24th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Catholic Education Sunday (in Singapore)
Picture: cc Gauthier Delacroix
My dear friends, have you ever heard parents talking about their children? Have you noticed the language they use? I’m not sure if its still done today, but there was a time when we might hear a parent refer proudly to a child who had done well in school, for example, as my son or my daughter? And then, later, if the child were to get into trouble – as children sometimes do – the same parent might be heard saying to the other parent, Aiyah, why is your son always like that?! Or, Can you please go and talk to your daughter?!
It’s interesting, isn’t it, how the same child, who was earlier claimed as mine, now suddenly becomes yours? And without any legal papers needing to be filed to effect the change! It’s as though the parent is willing to recognise the child as his or hers only in times of success, but not in times of failure.
I bring this up not to embarrass the parents among us, but because, surprising as it may be, God appears to do something similar in the first reading. As you’ve probably already noticed, the texts for today’s Mass are all about mercy. In the opening prayer, we asked God to grant that we may feel the working of your mercy… But what does mercy look like? How is it born? What fruit does it bear? These are among the questions our readings help us to ponder today.
The first reading gives us a clear description of what mercy looks like. At first, God wants to destroy the Israelites for their idolatry, their worship of the golden calf. But, by the end of the reading, we’re told that the Lord relented… God changes his mind, as it were, and decides to let them off the hook. Sparing those who deserve to be destroyed. This is what mercy looks like. But how does this come about? How is the almighty God led to eventually change his mind?
To answer this question, it’s helpful to pay attention to the language that is used in the reading. At the beginning, God tells Moses to go down the mountain. Why? Because your people whom you brought out of Egypt have apostasised. But we know very well that it wasn’t really Moses who brought the people out of Egypt, but God. Just as we know that the people do not really belong to Moses, but to God. So, at the start of the reading, God acts very much like an angry parent, who wants to have nothing more to do with a problematic child.
Fortunately for the Israelites, Moses decides to stay on the mountain, and to speak the truth to God. He refers to the Israelites as this people of yours whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with arm outstretched and mighty hand… He reminds God of the promises God had made to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Promises by which God had, in effect, adopted them and their descendants as God’s own. So that by the end of the reading, we’re told that God did not bring on his people – notice the change: no longer Moses’ people, but God’s people – God did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened. God spares them, because God again recognises them as God’s own. No longer yours, but mine.
All of which shows us that mercy isn’t just about sparing those who deserve to be destroyed. More importantly, mercy is born of recognition. It’s about continuing to forge a familial connection to another, even when he or she gets into trouble. Isn’t this also Paul’s experience in the second reading? In spite of his own sinful state as a blasphemer and a persecutor of Christians, Paul is not disowned by Christ. Instead, he is called and strengthened to be the Lord’s faithful servant. Christ shows mercy to Paul by recognising him as his own. As a result, Paul is filled with gratitude, and he considers himself a living witness to the truth that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Sinners such as Paul himself.
Mercy born of recognition. Isn’t this also what we find in the parable of the lost sons? When the problematic younger son finally returns home, intending to ask his father to treat him as a hired hand, not only does the father continue to treat him as a son, he also keeps referring to him as such. This son of mine was dead and has come back to life…
Then, when it’s the older son’s turn to cause trouble, the father refuses to disown him either. He continues to call the boy my son, reassures him that all I have is yours, and invites him to imitate his father’s example. Begging him to show mercy to the younger boy, by recognising him as his own brother, and to join the joyful celebration in his father’s house.
Mercy born of recognition, bearing fruit in heartfelt gratitude and great rejoicing. This is what we find in our readings today. And this is also what we celebrate every time we gather for the Eucharist. Mercy born of recognition shown first, and especially, to sinners. To those who are problematic in some way. Those who, like that younger son, have failed to recognise in themselves their own dignity as daughters and sons of God, and who suffer greatly as a result.
And not just to them. Mercy born of recognition is shown also to those who, like the older son, fail or refuse to recognise others as their sisters and brothers. And by their failure or refusal, deprive themselves of the joy of being part of the heavenly Father’s household.
Mercy born of recognition, bearing fruit in heartfelt gratitude and great rejoicing… Now I am very far from being an expert in these matters, but could this also be the one thing that should distinguish a good Catholic education? More than simply the reciting of prayers at assembly, or the display of crucifixes in classrooms, or the celebration of the Sacraments in schools – important though all these may be – shouldn’t Catholic education be, above all else, an expression of, and a formation in, that mercy born of recognition, which we find in our readings today? Recognition shown to those who may be excluded by society for being problematic in some way? As well as recognition fostered in those who, with the abundance of privileges they enjoy, often fail to appreciate the struggles of the many others far less fortunate than themselves?
Sisters and brothers, I think we all want to believe that, whatever language they may sometimes use, most parents are merciful enough to keep recognising even the most problematic child as their own. What must we do to ensure the same is true of Catholic education in Singapore today?
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