Feast of the Holy Family
Family Pictures on a Touchscreen

Readings: 1 Samuel 1:20-22,24-28; Psalm 83:2-3,5-6,9-10; 1 John 3:1-2,21-24; Luke 2:41-52

Picture: cc exfordy

Sisters and brothers, have you ever marvelled at the things you can do with a touchscreen? The kind that we find on a smartphone, an IPad or a tablet PC? I myself don’t use a touchscreen on a regular basis, but I’ve watched other people do so. And I’ve been fascinated. One moment you’re looking at a vivid image on the screen. And then, with a tap of a finger you can make the screen display a completely new and different picture. Or, you can remain with the same picture but, using your thumb and forefinger, you can make it bigger, or smaller. You can even make the screen display different parts of the same image. You can zoom in to focus on something in a corner, for example. Or zoom out to see more of the background.

Those of us who enjoy the luxury of playing with these devices on a daily basis probably don’t even think twice about it. But isn’t it a truly marvellous thing to be able to do all this? To change the way an image is displayed by simply touching the screen with a finger? And I’m not thinking only about the technology involved. Although it must be very interesting. What I find even more amazing is what such a device can do for us. Whether we realise it or not, the touchscreen gives us the power to look at a given thing–to look at life itself, really–from many different angles. To see familiar things in new and surprising ways. So that we can appreciate reality more deeply. And, hopefully, live life more fully.

I mention this because I think that our Mass readings for today do for us something very similar. Just as a touchscreen can help us to see ordinary things from fresh perspectives, so do our Mass readings display for us new ways of looking at something that we may think we already understand very well. What images come to your mind, for example, when you think of family? Where do families come from? What are they for? What does it feel like to live in a good family? Image and origin, purpose and feeling. These are some of the questions concerning family life that our readings help us to answer today.

I’m not sure, sisters and brothers, but I think that probably the first image that comes to most of ours minds when we think of a family is that of parents and children, and perhaps grandparents, all living together in the same household. And along with this image of the family, we also have a common view of how families come about. Their origin. We tend to think that families originate first from a decision that people make for themselves. We say, for example, that so and so is starting a family. As if a family is something that one can start at will. And if someone else decides to remain unmarried, we tend to think that such a person has no family of his or her own. And yet, when we turn to the images displayed on the touchscreen of our readings today, we get a rather different perspective.

Consider the story of Hannah in the first reading. Notice how, for long years, she had wanted a child of her own, but was unable to conceive. Much as she wanted to start a family, she could not. It was only after she had gone to pray at the Temple in Jerusalem that she finally gave birth to a baby boy. Whom she named Samuel. What does this tell us, sisters and brothers, if not that a family is not first of all something that one starts for oneself? A decision that one makes. A family is rather a precious gift that one receives from God. God is the Origin of family life.

Isn’t this why, immediately after Samuel is weaned–when he is old enough to survive apart from his mother–Hannah brings him to the Temple and dedicates him to the service of the Lord for his whole life? For Hannah, the child was a gift from God. So, he should live his life for God. But not only that, Hannah’s dedication of Samuel also implies a much broader image of family life than one that consists only of parents and their children. For if God is the child’s proper Origin, then the People of God are his proper family. And Samuel’s service in the Temple of God can properly be considered family service.

The second reading presents us with a similar picture, when it invites us to think of the love that the Father has lavished upon us by letting us be called God’s children. More than just children of our earthly parents, we are all children of God. And, as members of God’s family, we are all to love one another. To live our lives in service of each other. Whatever may be the colour of our skins, or the countries of our birth, or the languages we speak.

The second reading also goes on to indicate to us the purpose of family life as seen from this broader perspective. After telling us to love one another as Christ told us to, the reading goes on to say that whoever keeps his commandments lives in God and God lives in him. More than just generating and nurturing children–as important as this is–family life is ultimately about living in God. Living in God by living in the love that God has shown us in Christ Jesus our Lord. The love that led Jesus to be born for us in a manger. The love that saw him give his life for us on the Cross. The same love that we celebrate at this and at every Eucharist.

And yet, this broad view of family life should not lead us to think poorly of our own immediate families. Much less to take them for granted. For many of us–though by no means all–living a life of love, living a life in God, will usually mean living together with particular members of an immediate family. With spouse, parents, grandparents, children, sisters and brothers. And living such a life means caring for specific members of such a family. Which leads us to the final question that our readings help us to answer today. What should it feel like to live a good family life?

The gospel provides us with an answer that is probably quite surprising. For it’s likely that we may think of life in a good family as being one that’s free from tension. As being more or less plain sailing all the way. And yet, tension is precisely what we find in the gospel. Here both Jesus and his earthly parents struggle to negotiate the tension between the obligations of the immediate family and those of the family of God. As the son of Mary and Joseph, Jesus really should have informed them of his intention to remain in the Temple. Just as it was only proper–at least at this stage of his life–that he should return with them to Nazareth and live under their authority. And yet, as Son of his Father in Heaven, it was also proper that he should be busy with his Father’s affairs. What is this sisters and brothers if not tension? But a healthy tension. A necessary tension. For we are told that, living in this way, Jesus increased in wisdom, in stature, and in favour with God and men. It was precisely their willingness to live this tension courageously that made Jesus, Mary and Joseph a Holy Family.

This then, sisters and brothers, is what family looks like when seen through the eyes of faith. This is the image of family life displayed on the touchscreen of our readings. Sisters and brothers, how ready are we to allow our hearts to be touched by this image? How willing are we to live the reality of family life in God today?

Christmas Day (Mass during the Day)
Words That Hurt & The Word That Heals

Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 97:1-6; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-18

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Sisters and brothers, I think you’ve probably heard this maxim before. It’s what parents used to teach their children to say when teased by their friends. Words will never hurt me. A very brave statement to make, don’t you think? It seems to imply that words don’t matter very much. And yet, we all know, from experience, the power that words have over us. Anyone who’s ever opened a rejection letter, for example, turning down their application for a much needed job, or to a much sought after school, will know the power of words to sadden and to disappoint us.

And words can do much worse than that. Some of us will remember, for example, the tragic story of Amanda Todd, the 15 year-old Canadian girl, who took her own life just a couple of months ago, after being cruelly bullied on Facebook. Or perhaps some of us may know first hand what it feels like to be a victim of character assassination. Having others gossip about us. Or spread rumours concerning us. Whether true or not. Demolishing our reputations or even our careers in the process. Clearly, not only can words disappoint, they can also destroy.

And those are just the more obvious effects. There are also more subtle but no less dangerous ones. Not only can words disappoint and destroy, they can also deceive and seduce. Mislead and confuse. How many of us, for example, can deny being continually enticed by cunning advertisers into buying things that we do not really need? And on a regular basis? How many of us can say that we have not been led to believe, by society at large, that our worth as persons depends mainly upon the highs and lows of our successes and failures. Upon the make of car that we drive, or the district in which we live. Upon the kind of work we do, or the company we keep. Upon the school to which we send our kids, or the grades those same kids obtain. How many of us can claim to be unaffected by the words that may pop into our minds from time to time, telling us we’re worthless. Or just not good enough. Discouraging us from persevering in whatever worthwhile thing we may be trying to do.

Sisters and brothers, whether we care to admit it or not, words do have power over us. Power to disappoint and to destroy. To seduce and to mislead. To discourage and to depress. But if this is true, what becomes of our beloved maxim then? Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Are parents expecting too much from their children when they teach them to say this? Is it just a matter of wishful thinking? Of putting up a brave front. If words are indeed so powerful, how can we expect not to be hurt by them?

And yet, perhaps the maxim doesn’t really mean that words do not have power over us. They do. Obviously. But rather, as powerful as words may be, perhaps it remains possible for us to tune them out. The way people tune a radio, for example. Or switch channels on a TV set. We can tune out the hurtful and misleading words by tuning in to healing and nurturing ones. Isn’t this how parents can help to protect their children from the cruel and confusing words of others? By constantly speaking loving and nurturing words themselves. Words of guidance and of truth. And words that are not just being spoken, but also constantly being translated into action. Into quality time spent with the child, for example. And into close attention being paid to its needs and concerns. Such that, held secure in their parents’ unconditional love and acceptance, the child is better able to disregard whatever hurtful things others may say about it.

Isn’t this also what our God, our divine Parent does for us? Isn’t this what we celebrate at Christmas? The wonderful mystery of our heavenly Father speaking to us in a remarkably new and compelling way.  Reminding us of how much we are loved and cherished. Showing us the way to true happiness. As the second reading tells us: At various times in the past and in various different ways, God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets; but in our own time, the last days, he has spoken to us through his Son. His Son Jesus, who, the gospel tells us, is also the eternal Word of God. At Christmas, we celebrate how this same Word of God becomes translated into terms that we can better experience and understand. Into a living breathing human person, whom we can see and touch. The Word was made flesh, he lived among us, and we saw his glory.

But that’s not all. As the Word of God comes among us, he also brings much power. The power to save us from our enemies. From the hurtful and misleading words that threaten to lead us astray. In the first reading, this salvation comes in the form of the joyful news that God is fighting on behalf of his people. For the Lord is consoling his people, redeeming Jerusalem. The Lord bares his holy arm in the sight of all the nations. And this should not be surprising. For this is what the Word of God is all about. As the gospel tells us, the Word of God is both light and life. He enlightens all people. Shows them the way to true happiness. And to those who receive his message, those who accept him into their hearts and into their lives, the Word gives power to become children of God. Power to live life to the full.

Isn’t this what Christmas is really about? It is about a loving Father continuing to speak his Word to his children. His Word of Love and Light and Life. And even translating this Word into a human person, able to lay down his life for his friends. Helping them to protect themselves against the effects of other words. Dangerous words. Words that seduce and discourage and destroy.

Sisters and brothers, perhaps it is true that while sticks and stones may break our bones, words will never hurt us. But only provided we learn to tune out these same words of danger and tune in to the Word of God made flesh for us. The Word whose coming we celebrate at Christmas.

Sisters and brothers, which channel are you tuned into? Whose words are you listening to today?

4th Sunday of Advent (C)

Confined Space–Abundant Grace

Readings: Micah 5:1-4; Psalm 79:2-3,15-16,18-19; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-44

Picture: cc Clugg14

Sisters and brothers, imagine for a moment that you’ve lost or misplaced something. How do you feel? And what are you willing to do–where are you willing to go–to get it back? Would you ransack your room? Your whole house? Search through all your belongings? Just to find what is missing? Would you be willing even to crawl under your bed to look for it there? Or to dive into a garbage bin? Or jump into a monsoon drain? Or reach into a toilet bowl? … Into what confined space, into which inconvenient and uncomfortable place, would you be willing to go, just to get back what you’ve lost?

Well, it all depends, doesn’t it, sisters and brothers? If what you’ve lost is just a paper clip, or a one-cent or even a five-cent coin, the answer to all these questions is probably no. No reason to go to all that trouble for something that’s so easily replaced. But what if what is lost really means something to you? What if it is a diamond engagement ring? Or some other priceless object with deep sentimental value? Or what if it isn’t just an object that you’ve lost, but a person. A member of your family perhaps. A precious daughter or son. A beloved mother or father. A dear husband or wife. Some of us may have seen, for example, that notice posted near the entrance to the Farrer Road MRT station. It’s an appeal for news about an elderly gentleman with dementia, who has wandered off and gone missing. What if it is someone you love who is lost? What would you be willing to do? Where would you be willing to go to get him or her back?

Isn’t it true, sisters and brothers? That the lengths to which we are willing to go to search for something. The energy we are willing to expend. The confined spaces we are willing to enter. The uncomfortable places we are willing to visit. All serve to indicate to us just how much we treasure the particular thing that we have misplaced? Or the person whom we have lost?

And it’s helpful to remember this especially on this 4th Sunday in Advent. With Christmas just round the corner. For our first reading today is addressed precisely to people who are lost. People who feel themselves cut off from God. Unable to find their way home. People begging God to seek them out and to rescue them. To enter into the confusing and confining situations of their lives, and to lead them back to where they belong. People whose heartfelt prayer we made our own just now in our response to the psalm: Lord of hosts, bring us back; let your face shine on us and we shall be saved.

And God responds to this prayer with great generosity and compassion. God goes out of God’s way to seek out and to save the lost. God shows just how precious these people are–how precious we all are–to God, by deciding to enter into various confined spaces and inconvenient places, just to bring God’s people home. The first reading tells us about the first of these places: Bethlehem Ephrathah, the least of the clans of Judah, out of you will be born for me the one who is to rule over Israel. Out of love for his people, the almighty, infinite, and eternal God, proves himself willing not only to descend into the chaos of the earth–to be bound by the forces of gravity, to stumble along dusty streets, to struggle through rugged roads–but even to be born a helpless infant in an insignificant town. Bethlehem Ephrathah, the least of the clans of Judah. This is the first confined space in our readings into which God pours his mercy.

But to be born an infant God must also be willing to enter other confined spaces. Other inconvenient places. In the gospel, this place is found in two unlikely women. Into the aged womb of Elizabeth–long past the time of childbearing–God enters and prepares for himself a prophet. A voice that will cry out in the wilderness. Preparing a way for the Lord. Then, into the virginal womb of Mary–as yet untouched by the seed of any man–God enters in an even more amazing fashion. Becoming present to us in a remarkably new way. In the person and life of God’s only begotten son, Christ Jesus our Lord.

And the second reading reminds us of what this same Christ says to his heavenly Father upon coming into the world: You who wanted no sacrifice or oblation, prepared a body for me. A body, sisters and brothers. Yet another confined space. Another inconvenient place, into which God is willing to enter. Just to save us. His beloved people. The great God, whom no eye can see, and no thought can comprehend, is willing to suffer the constraints of human flesh. To endure heat and cold. Weakness and disease. Just so that we, who have been corrupted by sin and selfishness, might once again be made holy by the offering of his body made once and for all by Jesus Christ.

An insignificant town. A virginal womb. A vulnerable and fragile body. These are among the confined spaces into which our God is willing to enter just to seek out and to save those who have been lost. To seek out and to save you and me. What does this tell us, sisters and brothers, if not that we are precious in the eyes of God? That we are cherished and treasured. That we are loved and held very dear. That even in the midst of our many weaknesses our God refuses to give up on us. Refuses to let us go. Persists in pursuing us and calling to us. Bringing us home.

And that’s not all. For it is true that God is willing to enter into every manner of confined space. Every kind of inconvenient and uncomfortable place. Just to search for us. Then it follows that it is actually possible for us to find God in these same kinds of difficult places. In our own anxieties and struggles. Our doubts and temptations. In the many dark areas of our lives and of our world. In every difficult and challenging place where people may find themselves in need of help and of hope. God is already there waiting to be found by us. Isn’t this the experience of Mary and her cousin Elizabeth in the gospel? After conceiving Jesus in her womb, Mary embarks on a difficult journey. She travels to a town in the hill country of Judah on a mission of mercy. To help Elizabeth with her pregnancy. And when she finally greets her cousin, their meeting is filled with the presence of the Holy Spirit. The presence of the living God. A presence that brings peace and  joy and hope.

It is this same presence that we prayed for earlier in our opening prayer, when we beseeched our Lord to pour forth, the abundance of his grace into the confined spaces of our hearts, so that we too might experience the joy of God’s presence and share it with others around us.

Sisters and brothers, God loved the world so much that he sent his only Son into the troubled place of our humanity, to seek out and to save us who were lost. Into what confined and confining spaces are we willing to enter to experience the presence of this same merciful God today?

3rd Sunday of Advent (C)
Pats on the Back & Kisses on the Cheek

Readings: Zephaniah 3:14-18; Isaiah 12; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:10-18

Picture: cc katerha

Sisters and brothers, do you know the difference between a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek? You know, of course, what a pat on the back feels like. Once in a while, for example, one of you kind parishioners will come up to me after Mass and say, Thank you, Father. That was a lovely celebration. How do you think that makes me feel? Happy, of course! That’s what a pat on the back can do. It produces joy. But notice what this joy is like. Although I feel happy that someone has paid me a compliment, my attention isn’t really on that person. It is, instead, on me. On my own achievement. I’m happy to know that I did well. That I led a lovely celebration. Well done, Fr. Chris! Kudos to me!

And what if I want to experience this joy again? Well, I’ll just have to make sure that I keep on doing well. Keep on providing lovely celebrations. But my efforts, of course, won’t always be successful. Being human, it’s quite inevitable that I’ll slip up from time to time. And perhaps even more often than that. I may chant in the wrong key, for example. Or lead the congregation in reciting the Gloria–as I did last week–when we’re not supposed to do so in Advent. I remember also the time, at this very altar, when I accidentally let the incense burner tip over. Scattering hot coals all over the sanctuary floor. Right in the middle of Mass. I recall the look of horror the altar server gave me. Big mistake! No lovely celebration for the congregation that day. No pats on the back for me... What happens to my joy then?

Thankfully pats on the back are not the only way to produce joy... My mother has a dog named Chacko. Whenever I visit her, he will come to the gate to greet me. And he’s always happy to see me. He’ll be wagging his tail vigorously. Jumping up and down excitedly. And if I bend over to pet him, he may even spring up to give me a kiss on the cheek. Now, how do you think I feel? Happy, of course! In fact, my encounters with Chacko are often the highlight of my day.

Like my conversation with the appreciative parishioner after Mass, this too is a joyful experience. But with one significant difference. You see, Chacko doesn’t care whether or not I led a lovely celebration at Mass. It doesn’t make a difference to him, even if I did spill hot coals all over the floor that day. He’s just happy to see me, period. And seeing him so happy fills me with joy. A joy that’s quite independent of my success or failure. A joy that remains even when I may mess things up or fall short of expectations. I’m not sure, sisters and brothers, but I think this feeling is quite different from the one I get upon receiving a compliment. One kind of joy depends on my performance. My living up to expectations. The other doesn’t. And isn’t this a key difference between a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek?

It’s important for us to keep this difference in mind, especially because today is Gaudete Sunday. And our Mass texts are all about joy. The entrance verse urges us to rejoice in the Lord always. In the opening prayer, we asked that we might attain the joys of salvation. In the first reading, Israel is told to shout for joy. To exult with all her heart. And, in the second reading, St. Paul tells the Philippians that he wants them to be happy. Always happy in the Lord. Sisters and brothers, I’m not sure about you. But I am not always pleased to hear these words. Rather than console me, these beautiful texts sometimes make me feel even more burdened than I already am. Hearing them, I may ask myself, well, how joyful am I really? Probably not that much. Not enough to shout aloud. And if I’m not as joyful as all Christians are supposed to be, then... oh, no! There must be something wrong with me? I must be falling short. What more should I do?

And yet, notice how, when I approach the Mass texts in this way, I’m thinking of joy as something that I achieve. My focus remains only on me. On my performance. On what I need to do. The joy I’m seeking is not unlike the kind I get when I receive a pat on the back. I want to do well so that God will reward me. Compliment me. Tell me I did a good job. I want to know what I can do to rejoice in my own performance. But that’s quite different from what our Mass texts are inviting us to do. For they do not tell us to rejoice in ourselves. To shout for joy at our own excellence. Our own goodness. Our own perfection. No. Quite to the contrary. The call is to rejoice not in ourselves, but in God. And to do so all the time. Rejoice in the Lord always.

But how does one rejoice in this way? The first reading shows us how. And it does this, not so much by telling us exactly what we need to do, as much as by reminding us what God has done, and is doing, on our behalf. The Lord has repealed your sentence, we’re told, he has driven your enemies away. The Lord is in your midst; you have no more evil to fear. As marvellous as all this sounds, the reading goes even further. Not only does the prophet remind us of the wonderful things God does on our behalf, it goes on to describe for us a very moving scene. An image of how our God rejoices over us. The Lord will exult with joy over you, we’re told. He will renew you by his love; he will dance with shouts of joy for you as on a day of festival. What do you think, sisters and brothers? What must it feel like to experience God dancing for joy over us? Over you and me? Dancing for joy, for no other reason than that God delights in us. In you and in me. Surely the feeling must be one of joy. A joy that’s perhaps not so different in quality from what one experiences when greeted enthusiastically by a friendly dog at the gate. A joy that depends not on us, but on the One who rejoices over us. A joy that comes less from a pat on the back, than from a kiss on the cheek.

All of which may help us to understand a little better the words of John the Baptist. In the gospel, he tells us about two different kinds of baptism. There is the kind that John brings. A baptism with water. And then there is the kind that Christ the Lord brings. A baptism with the Holy Spirit and fire. What is the difference between these two? Perhaps it is not unlike the difference between a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek. One kind remains only at the level of our own performance. It can only tell us what we must do. But can’t quite provide us the strength with which to do it. The other kind goes far beyond the first. It allows us to experience the Lord rescuing us in our weakness. Rejoicing over us in our struggles. Cherishing and challenging us. Strengthening us to do all the things that we ought to do.

And isn’t this the kind of joy that we need more than ever. Especially when we find ourselves living in a world that often seems filled with much danger and uncertainty and injustice. A world in which 20 innocent young schoolchildren and 6 teachers can suddenly lose their lives at the hands of a lone gunman. A world that often gives us little reason to pat ourselves on the back. Yet, in a world such as this, perhaps it remains possible for us to experience deep joy. If only we learn to shift our attention away from ourselves and onto God. Allowing God to rejoice over us and to comfort us. To reassure us and to move us to action.

Sisters and brothers, today is Gaudete Sunday. How ready are we to allow the Lord to kiss us on the cheek today?

2nd Sunday of Advent (C)
The Power of the Siren

Readings: Baruch 5:1-9; Psalm 126:1-2, 2-3, 4-5, 6; Philippians 1:4-6, 8-11; Luke 3:1-6

Picture: cc bartb_pt

Sisters and brothers, have you ever witnessed the power of a siren? I myself never really had the experience until some years ago, when I was studying abroad. If I remember correctly, I was walking by the side of a road at the time. And traffic was moving normally at first. Then, suddenly, the sharp scream of a siren pierced the air. And even before I could tell from where the sound was coming, all the vehicles suddenly swerved to the sides of the road and stopped moving. It was only a few moments later that I saw the flashing lights of the emergency vehicle. But, by that time, the ambulance was able to speed past without stopping. Probably rushing to the rescue of someone in need. Using the path that the other motorists had so quickly cleared for it. To me, this was truly an amazing sight. Something that I’ve never seen happen here in Singapore, where people don’t seem to bother too much about rescue vehicles. This was my first experience of the power of the siren.

I mention this because something like a siren is sounding in our Mass readings too. In the gospel, for example, we’re told that the word of God came to John son of Zechariah, in the wilderness. And this word has an effect very much like that of a siren. Not only does it motivate the Baptist to devote his whole life to God, the word also prompts him to sound the alarm to others around him. We’re told that, having heard God’s word, John the Baptist begins to tell people to do something very similar to what those motorists did when they heard the siren. He tells them to prepare a way for the Lord. To make his paths straight. But why, we may wonder, is the siren sounding at all? Why do people have to make way for the Lord? What is the Lord coming to do?

The first reading provides a clearer answer to these questions. For here too a siren is sounding. In the gospel, the siren rings out in the proclamation of the Baptist. In the first reading, it resounds in the prophecy of Baruch. And, in both cases, the language is strikingly similar. Both Baruch and John the Baptist call for the clearing of a path. For the paving of a road. For mountains to be levelled. For valleys to be filled in. But there is one important difference in their messages. A significant shift in emphasis. In the gospel, the Baptist tells the people to make a way for the Lord who is coming. In the first reading, on the other hand, Baruch announces to the people that it is God who is coming to make a way for them. As you know, the first reading is set in a time of emergency. The people had been conquered by a foreign power. Sent into exile in a faraway land. But now, finally, the long-awaited siren was sounding. Like a speeding ambulance, God was coming to the people’s rescue. God was paving the way for them to return home. And not just to return home, but to do it in style. Like royal princes carried back in glory.

If we listen closely, then, to the sirens that are sounding in the first reading and in the gospel, we receive both consolation and a call. To those of us who may feel like we are experiencing an emergency of some kind, or exiled in some way from our true homeland, the siren of Baruch proclaims a consoling message of help and of homecoming. This is a message addressed to those of us who, for example, may have suffered a setback of some sort. A failure or a disappointment of some kind. Or those who may continue to struggle to earn a fair wage in a foreign land. Or those who may feel strangely empty, even when their pockets and bank accounts are full of material possessions. Or painfully lonely, even when surrounded by great crowds of people. Or curiously restless, despite juggling many different duties and responsibilities. Whatever our emergency, we can take comfort from the knowledge that the siren is already sounding. Reassuring us. Telling us to have no fear. The Lord is coming to our rescue.

But, in order for us to benefit from God’s help, we must first do all that we can to make way for the Divine Ambulance to reach us. And our Mass readings give us at least two ways by which we can do this. The first is found in the instructions of  Baruch. Take off your dress of sorrow and distress, says the prophet, put on the beauty of the glory of God for ever. At first glance, this may sound like nothing more than a demand for a change in appearance. An advertisement for a cosmetic makeover. It seems that we’re simply being asked to exchange our mourning garments for party dress. Our sad faces for joyful ones. Which, as we know, is much easier said than done.

But perhaps more than just a superficial change in appearance, Baruch is inviting us first to a change of focus. We are to stop staring obsessively only at our own problems and hang-ups. Only at the many different things that tend to depress and discourage us. Rather, even in the midst of our difficulties, we are being invited to continue turning our eyes upon the Lord. To keep focusing our attention on the glorious things that God has done and continues to do in our lives. Chief among these being the gift to us of Christ our Saviour. The same gift that we celebrate at this and at every Eucharist.

For it is only by shifting our focus in this way–away from our own wretchedness, and onto God’s glory–that we experience the joy and peace that will enable our appearances to be changed as well. Isn’t this what St. Paul is asking for in the second reading? Paul prays that the Philippians will never stop improving their knowledge and deepening their perception so that they can always recognise what is best. For this will help them to become pure and blameless, and prepare them for the Day of Christ. The day when the Lord comes to their rescue.

And that’s not all. In addition to a change of focus, our readings also invite us to a change in direction. Isn’t this what John the Baptist is preaching in the gospel? A baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Like motorists obediently moving aside to make way for an onrushing ambulance, we too are called to swerve away from our own sinful tendencies, so that God might be better able to enter our lives, and lead us to safety. And not just our sins as individuals, but also as a society. We are to turn away, for example, from our tendency to discriminate against people, to treat them unfairly, simply because of their nationality or the colour of their skin. For this is what Advent is all about. Preparing the way for the God who is coming to save us.

Sisters and brothers, on this 2nd Sunday in Advent, what must we do, both as individuals and as a society, to experience the power of the siren today?

1st Sunday of Advent (C)
Coffee, Karate and Christmas (II)

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:4-5, 8-9, 10, 14; 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

Picture: cc Mahadewa

Sisters and brothers, have you ever wondered why we begin a new church year the way we do? Why do we bother to spend four whole weekends of Advent, just to prepare for Christmas? Why don’t we simply do the same thing that others do on the 1st of January? Why not just dive straight into Christmas with a quick countdown and a bottle of bubbly? Although it may sound strange, I think the answer to these queries can be found by considering another question. Sisters and brothers, do you know the difference between coffee and karate?

As you may know, some years ago, Starbucks introduced a brand new product in the United States: instant coffee. And, as did earlier producers of instant coffee, Starbucks claimed that their instant coffee was as good, if not better, than the regular kind. To prove this, Starbucks invited people to take taste tests in their stores. I’m not a coffee drinker. And I don’t know the results of those tests. But if the claim is true, then coffee might well be something that we can enjoy instantly, without sacrificing quality.

But can we say the same for something like karate? Some of us may still remember the movie The Karate Kid. I mean the original version. Not the recent remake. In the movie, a teenager takes up karate to defend himself against a gang of bullies. But, although he’s very eager to learn, his teacher–who looks like a harmless little old man–keeps giving him ordinary household jobs to do. Paint the gate. Wax the car. Sand the wooden floor. At first, the boy is frustrated and impatient. Why is he wasting his time doing a maid’s work, while his bullies continue to improve their own fighting skills under another teacher? Why can’t he learn as quickly they seem to be doing?

It’s only later that the boy realises the truth. His chores were actually part of the training. For example, by repeatedly waxing the car, he was actually practicing the movements for defensive blocks. More importantly, his master was teaching him that karate is much more than about beating up an opponent in a fight. It’s also about discipline and perseverance, mercy and self-control. Things that his bullies had not learned. Even if they’d picked up some fancy moves rather quickly, theirs wasn’t the real thing. True karate requires much time, effort and self-sacrifice. Unlike coffee, there really is no such thing as instant karate.

And what about Christmas? Is Christmas more like coffee or karate? Well, it depends on whom you ask. Have you noticed, for example, how our local shopping malls have already started displaying Christmas decorations and lights? And playing Christmas music? Looking at how all these christmassy things seem to spring up almost overnight might make us think that, like coffee, Christmas too can be enjoyed instantly. But is this true? Is there really such a thing as instant Christmas?

Not if our Mass readings are anything to go by. While everything around us might lead us to think that Christmas has to do only with trees and tinsels, presents and parties, or even cribs containing statues of cuddly newborn babes, our readings remind us that it’s also about much more. Long before we hear anything about a baby born in a manger, the liturgy helps us to prepare for Christmas by reminding us about its deeper meaning. A meaning that has at least three parts.

The first part has to do with being saved from bullies. Recall what we heard in the first reading. The days are coming, says the Lord, when I am going to fulfil the promise I made… In those days Judah shall be saved and Israel shall dwell in confidence. To a small and insignificant race, a people constantly being bullied by larger, more powerful enemies, a people not unlike the Karate Kid, God promises safety and security.

And this promise is made also to us. Even if we may live in a relatively safe place, aren’t we still threatened by bullies of different kinds? Some of these bullies are more external. For example, rising costs of living. Or stressful living conditions, leading to all sorts of addictions. Or negligent employers, who house workers in bug-infested dormitories. Or misunderstandings with family and friends. Other bullies are more internal. Like greed and selfishness. Or the refusal to forgive. Or indifference towards the needs of the less fortunate. Whatever the form our bullies may take, Christmas is a celebration of how God comes to help us deal with them. But, if this is true, then we must first be able to identify these threats to our wellbeing. Who exactly are our bullies today?

But that’s not all. Advent has a second aspect. Not only does it give us the opportunity to identify our bullies, it also helps us to recognise the God who comes to deal with them. For God can show up in different ways. Sometimes in ways as surprising as a harmless looking old man, who just happens to be a karate master. And these appearances of God are not always as attractive as a cute little infant. In the gospel, for example, Jesus paints a terrifying picture of the circumstances surrounding his coming at the end of time. People will be dying of fear, he tells us, as they await what menaces the world... And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. And not just at the end of time. Even today, God often comes to us in surprising and unsettling ways. Such as when badly treated workers finally decide to go on strike. Advent is a time for us to learn to recognise and to welcome the God who may come among us in frightening ways.

But, for us to do all this–to identify our bullies and to recognise the God who comes to help us–we need to undergo training. This the third aspect of Advent. We need to learn to remain focused on God. To keep making our own the words of the psalm: Lord, make me know your ways... teach me your paths. Make me walk in your truth, and teach me: for you are God my saviour. We need to train to remain alert to the signs of God’s coming. In the words of Jesus, we need to stay awake praying at all times. We need to train also by leading Christ-like lives even as we continue to await God’s coming. Like the Thessalonians in the second reading, we need to learn to make more and more progress in the kind of life that we are meant to live. A life of love.

Sisters and brothers, it’s difficult to deny that we live in an instant world. Starbucks sells instant coffee. The internet give us access to instant information and instant friends. Many of us have developed very flexible thumbs from sending countless instant text messages. Of course, all this may not be a bad thing. Provided we remember that not everything can be obtained instantly. Some things need time and effort. Things like karate, of course. But also things like justice and peace and true friendship. As well as things like Christmas. Isn’t this why it’s important that we take very seriously this lovely and joyful season of Advent?

Sisters and brothers, how will you be spending your Advent this year? What will Christmas be like for you? Like coffee or karate?

Wedding Mass of Zhonghan & Teresa
Walk This Way...

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 26:1-4, 13-16; Psalm 103:8, 1-2, 3-4, 8-10, 11-12; Colossians 3:12-17; Matthew 5:1-12

Teresa and Zhonghan, dear friends, I have this vague recollection in my mind, of a scene from what must have been a comedy. Someone is knocking on the door of a mansion. And the butler goes to answer it. Now, the butler is a hunchback. So he’s bent over double, and has to shuffle his feet as he walks. He opens the door and greets the guest. Then he leads the guest into the house saying, walk this way. Obediently, the guest starts to imitate the butler. He too bends over double and proceeds to shuffle his feet. Walk this way, he was told. And that’s exactly what he does.

It’s a funny scene, because the phrase walk this way has, of course, two different meanings. The meaning the butler probably intended is the more obvious one. He wanted the guest to follow him into the house. To walk in the same direction. But the guest misunderstood. He thought he was being asked to imitate the butler’s manner of walking. Walk this way. Two different meanings. Exploited to comic effect.

But perhaps we may wonder whether it really matters that the guest misunderstood. That he got the butler’s meaning wrong. After all, right or wrong, the guest ended up entering the house anyway, didn’t he? Well, yes he did. But, if only he had understood correctly, he wouldn’t have had to suffer such discomfort. To bear such a heavy burden. Imagine having to walk like a hunchback all through a large mansion. If only he had understood what was meant, the guest would have entered the house in a far more natural and dignified manner. Walk this way. It really does make a difference how the invitation is understood.

I bring this up because today, with great joy, we have come together to usher you, Zhonghan and Teresa, through the doorway of holy matrimony. And, as we do this, the scripture readings, which you have chosen for the occasion, seem to be telling us exactly what the butler told his guest. Walk this way. If you wish to enjoy a happy and godly marriage, walk this way. And yet, we do need to be careful how we interpret the scriptures. For it is possible to misunderstand. And, in misunderstanding, to burden ourselves far more than we have to.

Take the first reading, for example. At first glance, it seems that it’s mainly concerned with the good wife. Or, to use more gender inclusive language, with the good spouse. The reading appears to be nothing more than a list of directions, telling a spouse how s/he should act in a marriage. S/he should be beautiful and graceful. Like the sun rising over the mountains. S/he should be modest and chaste. S/he should even be perfect. And, perhaps most noteworthy of all, s/he should be silent. Now I’m not sure how you, Teresa or Zhonghan, feel about all this. But it does seem to me–man of little faith that I am–that if we were to understand the passage this way, we would make married life far more burdensome that it can be. For the passage doesn’t seem to tell us from where a spouse is to find the strength to meet all these apparent demands. How is a wife or a husband to do all these things? And for the whole duration of the marriage. For the rest of their lives together.

Is there then perhaps another meaning that we are missing? Can the reading be understood differently? I think it can. For although the passage offers a rather detailed description of the good spouse, s/he is not really its main focus. Notice what is said in the third sentence: A good wife is the best of portions, reserved for those who fear the Lord. In other words, a good spouse is not really something that one becomes through strenuous effort and sheer force of will. Rather is the good spouse, above all, a gift from God. The best of portions. A precious blessing. Bestowed upon those who fear the Lord. Upon those who strive to put God first in their lives. The focus of the reading, then, is less on what one’s spouse should do than it is on the relationship that one needs to cultivate with God. In all things, one needs to fear the Lord. Which is not to say, of course, that one shouldn’t try to be a good spouse. Of course, one should! But the first concern is not with the performance of one’s spouse, or even of oneself, but rather with one’s relationship with God.

We find a similar concern in the second reading too. Notice how, at first glance, the passage seems to be all about what a Christian should do. How a Christian should act. One needs to be clothed with sincere compassion, in kindness and humility, gentleness and patience. One needs to put on the garment of forgiveness and of love. All this is, of course, very important. We do need to be virtuous. But, on closer inspection, we find that this garment of virtue is not something that we manufacture for ourselves. For the reading goes on to say that we should let the message of Christ, in all its richness, find a home in us. And that we should do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus. It’s only in this way that we have access to all the virtues. In other words, in my life, I must first do whatever I can to keep letting God in. Only then will the virtues start flowing out in abundance.

Isn’t this also what you, Teresa and Zhonghan, are trying to remind us, through your choice of the gospel reading. Isn’t this what the beatitudes are all about? Contrary to what we may think at first, the gospel reading is not exactly a list of things to do. Much less a summary of key performance indicators. The focus here is not really on our performance. What does it really mean to be gentle and poor in spirit? To be mournful and merciful? To be pure and peaceful and persecuted? Rather than means of exerting our own strength, aren’t these, above all, ways of humbly acknowledging our weakness? Instead of anxious assertions of power and control, are the beatitudes not rather humble admissions of our own helplessness and need? And isn’t this precisely the secret of Christian marriage? And not just of Christian marriage, but of the whole Christian life? The virtues that we need to live this life we are unable to produce for ourselves. We must receive them from God. And we receive better, when we first learn to accept our weakness. And to find our strength in God. How happy are the poor in spirit: theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

This, then, my dear friends, is the way that our scripture readings are proposing to us today. This is the road that leads to the fullness of life–including the fullness of married life–in Christ Jesus our Lord. This is the path that we need to keep traversing together. Supporting one another in prayerful and joyful companionship in the days ahead. This is the doorway through which, together with Teresa and Zhonghan, the Lord is leading us in this joyful celebration.

My dear friends, Teresa and Zhonghan, how ready are we to do whatever it takes to walk this way today?

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Resting Where We Wake Up Safe

Readings: Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 15:5,8-11; Hebrews 10:11-14,18; Mark 13:24-32

Picture: cc Tobyotter

Sisters and brothers, where were you when you awoke from sleep this morning? Where did you find yourself? How did you feel? What did you see? Very likely, most of us awoke to find ourselves nestled in the comfort of our own beds. Perhaps cuddling a pillow or two. Enjoying the delightful combination of coolness and warmth between our sheets. Gradually rousing ourselves from the misty shadows of sleep into the brightening dawn of wakefulness. And, most probably, when we did finally open our eyes, we were greeted by the sight of safe and familiar surroundings. Nothing surprising to alarm us. Nothing unpleasant to disturb us. Nothing scary to frighten us...

But not everyone wakes up like this. At least not all the time. There are also people who are sometimes jolted into consciousness to find themselves in very uncomfortable places. Very embarrassing, even painful, positions. And I don't mean people who live in war zones. Or those who are too poor to afford a roof over their heads. Some of us may have seen the photographs recently posted on a local news website. Pictures of people who had a little too much to drink. Well, actually, much more than a little. I believe the technical term is wasted. One picture shows a person lying unconscious on the floor of an MRT train. A trail of his own urine behind him. Another is a picture of someone passed out on a toilet seat. His pants pulled down to his knees. I think you get the general idea...

Some people wake up well. And others don’t. Some of us awaken feeling safe and secure. Others, hungover and humiliated. And we know the reason for the difference, don’t we? How we rise to wakefulness is often determined by where we choose to lie down to rest. Unless someone else moves us, if we fall asleep in our beds, that’s where we’ll find ourselves when we wake up. But, to be fair, no one really chooses to spend the night on the floor of an MRT train. Much less soaking in a pool or urine, or naked on a toilet seat. People end up in such uncomfortable places, only because they try to find rest somewhere else. Not in any particular physical location. But in the delightful mental and emotional bliss brought on by intoxication. They choose to find rest in the pleasures of drink. And, as we all know very well, this is a feeling that does not last. Unlike a cosy bed, which supports us throughout the night and into the morning, the high we get from the mouth of a bottle very quickly abandons us. Leaves us stranded. Often in the strangest and most embarrassing of places.

For many of us, how we awaken depends upon where we choose to find rest. This too is the lesson that our Mass readings are trying to teach us on this second to last Sunday of Ordinary Time. Next week, as you know, we will celebrate the Solemn Feast of Christ the King. As we ready ourselves for the end of the Church’s liturgical year, our Mass readings invite us to carefully prepare ourselves for the end of time. But what will the end of time look like? The first reading describes it in terms of people waking up from sleep. There is going to be a time of great distress, we are told. And, of those who lie sleeping in the dust of the earth, many will awake, some to everlasting life, some to shame and everlasting disgrace. Not just in our own day, but even at the end of time, some people will wake up well, and others very poorly. Some will find safety. Others disgrace.

And what makes all the difference is where people choose to find rest. Disgrace is found by those who seek refuge only in passing things. Things that do not last. Things like material wealth and success. Or popularity and good looks. Fast cars and faster computers. Big houses and bigger egos. In time, like the high that comes from a few stiff drinks, all these things will pass away. And not just these things. In the gospel, Jesus goes so far as to say that even heaven and earth will pass away. Everything about this fleeting life will eventually be no more. Even this beautiful church of ours, in which we take such pride. There will come a time when it will no longer be here. But, if this is true, where then are we to seek rest? How then are we to find safety when we finally wake up from sleep?

The responsorial psalm provides the answer. I keep the Lord ever in my sight, the psalmist declares. Since he is at my right hand, I shall stand firm. And so my heart rejoices, my soul is glad; even my body shall rest in safety. The only truly restful space, the only ultimately safe place, is to be found in God alone. More specifically, we really only arrive at true safety when we rest in Christ Jesus our Lord. For, as he tells us in the gospel, although heaven and earth will pass away, my words will not pass away. And the second reading explains why this is so. For unlike the ineffective sacrifices offered by the priests of the Old Covenant, Jesus has offered himself in one single sacrifice, by virtue of which he has achieved the eternal perfection of all whom he is sanctifying. Of you and of me. The Lord’s words do not pass away, because they are not mere words. They are matched by his single act of undying love. The selfless sacrifice of the eternal Word of God on the rugged wood of the cruel Cross.

The Cross of Christ. For us who are Christian, to find safety is to seek rest nowhere else than at this most uncomfortable place. But how do we know, sisters and brothers, where exactly it is we are seeking our rest? One way to find out is, of course, to ask ourselves what are the things we do not have, but for which we crave? Or what are the things that we do have, and to which we cling? Consider our cravings and our clingings. What are they? Are they truly enduring things? Or are they, like everything else apart from God, doomed eventually to pass away? Another way is to pay attention to our reactions to trials and temptations, to failures and setbacks. When we encounter such unpleasant experiences, what do we do? Do we allow our anger and disappointment to get the better of us? Even to turn us away from following the Lord? Or do we use such experiences as opportunities to accompany our Blessed Mother, as she stands at the foot of the Cross, gazing upon the bruised and bloodied face of her dying glorious Son?

Sisters and brothers, the same holds true in the spiritual life as in the material. How we awaken often depends upon where we seek our rest.

Where are you seeking your rest today?

32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Seeing with New Eyes

Readings: 1 Kings 17:10-16; Psalm 146:7, 8-9, 9-10; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44 or 12:41-44

Picture: cc kphotographer

Sisters and brothers, have you ever had the occasion to revise your opinion about something or someone? Let’s say, for example, that you always thought that a certain friend of yours was a little proud or aloof, because she didn’t like to join you and the rest of your friends on your regular outings. Then, one day, you discover the reason for your friend’s apparent antisocial behaviour. She has to care for one of her children, who is in hospital with a terminal illness. On learning this, you’ll probably, quite naturally, begin to see your friend in a new light. And perhaps even treat her differently. There is a Chinese idiom that describes such situations quite well. Ling yan xiang kan (另眼相看). Literally, this means to see something or someone with another set of eyes.

I mention this, because I think that this is precisely what we need to do with those two poor widows in our Mass readings today. Both the Sidonian woman of the first reading and the woman in the treasury of the Temple in the gospel. We need to ling yan xiang kan. We need to look at them with new eyes.

First, let’s consider the woman in the gospel. How do we usually see her? Well, our usual approach–my usual approach–is to think of her as a model to be praised and imitated. For poor as she was, she willingly contributed everything she possessed, all she had to live on towards the upkeep of the Temple in Jerusalem. The rich may have donated much more in absolute terms, but she, even at great cost to herself, gave 100 percent. The same can be said for the widow in the first reading. She is just as heroic and worthy of imitation. In a time of drought and famine, even though she and her son are themselves close to starving to death, she willingly shares the little food she has with the prophet Elijah.

And what is even more impressive, even more worthy of our praise and imitation, is the attitude that motivates the generosity of these two women. Both widows are willing to sacrifice everything, even at the risk of losing their own lives, because they have placed all their trust in God. In the words of the responsorial psalm, they believe that their God is the Lord who keeps faith for ever, who is just to those who are oppressed… who gives bread to the hungry. So firm is their belief that God will care for them that they are willing to give everything they have for the sake of others. Aren’t these women true heroes? Shouldn’t we try our best to imitate them? In our own lives as Christians, shouldn’t we keep striving to be just as generous, just as trusting, just as heroic? Of course we should!

And yet, isn’t there also something crucially important that gets left out when we see the widows only as models for imitation? Isn’t it important that we also learn to see them with new eyes? For, as heroic as they are, aren’t these women also, in a sense, victims? Aren’t they themselves in need of a hero to save them too? Isn’t this precisely what they are hoping for from God? To gain a better appreciation of this, however, we need to consider more closely the background in the Bible against which each of these stories is set.

In the first reading, for example, the widow is suffering because of a drought. And it’s important to remember that this drought is not a random occurrence. The prophet Elijah himself has caused it. Following the instructions of God, Elijah has called down a drought on the land because of the sinful behaviour of Ahab, the king of Israel, who has turned to the worship of idols. So the widow–who, by the way, is not an Israelite, but a gentile, living in the Sidonian town of Zarephath–is suffering because of the sins of God’s chosen people. The people of Israel have sinned, and the poor widow is among those who are paying the price. Her heroic sacrifice is necessary only because the chosen people have become corrupt.

We find something similar in the gospel as well. As some scripture scholars remind us, the story of the widow’s mite comes immediately after Jesus’ criticism of the scribes, who swallow the property of widows, while making a show of lengthy prayers. Against this background, Jesus may well be drawing his disciples’ attention to the widow’s generous contribution, not just as conduct worthy of imitation and praise–although it is surely that–but also as a situation to be lamented. As a problem needing to be addressed.

Why, we may ask, should a poor widow, struggling to keep body and soul together, be expected to donate her very last two coins toward the maintenance of the Temple? Shouldn’t the Temple be providing for her upkeep instead? Isn’t her situation a concrete illustration of how the administrators of the Temple are swallowing the property of widows, while making a show of lengthy prayers? More than just a heroic model for us to imitate, isn’t this poor woman also an oppressed victim crying out for our help? And, in this bad situation, like Elijah before him, Jesus appears as someone sent by God to speak up for the oppressed. To call the victimisers to repentance. And it is because Jesus does this, that he will end up losing his life.

Seen in this light, the two women in our Mass readings become more than just models for us to imitate. They are also victims for us to help and to defend. Just as Elijah and Jesus helped and defended them. And how crucially important are the words and actions of Elijah and Jesus! For, if not for the willingness of Elijah and Jesus to speak out and to act on behalf of them, these poor widows will have to keep suffering. And not just them, but also others like them, who may be forced to live under difficult conditions not of their own making. Like the high priest mentioned in the second reading, all such oppressed people will keep having to offer their sacrifices repeatedly, until other people are able and willing to see them in a new light. Able and willing to speak up for them. Even to sacrifice and to lay down their lives for them. As Jesus does for us. Once and for all.

And isn’t it true that people like these two widows remain with us even in our world today? We only need to have the eyes to see them. The hearts to feel for them. And the hands to reach out to them. People who may impress and inspire us with their lives of quiet selfless sacrifice on behalf of others. People oppressed by economic systems and social structures beyond their control. People who need our help, so that their sufferings, and the sufferings of others like them, can eventually come to an end.

Sisters and brothers, are there perhaps some of these people in your life too? And is it perhaps time for us to look at them with new eyes? Time for us to ling yan xiang kan today?

Wedding Mass of Roberto & Marina

When Clothes Make the Marriage

Readings: Genesis 1:26-28, 31; Psalm 33; Colossians 3:12-17; Matthew 19:3-6

Clothes make the man. Sisters and brothers, I think you’ve probably heard this proverb before, right? Clothes make the man (or woman). You know what it means. The proverb refers to how, for better or for worse, we often judge one another by our appearances. By the clothes we wear. Which is not always a good thing, because it can lead to mistakes being made. For example, a person who may dress very poorly–because he feels comfortable in old and worn-out clothes–may in fact be very rich. But, despite this risk of mistakes, isn’t there still a sense in which the proverb may actually be true?

Clothes make the man. Isn’t it true that the way we dress does actually have an effect on how we feel? On how we carry and conduct ourselves? We see this most clearly, of course, in the comic books. For example, dressed in ordinary street clothes, Tony Stark is just an arrogant but brilliant billionaire. But once he puts on his suit of armour, he is transformed into Ironman, superhero extraordinaire. But it’s not just the superheroes who experience this. We do too, don’t we? Putting on a smart well-tailored suit, for example, may help a corporate executive to feel and act confident and successful. Just as my wearing of these religious vestments can help me and the congregation to enter more deeply into worship. And perhaps we may also ask Marina how she feels in her beautiful wedding dress. Or Roberto, in his stylish suit. Very likely, donning these special forms of dress does in fact help them to enter more deeply into the joyful mystery of matrimonial union that we are gathered here to celebrate today. What does this tell us, sisters and brothers, if not that, like Ironman’s armour, the clothes we wear can give us power of some sort.

Clothes make the man. There is indeed a sense in which this is true. And I mention this only because, through the readings that they have chosen for this happy occasion, Marina and Roberto seem to be reminding us of something very similar. Consider what we heard in the second reading from the letter to the Colossians. Notice how the reading begins: You are God’s chosen race, his saints; he loves you, and you should be clothed in sincere compassion, in kindness and humility, gentleness and patience... You should be clothed… What is the writer doing, sisters and brothers, if not describing for us a spiritual dress code. A uniform of goodness to be worn by all those that God has chosen to be saints of God. This is neither a tuxedo nor an evening dress, but a suit made up of spiritual virtues of different kinds. Compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience... And this uniform of goodness bestows on the wearer a special power. The virtues that make up this suit help the members of the community not just to remain united among themselves, but also, and most importantly, to remain close to Christ.

Not only do clothes make the man. Clothes also make the saint. And clothes make the church. But that’s not all. There is something more. Something more specific. For, if it is true that this uniform of goodness makes both the saint and the church, then it must follow that it also has the power to make a marriage. If it is true that the virtues of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience do confer power to unite a community, then it stands to reason that they have the power also to unite two different people in holy matrimony. Even to bind them so closely together that–in the words of Jesus to the Pharisees in the gospel–the man and the woman become no longer two but one body.

Not only do clothes make the saint. Not only do clothes make the church. Clothes also make the marriage. This is the lesson that you, Marina and Roberto, are proposing to us today. The power to preserve and nurture the marriage bond comes from putting on the uniform of goodness, the suit of virtue described in the second reading. But, as those among us who have been married for some time will probably be able to testify, this is easier said than done. It’s not always easy to be kind and humble, gentle and patient with another. Especially when work pressures increase, or when the baby comes along, or when illness knocks on our door. In challenging times like these, from where am I to find patience, when it appears that I’m filled with nothing but bad temper? From where am I to find kindness, when my tongue is just itching to say something critical or sarcastic? From where am I to find the virtues that together make up this uniform of goodness that I’m supposed to be wearing?

Even if it’s true, sisters and brothers, that clothes makes a marriage, the question remains, from where are we to find this clothing? Are we to manufacture it for ourselves? The first reading provides us with a hint of an answer by reminding us of two things. First, that God created us in God’s own image and likeness. And, second, that when God saw everything that he created, God found it to be very good. From where, then, are we to find the uniform of goodness, if not from the hand of God. And if this is true, then it’s important for us to remember that a vibrant marriage depends not just on us, but especially on God.

In order, then, for the bond of marriage to grow and deepen, attention needs to be paid not just to one’s relationship to one’s spouse and to one’s immediate family, but also to one’s relationship to God, as well as to the wider community. For as the response to the psalm tells us, the earth is full of the goodness of God. On days when my own goodness is in short supply. On days when my own patience is at an end. On days when kindness seems missing from my heart. Still all is not lost. For God remains the Source of all Goodness. If only I have the time and the humility to ask. And not just from God, but also from friends and relatives. From all of you, who have gathered here this afternoon, to show your support for Marina and Roberto. To express your friendship.

Clothes make the marriage. And God alone is the Divine Seamstress, providing us with the virtues that unite us in a bond of love. Sisters and brothers, as we celebrate this joyous occasion, how might we continue to clothe ourselves with the goodness that God offers us today?

31st Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
What Comes Before The First...

Readings: Deuteronomy 6:2-6; Psalm 17:2-4,47,51; Hebrews 7:23-28; Mark 12:28-34
Picture: cc rachel

Sisters and brothers, do you know what it feels like to join a conversation that has already begun? Or to start watching a film that has already been running for some time? It can feel quite frustrating, right? Especially if you’ve missed an important part of the story. However hard you try, you just can’t seem to figure out what exactly is going on. Worse still, you may even get the wrong idea. You may actually miss the whole point. Sometimes with embarrassing results.

Consider, for example, a primary school teacher who happens to witness what looks like a blatant act of bullying. One student punches another in the stomach. Pow! And the victim doubles over and cries out in pain. Quite understandably, the teacher goes ballistic. Without seeking any explanation, he grabs the bully and hauls him to the discipline mistress’ office. Only to find out, after getting the whole story, that the boy wasn’t actually beating up his friend. The two had spent the previous evening watching a wrestling match on TV, and were simply reenacting what they had seen. What the teacher saw wasn’t a case of bullying after all. Like the so-called sport of professional wrestling, it was all make-believe. Play-acting. Which the poor teacher would have realised if he had arrived on the scene a little earlier. Or, having arrived late, if he had only taken the time to find out what had happened before the punch was thrown.

Sometimes, finding out what happened earlier can make all the difference. And this is a useful lesson to keep in mind, especially on this 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time. Today, our Mass readings remind us of something that we all know very well: the two greatest, most important, commandments of the Law. We know that these two commandments require us, respectively, to love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our mind and with all our strength, and to love our neighbour as ourselves. Perhaps we’re so familiar with these requirements of the Law that we don’t think about them very much. But isn’t it true that when we do stop to reflect, even for a brief moment, we find something very puzzling? What’s puzzling is how someone can actually be commanded to love. Don’t you find this difficult to understand? Of course, people can be commanded to do many things. To pay COE and ERP charges, for example. Or to cross roads only at pedestrian crossings. Or not to carry durians or chew gum in MRT stations. And we know too that commands can even be changed. At one time, people can be commanded to have no more than two children. And, at a later time, to have more. All this is possible. And quite understandable. But can the same be said for love? Is it really possible to command someone to love?

True love is, after all, freely given and freely received. Or it isn’t love. What would you say, for example, if you had a young daughter, and she were to come home one day and declare that her boyfriend was forcing her to love him? Very likely you would react as that primary school teacher reacted. You’d go ballistic. You’d confront the bully. Give him a piece of your mind. Or worse…

Unlike taxes and birth-control, love cannot be commanded in the same way. If you try to do it, you’ll make yourself a bully. Or an abuser. Or even a rapist.

So what does all this make God? Is God a bully? It would seem so, wouldn’t it? If we were to consider nothing else except the commandment to love. Unless, of course, the commandment is not the whole story. Unless, like the primary school teacher, we are arriving on the scene in the middle of the action. Something else has gone before. Something crucially important. We get a hint of just what this something is in the first reading. Here, not only are the people of Israel given the commandment to love God, they are also given a reason to do so. The reason comes in the form of a promise: If you fear the Lord your God all the days of your life and if you keep all his laws and commandments which I lay on you, you will have a long life, you and your son and your grandson. In other words, keeping the commandments is the way to become truly happy.

But that’s not all. If it were, the people would still have little motivation to love God. Little reason to trust that God would keep God’s promise. What makes God worthy of trust is, of course, what had happened even earlier. As you know, before giving the people the commandments, God had freed them from slavery in Egypt. Once they were nobodies. Scattered individuals without a homeland. But God had gathered them and was making them into one nation. A people called and chosen to be God’s very own. And God was even giving them a place to call home. A land where milk and honey flow.

Seen in this context, God’s command to love begins to look very different. Instead of an act of bullying or extortion, it is a pathway to freedom. A recipe for health and happiness. And keeping God’s Law begins to look different too. No longer is it something that people do just to keep a grumpy God from getting angry. Or to manipulate a greedy God into giving them what they want. Rather, keeping the commandments becomes an act of gratitude for all the good that God has done and continues to do on their behalf. An expression of fidelity and loyalty to Someone who has proven himself worthy of trust.

But even this, sisters and brothers, is still not quite the whole story. At least not for us. For us Christians, there is something even more important. Something without which the story would never arrive at its happy ending. For even though we may know that keeping the commandments is the way to true happiness and lasting freedom, how many of us find it easy to love? How many of us are able to do it on the strength of our own efforts. For, as the first letter of John reminds us, our love must be not just words or mere talk, but something active and genuine (1 John 3:18). Our love needs to be expressed in deeds. Such as making quality time for prayer, even in the midst of a busy schedule. Or showing concern for the less fortunate among us, or those for whom we have some responsibility. Or being patient with people we find irritating. Or simply caring for our own bodies, by getting enough rest and relaxation, and by watching what we eat.

Sisters and brothers, how many of us find it easy to do all this? Do we not often feel rather more like the many priests mentioned in the second reading? The priests under the former covenant, who have to offer sacrifices everyday for their own sins and for the sins of the people. And even then are unable to perfect themselves, let alone lead others to perfection. Like these priests, we too receive painful reminders of our own weakness everyday. We know the good, but we are unable to do it. We know the bad, but we are unable to avoid it. Thankfully, in our weakness, God makes us a new promise of help. A promise that God fulfils in the person of Jesus Christ our Lord. Jesus, who, as the second reading reminds us, offered himself once and for all. Laying down his life for us on the Cross. And taking it up again, so as to live for ever to intercede for all who come to God through him.

It is only in and through this Jesus that we find the possibility of keeping God’s commands. It is only by remembering and reenacting his sacrifice–as we are doing at this and at every Mass–that we receive the power that we need to truly love God and our neighbour. And, in so doing, to find true happiness and lasting freedom.

As with any conversation, it’s very difficult to understand, let alone to live out, God’s love commandment, without having experienced what has gone before. Sisters and brothers, how might we gain a deeper appreciation of God’s abiding love for us in Christ Jesus today?

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Mission as Stay-cation

Readings: Isaiah 53:10-11; Psalm 32:4-5,18-20,22; Hebrews 4:14-16; Mark 10:35-45

Picture: cc Mike Licht

Sisters and brothers, I think we are all familiar with the word vacation, right? We’ve probably all been on vacation before. We know what the word means. To vacate is to leave a place unoccupied. So to go on vacation literally means to leave our home, to spend some time in some other place. And our usual idea of going on vacation is simply to visit a foreign country. To cross a border somewhere. Whether by flying to Europe, or to the Holy Land, or simply by driving across the Causeway. For many of us, to go on vacation is to visit another country.

But that’s not the only way to go on vacation. It seems that, lately, for whatever reason, more and more people are choosing not to go abroad. They prefer to stay right here in Singapore. Some take their family to a chalet in Changi. Others–with more money to spend–check into a local hotel. In fact this kind of local vacation has become so common, that a new word has been invented for it. It’s called a stay-cation. But is a stay-cation a real vacation? Is it really possible to go on vacation without leaving the country? The answer, of course, is yes. Stay-cations can be real vacations because the main point of a vacation is not really to go overseas. People go on vacation because they need to take a break from their usual routine. They need a change in place and pace. And you don’t always have to go to another country for that. To truly go on vacation, we don’t necessarily have to cross a border between one country and another. What we do have to cross is the boundary between work and play, between tension and relaxation, between stress and calm. And it’s possible to cross this boundary without leaving Singapore. Just as it’s possible to fail to cross it even after we’ve travelled to a faraway place. How many of us, for example, have returned from an overseas holiday feeling even more tired and stressed out than before we left?

Sometimes the best, the most restful, kind of vacation is a stay-cation. And this is true not just of vacations. Something similar can be said about the Christian’s mission as well. What do we usually think of when we hear the word mission or missionary? Very likely, we may imagine someone who travels to a foreign country to preach the Good News. For example, our beloved Sacred Heart Fathers–who have served this parish faithfully for so many years–are all missionaries in this sense. We think also of the many good Singaporean Catholics, who go on overseas mission trips. People who visit slums in the Philippines, or orphanages in Cambodia. Singaporean Samaritans who go out of their way to help the victims of natural disasters to rebuild their homes, or who provide them with food and clothing. Very often, when we think of missionaries, we think of people like that. People who travel overseas.

But what about those of us who, for one reason or another, may not be able or willing to make the trip. Do we not have a mission? Are we not also called to be missionary? Is it not possible, and even necessary, to be on mission while staying in Singapore? To answer these questions, we need to do what we did with the word vacation. We need to examine the meaning of the word mission.

As you know, the word has a Latin root, which means to send. And, by virtue of our baptism, all of us Christians are sent on the same mission. We share in the one mission of Christ. And our Mass readings today remind us just what this mission looks like. First of all, Christ is sent to fulfil a specific need that every human person experiences. A need that we expressed just now, in our response to the psalm. May your love be upon us, O Lord, as we place all our hope in you. May your love be upon us… Regardless of whether we are rich or poor, young or old, woman or man, local or foreigner, all of us have a deep need to know how much God really loves us. We need to know that God is on our side. That God wants us to be happy. That God wants to be our Friend. That God accepts and embraces us as we are. Even though we may continue to struggle with our own sinfulness. For without this basic experience of God’s love, we often end up doing what we see the disciples doing in today’s gospel.

Like them, we become anxious and insecure. We begin to compete with one another for glory. We fight among ourselves to be first in everything. And while we are doing all this, we fail to notice the sufferings of those around us. Even our closest friends and family. This is precisely what we see happening to the disciples in the gospel. The reading begins from verse 35. In the earlier verses–from 32 to 34–Jesus had been telling his disciples that he would soon to be handed over to the scribes and Pharisees, who would have him tortured and killed. Jesus–their Lord and Master, their close companion and friend–tells the disciples about all the terrible things that will soon befall him. All the horrible suffering he will have to undergo. But the disciples offer the Lord no sympathy or consolation. Their only response is to start arguing about who among them is the greatest.

Unlike the disciples, however, God is painfully aware of the sufferings of each one of us. Especially the sufferings that result from our failure to realise just how much God really loves us. In response to our need, God sends his Son among us on a mission. To convince us of God’s love for us. To do this, Christ crosses the boundary between heaven and earth, between God and humanity. Even to the extent of sharing in our temptations and our sufferings. As the second reading tells us, in Christ, we have a high priest who has been tempted in every way that we are, though he is without sin. And the first reading states that Christ was crushed with suffering in order to justify many, to justify us, by taking our faults on himself.

This, sisters and brothers, is what the mission of Christ looks like. This is the mission that we are all called to share. The mission to help others to experience the love of God. And we don’t always have to go abroad to do this. For isn’t it true that Singapore too is mission territory? Isn’t it true that, as rich as some Singaporeans may appear to be, there are still many people here who need our help? We may think, for example of the many migrant workers among us. Not just the professionals, with whom we may compete for the jobs we like, but especially the blue-collar labourers, who do the work that locals are unwilling to do. Building our flats, scrubbing our toilets, cleaning our cars. Workers who are often victimised by employers who are unscrupulous, or even a little crazy. As much as the suffering people overseas, these strangers among us need to experience God’s love in real and tangible ways too. Is it not our mission to reach out to them as well? To speak up for them, when their rights are denied? Even to somehow share in their sufferings and pain, as Christ shared in our own?

And it’s not just the materially poor who need our attention. What about the many local children who struggle to cope with the pressures of school and of growing up? What about the adults, who feel burdened by the demands of work and family. People who are lonely and depressed. Who experience a deep hunger for God without even realising it. We don’t have to go far to meet these people. They are all around us. In our workplaces. In our neighbourhoods. Sometimes even in our own homes.

Sisters and brothers, we don’t always need to cross international borders to reach out to those in need. But we do have to cross a crucial boundary within ourselves. The boundary between competition and sharing, between indifference and caring, between selfishness and love.

Sisters and brothers, on this World Mission Sunday, is it perhaps time for us–for you and for me–to take a missionary stay-cation today?

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Scanned Unto Salvation

Readings: Wisdom 7:7-11; Psalm 89:12-17; Hebrews 4:12-13; Mark 10:17-30

Picture: cc Cataract_eye

Sisters and brothers, have you ever been for a medical check-up? Have you ever had to undergo a blood test, or a body scan, or some other type of diagnostic procedure? How did you feel? Or how do you feel when you even think of the possibility of having to undergo a test like that? Do you like it? Welcome it? Eagerly look forward to it? If you’re like me, you don’t. And the reasons are obvious. For one thing, medical tests are often uncomfortable. I remember once having to go for a gastric endoscope. Although the procedure itself was relatively quick and painless–since I was put to sleep–the preparation for it was highly unpleasant. There were large quantities of a horrible-tasting liquid that I had to drink. After which, I spent most of the night in the restroom. Not fun at all.

But discomfort is not the only reason why we prefer to avoid medical tests. There’s another, perhaps even stronger, reason. It’s the same reason that keeps many of us from going to the doctor even when we experience medical symptoms of some kind. When we discover a suspicious-looking lump on some part of the body, for example. Or when we cough up blood. Or when we experience persistent shortness of breath. Faced with symptoms like these, why don’t we all head straight for the doctor without delay? Why do many of us hesitate? Why don’t we want to go for the tests and scans that would tell us for sure what, if anything, is wrong with us? Why? Quite apart from the money we may have to spend, is it not because we’re afraid of what might be uncovered? We don’t really want to know whether or not we’re sick. We prefer ignorance to knowledge, because, as they say, ignorance is bliss. We avoid medical tests because we’re afraid of the truth. And if we do this even when we are faced with clear signs that we might be ill, how much more do we avoid going for routine medical checks when everything seems to be well.

Which is why I find myself admiring that rich man in the gospel today.  Yes, I admire him. Even though he failed to answer the call of Christ. Even though we’re told that he went away sad. Of course, it’s not his failure or his sadness that I admire. What I admire is his courage. For this man seemed to be in the pink of spiritual health. He was able to tell Jesus, in all honesty, that he had kept all the commandments from his earliest days. He was quite obviously a good man. So good that he aroused the Lord’s affection. We’re told that Jesus looked steadily at him and loved him. We can imagine then that, prior to meeting the Lord, this man had probably not been experiencing any symptoms of spiritual illness. There was probably no indication that he needed to go for a medical check-up, or to take a blood test, or to undergo a scan of some sort. And yet, isn’t this exactly what he put himself through?

The gospel tells us that, of his own free will, this man ran up to Jesus, knelt before him and put this question to him, ‘Good master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ By asking this question, and then by humbly submitting himself to the penetrating gaze of Jesus, this rich man was actually allowing himself to undergo a spiritual screening. He was courageously placing himself under the bright light of God’s Word-Made-Flesh. And the second reading tells us just how powerful and effective this Light is. Just how perceptive this Word can be. The word of God is something alive and active, we’re told. It can judge secret emotions and thoughts. No created thing can hide from him; everything is uncovered… And it is precisely under this powerful scan that the good man’s one weakness is revealed. He is too attached to his wealth. Not just to his material wealth–his money and his property. But also to his moral wealth–his own piety, his own virtue, his own goodness. He finds it difficult to let all these things go in order to follow Christ. Not that he should stop being pious and virtuous and good. What the man finds difficult to do is to stop building his spiritual life on these riches of his. To stop trying to save himself. But, rather, to enter into an intimate personal relationship with Jesus. Surrendering to the Lord control over his own life. This, the man is unable to do. He cannot let go of his riches. He cannot relinquish control. As a result he goes away sad.

And yet, isn’t it also true that, as he walks away, the rich man experiences something more than just sadness? Doesn’t he also experience enlightenment? After his encounter with Christ, after having undergone a spiritual scan, the man now knows something that he didn’t know before. He now has a better appreciation of the truth of his own spiritual condition. He now realises that he is unable to inherit eternal life simply by relying on his own goodness. He now knows that it is insufficient just to keep struggling on his own to keep the commandments. He also needs, above all, to rely on the help that God is making available to him in Christ Jesus the Lord. Which is why, it is perhaps not too farfetched for us to think that, later in life, this rich man did finally find the strength to do what he failed to do when he was younger. For, as he continued to grow in the knowledge of his own weakness, isn’t it likely that he would eventually turn to God for help? Isn’t it likely that he would finally recognise what Jesus tells us in the gospel? That what may be impossible for human beings is possible for God. For everything is possible for God.

But that’s not all. Courage is not the only quality that I find attractive in the rich man. There is another. I admire the man’s deep desire, his profound yearning, for the truth. It is this same desire that we find described in our first reading. I prayed, the writer says, and understanding was given me; I entreated, and the spirit of Wisdom came to me. I esteemed her more than sceptres and thrones; compared with her, I held riches as nothing. Didn’t the rich man have something of this desire? Wasn’t it his yearning for the spirit of Wisdom that led him to kneel uncomfortably before Jesus in the first place? Wasn’t it his desire for the truth that led him to endure the embarrassment of having his weakness uncovered in such a public manner? So that even if, at that particular point in his life, he still wasn’t ready to give up all his earthly treasures, it is likely that, later on in life, his desire for truth would finally lead him to succeed where once he had failed. Provided, of course, that he kept cultivating that desire. Continued to feed it. To pray out of it. To allow it to lead him again to Jesus.

And what about us, sisters and brothers? We who may or may not be experiencing symptoms of spiritual illness. Don’t we also need to come before the Lord Jesus to have him tell us what we must do to inherit eternal life? And isn’t this precisely what we are being invited to do in this Year of Faith? As individuals and as a community, we are being encouraged to take the necessary steps to draw closer to Christ. To deepen our relationship with Him through prayer and the study of the Scriptures and the teachings of the Church. To place every aspect of our lives under the brilliant light of Christ, as the rich man did. And there to allow Christ to reveal to us the truth of our spiritual condition. But, for us to do this, we must first ask God to increase in us those two qualities of the rich man that are so admirable. His courage and his desire for the truth.

Sisters and brothers, do you find this courage and this desire in your own heart? How ready are you for a spiritual scan today?