingdom… So it’s not just the one who is discriminated against who is oppressed, but also the one doing the discriminating. Again, as in the first reading, rescue will require a complex operation to help the oppressed become more open to God.

Finally, in the gospel too, what at first seems simple is actually more complex. At first glance, the deaf-mute is obviously oppressed by his own disability. And by healing him, Jesus seems to be performing a simple enough rescue operation. But the Lord’s words and actions before, during, and after the healing make it clear that something more complex is going on. Before healing the man, the Lord takes him aside in private, away from the crowd. Could this need for privacy be an indication that the man’s affliction is somehow related to the influences of the society in which he lives? Next, during the healing, Jesus says Ephphatha, Be opened. Could this command have not only a physical meaning, but also a spiritual one? Restoring the man’s ability to hear God’s word, and to sing God’s praises? Then, after the healing, the crowds persist in publicising it enthusiastically, even though Jesus had ordered them to keep it secret. Ironically, although the Lord succeeds in restoring the deaf man’s hearing, he fails to get the crowd to listen to his instruction. For they still do not understand who he really is. They remain closed. In Mark’s gospel, it is only when the Lord’s body hangs broken and lifeless on the cross that someone will finally be open enough to say, Truly this man was God’s Son! (Mk 15:39).

And what about us? What comes to our minds when we hear the word oppression? In this Season of Creation, we may rightly think first of our ailing planet… Or perhaps of the pitiful Palestinians in Gaza… Or the roaming Rohingya of Myanmar… Or the late Ms Piang Ngaih Don, that poor domestic helper, cruelly beaten and starved to death by her employers, back in 2016, right here in our own shiny city… Or all those struggling to cope with the changing face of work, and the rising costs of living… And how can we forget the current cohort of students and their parents, desperately preparing for that annual trial that we call the PSLE?…

Sisters and brothers, how might the Lord be seeking to rescue us from different sinkholes of oppression, as well as recruiting us to help rescue others today?

Submitting to the Shape

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Deuteronomy 4: 1-2, 6-8; Psalm 14 (15): 2-5; James 1: 17-18, 21-22, 27; Mark 7: 1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Picture: By Benjamin Voros on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is the shape of water? This is obviously a trick question, right? For we know that water takes on the shape of whichever container it happens to be poured into. But even if water doesn’t have its own shape, it does have a distinct purity. It can be polluted by impurities found in its container, which can interfere with water’s ability to fulfil its different functions. Badly polluted water can no longer be used for quenching thirst, or sustaining life. It may even endanger public health. Which is why it’s important to keep water containers clean. And to do this, we rely on yet another function of water, its ability to purify… The shifting shape, the distinct purity, and the different functions of water. It’s helpful to keep all these in mind, because we find something similar in our scriptures today.

When the word of God is poured into the people of Israel in the first reading, it takes on a particular shape. It is received as a set of laws and customs, commandments of the Lord. Which are meant to fulfil various functions. By carefully observing the Law, the Israelites will allow themselves to be moulded into God’s own people. They will live a full life in the Promised Land. They will also demonstrate to their gentile neighbours how good and how wise is the God they worship, as well as how close God is to them. By keeping the Law, the Israelites will both enrich their lives, and glorify God’s name.

So the Law is not intended to be a crushing burden, but a precious gift. A blessing, not just for the Israelites, but also for the gentile nations among whom they live. As the second reading reminds us, it is all that is good and everything that is perfect, which is given to us from above. Unfortunately, the Israelites fail to maintain the purity of the Law. Over time, their leaders allow their observance of the Law to be polluted by worldly concerns, tainted by the craving for power and money, security and control. And the second reading teaches us how to recognise when pollution like this occurs, by reminding us that, in addition to its other functions, religion is also an expression of mercy. Pure, unspoilt religion… is… coming to the help of orphans and widows when they need it. Much like how God rescued the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, and led them into the freedom of the Promised Land. In contrast, just as contaminated water loses its ability to sustain life, so too does polluted religion fail to show mercy. On the contrary, it leads to oppression. Both the material oppression of the poor and vulnerable, as well as the spiritual oppression of the rich and self-sufficient. Polluted religion results in the sacrifice of human life and wellbeing.

Thankfully, out of God’s infinite mercy, the word of God is again poured into our world, more generously than ever before. Appearing among us no longer in the form of mere legal pronouncements, but in the shape of a living human person. Someone humble and secure enough in God’s love to resist every form of pollution. And just as water can be used to cleanse contaminated containers, so too does Jesus purify the perverted religion practised in his day. In the gospel, he does this by uncovering the hypocrisy of certain external religious observances, and tracing them back to their origins in the human heart. If the Pharisees and scribes abuse religion by turning it into just another way to line their pockets and inflate their egos, it is only because their hearts are filled with impurities like anxiety and avarice, which hinder them from truly accepting and submitting to God’s word. For it is from within human hearts that evil intentions emerge, rendering even outwardly pious practices unclean.

Actually the dangers of polluted religion should come as no surprise to us. We see its tragic effects all around our world, most obviously in outbreaks of religiously motivated violence. But if these deadly fruits of pollution are truly rooted in the evil intentions within human hearts, then more than simply lamenting and denouncing polluted religion in others, don’t we need to also seek to uncover it in ourselves? By prayerfully examining the sincerity of our external actions, and the dispositions of our own hearts. As well as by gauging the extent to which our religious observance translates into actual expressions of mercy shown to those who suffer, including those closest to us, as well as creation itself. But we need to do this with great care. For if it is true that all that is good originates not from us, but from above, then the power to purify our hearts can come to us only as God’s merciful gift. Which God already bestows upon us so abundantly in Christ. What is left for us to do is to beg God for the willingness to humbly accept this gift, even if it may sometimes appear in inconvenient shapes. Such as the call to change our lifestyles in the direction of greater sustainability.

Sisters and brothers, what particular shape or shapes is God’s mercy taking in our lives today?

More Than Just An Obstacle...

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Joshua 24: 1-2, 15-18; Psalm 33 (34): 2-3,16-23; Ephesians 5: 21-32 or Ephesians 5: 2a, 25-32; John 6:60-69

Picture: By Tadeusz Lakota on Unsplash

My dear friends, when is an obstacle more than just an obstacle? A man once went for a stroll in the woods with his dog. As they walked together, along a narrow forest path, the dog suddenly stood very still, and blocked its owner’s way. It even started to growl when the man tried to walk past it. At first the man was puzzled. It was only later, when he spotted a poisonous snake slithering across the path, that he realised the reason for his trusty companion’s curious behaviour… Sometimes an obstacle is more than just an obstacle. It may also be a warning, a call to greater vigilance and care. Don’t we find something similar in our scriptures today?

As we may recall from previous weeks, in the gospel, Jesus has been claiming that he is the living bread which has come down from heaven, and that those who wish to enjoy the fullness of life must eat (his) flesh and drink (his) blood. In response, many of the Lord’s followers say, This is intolerable language, or, according to another translation, This is a hard saying. Hard, like a huge stone blocking our way. An irritating obstacle obstructing our path. And yet, what the Lord is offering is also a warning, a caution not to work for food that cannot last. Not to turn our appetites into idols. But to feed on and to worship instead the One True God. Like that dog on the forest path, the Lord’s teaching is an obstacle. And more than an obstacle, it’s also a call. A call to conversion.

But not just any kind of conversion. At least not the kind that may erupt on special occasions, like festive fireworks, exploding loudly and suddenly, colourfully and excitedly, only to fade away, without leaving any trace. Instead, what the Lord is asking of his followers is something more enduring and all-encompassing. Something like what Joshua is asking of the Israelites in the first reading, when he tells them to choose today whom you wish to serve. Again, more than just an obstacle, the Lord’s teaching is also a call. A call to make a lasting choice, a life-defining commitment. As for me and my House, we will serve the Lord.

And in case we may feel discouraged by how demanding this sounds, the scriptures remind us that the Lord’s apparently hard teaching actually has a tender core. The second reading invites us to ponder how lovingly Christ treats the Church. How he sacrificed himself for her to make her holy. And how, as a man feeds and looks after his own body, that is also the way Christ treats the Church, because it is his body––and we are its living parts. Unlike the idols we may be fooled into worshipping, Christ doesn’t oppress those who commit their lives to his service. Rather, he treats us as parts of his very self, mercifully showering upon us his tender loving care. Again, more than just an obstacle, the Lord’s teaching is also a call. A call to an ever more intimate communion.

An obstacle that’s more than just an obstacle, but also a call to conversion, to commitment and to communion. This is what we find in our scriptures today. And yet, it’s not always easy to see all of this at once. Especially if the obstacle we encounter is unexpected. Such as a sudden tragedy or medical emergency, a painful loss or disappointing setback. Very often, in such moments, our vision is clouded, if only for the moment. Like that man on the path, we can see the puzzling behaviour of the dog, but not yet the poisonous threat of the snake. What then are we to do?

In the gospel, we find people taking one of three courses of action. The first is desertion. We’re told that many of Jesus’ disciples left him and stopped going with him. The second is continued discipleship. Much as Peter doesn’t understand what’s going on, even though he will have to struggle to live up to his commitment, and even if he may fall short, he keeps clinging stubbornly to Jesus. Lord, who shall we go to? You have the message of eternal life… The third option is much less obvious. The gospel alludes to it when it speaks of the one who would betray him. For the first two courses of action don’t quite lead to betrayal. Neither outright desertion nor struggling discipleship. No, betrayal requires a willingness to lead a double-life. A life of continual compromise. The ability to go through the motions of discipleship, while nurturing a deserter’s heart. Something that Pope Francis calls spiritual worldliness. To claim to live in the Church, while keeping and promoting the values of the world. And this requires a certain degree of secrecy. Which is perhaps why Jesus is so blunt in asking the Twelve: What about you, do you want to go away too? The Lord is offering them, and us, the precious opportunity to uncover what may be hidden, even from ourselves. To examine our hearts, and to bring our doubts and reservations to him, so that he may address them.

Sisters and brothers, through the obstacles we may meet along the path of life, how might the Lord be calling us today?

The Angel's Touch

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kings 19: 4-8; Psalm 33 (34): 2-9; Ephesians 4: 30-5:2; John 6: 41-51

Picture: By Jose Gasparian on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is it like be exhausted and hungry at the same time? To feel an urgent need to sleep and to eat? Of course, we can’t do both simultaneously. So which do we do first? I’m not sure, but aren’t we more likely to sleep first? After all, it’s possible to feel so tired that we can’t even stay awake long enough to finish a meal. And yet, once we fall asleep, isn’t it easy to forget to eat? Which is why we need someone to wake us up. Someone to remind us to nourish ourselves. Isn’t this what we find in each of our readings?

At the start of the first reading, Elijah is so exhausted that he prays for death, and then promptly falls asleep. But God doesn’t let the prophet die. For God has a new mission for him, which Elijah will have to travel all the way to Horeb, the mountain of God, to receive. And to help Elijah get there, God provides not only nourishing food to sustain him on the journey, but also the touch of an angel to rouse him from sleep. Get up and eat, or the journey will be too long for you. The touch of God’s messenger, rousing someone from sleep, so as to nourish him with food for the journey. Touch, sleep, and food. Seems like a simple enough story, except that the story also has a deeper meaning. One that becomes clearer when we consider that what God does for Elijah in the first reading actually mirrors what God had earlier sent the prophet to do for the people of Israel.

As we may recall, Ahab, the king of Israel at the time, had taken a pagan wife, Jezebel. After which, the king and all his subjects turned to worship Baal, the queen’s pagan god. And though they may not realise it, their idolatry leads the Israelites into deep spiritual exhaustion and starvation, symbolised by a terrible drought and famine that ravage the land. To save the people, God sends Elijah to call them back to true worship. So that not only does Elijah receive the touch of an angel, he himself is sent to be an angel for others. To awaken the people of Israel from their idolatry, and to remind them to nourish themselves by worshipping the one true God. To taste and see that the Lord is good. But queen Jezebel resists the prophet’s touch. Refusing to be awakened by God’s messenger, she actually seeks to kill him. Which is why Elijah is forced to flee for his life, becoming depressed and burnt out. The prophet’s afflictions in the first reading are the result of the sins of those he was sent to help.

So more than just a story about a lone prophet being rescued from physical tiredness, the first reading is also about how God seeks to save a whole people from false worship. For just as the sleep of idolatry leads to spiritual burnout and starvation, despair and death, the food of right worship brings true rest and sustenance, renewal of purpose and fullness of life. And the good news is that God never tires of sending messengers to touch those who fall asleep, to rouse them to wakefulness, and to remind them to eat. Isn’t this also what Jesus is doing in the gospel?

As we may recall from last Sunday’s reading, in the sixth chapter of John’s gospel, the Lord uncovers the subtle signs of the people’s idolatry. By seeking to make Jesus king, simply because he is able to provide them with free food (6:15), the people show that the god they worship is their own stomachs. Which is why Jesus tells them not to work for food that cannot last (6:27), but to feed instead on Jesus himself, the bread of life sent by God to nourish the world. And in today’s reading, we see that it’s not just the people who need to be awakened from idolatry, their religious leaders do too. By complaining to each other about Jesus, aren’t they showing signs of false worship? Not that there’s anything wrong with complaining in itself, provided it is done for a just cause. But their grumbling is born of jealousy and the need for control. It’s also a sign of their resistance to being roused from sleep. As queen Jezebel tried to do to Elijah, the religious leaders will soon seek to have Jesus killed.

And not only does Jesus himself touch others into wakefulness, he also sends disciples to do the same. Isn’t this what the author of the second reading seeks to do? More than just imposing burdensome obligations that individuals find hard to fulfil, the reading helps a community to recognise signs of its own exhaustion born of idolatry. Including the ways its members use words to tear others down, instead of building them up. And isn’t this what we too are called to do as Christians? Not just to feed ourselves at the Eucharistic table, but also to be sent out to touch others into wakefulness. Isn’t this a particularly urgent need today, living as we do in a society where so many feel burdened to the point of burnout? Like sheep without a shepherd (Mk 6:34)?

Sisters and brothers, what can we do both to better receive, as well as to become for others, the touch of an angel today?

Between Lock & Key

Solemnity of St Ignatius of Loyola

Readings: Jeremiah 20: 7-9; Ps 34 (33): 2-3, 4-5, 6-7, 8-9, 10-11; 1 Corinthians 10: 31 – 11: 1; Luke 14: 25-33

Picture: By Amol Tyagi on Unsplash

My dear friends, what does a key look like? I’m not sure if you’ll agree, but isn’t the safest answer to this question, it depends? That’s because keys are made to open locks, and locks come in different forms. A hole in a door requires the turning of a metal rod. A touchpad, the swipe of a plastic card. A scanner, the imprint of a finger, or the flash of an eye. A keypad, the pushing of a series of symbols. And then there are also locks that are not physical but intellectual. Such as a code or a puzzle. Which is what we find in our scriptures today. Each of the readings contains something like a puzzle, requiring the right key, for access to deeper understanding.

In the first reading, the prophet Jeremiah is suffering terribly. His proclamation of God’s message has resulted in him being rejected and mocked, persecuted and thrown into prison. As he ponders his own sad plight, Jeremiah cannot help but complain to God for deceiving him. By promising to protect and care for him (eg, 1:8), God had enticed him to accept his prophetic mission. And yet, now that Jeremiah is in trouble, God seems to have forsaken him. Which brings us to the puzzle. To escape his sufferings, all the prophet has to do is renounce his message, forsake his mission. So why doesn’t he do that, especially now that he has already seen through God’s deception? Why does the prophet persist in his folly? Jeremiah himself provides the key to the puzzle. (W)ithin me there is something like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot. Like a raging flame that refuses to be quenched, God’s word sustains the prophet in his mission, even in the face of stiff opposition from others, and apparent abandonment by God. The prophet’s experience of God’s word is the key to the puzzle.

In the second reading too, we find something like a puzzle. On the one hand, St Paul claims to do everything for the glory of God. But, on the other hand, he also says that he tries to please everyone in everything he does. How to reconcile these two claims? For one thing, don’t we all know from experience, how exhausting, and even pointless and foolish, it is to try to please everybody? Not just in school and at work, but even back at home, and here in church? Also, as it was for Jeremiah, isn’t it true that God’s wishes often conflict with what many people want? So how can Paul both glorify God, and please everyone, at the same time? Again, the reading itself provides the key to the puzzle, specifically in the last two lines. First, Paul gives us a clearer idea of what he means, when he adds that he tries to please everyone, so that they may be saved. His aim is not to satisfy superficial cravings, but to help others attain salvation, the fullness of life. Which is what Jesus came among us to accomplish, and why the reading ends with Paul inviting his readers to (b)e imitators of me, as I am of Christ. Christ, who came among us both to glorify God, and to save everyone. Christ, the Word-of-God-Made-Flesh, he is the key to the puzzle.

And the same goes for the gospel. We all know that the Ten Commandments require us to honour our parents (Ex 20:12). And Jesus himself said he came not to abolish, but to fulfil the law and the prophets (Mt 5:17). So how can the Lord require his followers to hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters… and even life itself? Beyond trying to explain this apparent contradiction in theory, don’t we need to consider how the Lord himself lived it in practice? How, by his Life, Death and Resurrection, Jesus showed us what it looks like to love God in everyone, and everyone in God, even to the point of accepting death on a cross? And to appreciate what this might look like in our own lives, along with Jeremiah and Paul and Jesus himself, don’t we have to keep allowing the Word of God to burn ever more brightly in our own hearts? As we are invited to do every time we gather for the Eucharist? Again, Christ, the Word-of-God-Made-Flesh, is the key to the puzzle.

Christ is the key, not just to the readings, but to the lives of the prophet, the apostle, and all who seek to follow the Lord, including our patron, St Ignatius. For it is said that, despite opposition from various very important people, Ignatius insisted on naming his religious order not after himself, but after Jesus. Why, if not because Ignatius wanted not just his own personal life, but also the corporate life of the least society he cofounded to be shaped around the Word-of-God-Made-Flesh? He wanted Jesus to be the key to everything. Which shows us that it’s not just the case that keys need to be fitted to locks. Especially when the key is Jesus, locks too need to be continually shaped to better receive the Key. 

Sisters and brothers, as we joyously celebrate yet another parish feast-day, what must we do to keep allowing the Lord to shape our hearts and our lives, our families and our communities around none but him, today and everyday?