Wasting Time With Family Is Not Wasted Time

Feast of St James, Apostle

Day 9 of Novena to St Anne

Readings: 2 Corinthians 4: 7-15; Psalm 125 (126): 1-6; Matthew 20: 20-28

Picture: By Raj Rana on Unsplash

My dear friends, what’s the difference between occupying space and making space? Right now, each of us is occupying physical space, here in this church. But what does it feel like to make space?… As an example, if you don’t mind, perhaps we can do a very simple exercise together. When I say go, we’ll gently take a deep breath, hold it for two seconds, and then slowly breathe out. That’s it. Okay? Ready? Go… What just happened? By tightening some muscles around our ribs, we expanded our chest. We made space. As a result, air flowed through our nostrils and into our lungs, filling our blood with oxygen, and our bodies with life. In fact, if we were to stop breathing, we’d all die. Which shows us how important it is to make space. And to do it regularly. It’s nothing less than a matter of life and death.

This contrast between occupying and making space is also what we find in our scriptures today. What is the mother of James and John asking Jesus to do in the gospel? Promise that these two sons of mine may sit one at your right hand and the other at your left in your kingdom. Isn’t she doing a very Singaporean thing? She’s choping the best seats for her sons. I don’t know if tissue-paper was already invented back then. But if it was, we can imagine her handing two packets to Jesus as she made her request. And why are the other apostles so angry? Isn’t it because they are also eyeing those same positions? But we shouldn’t be too quick to point fingers or to laugh at them. Aren’t we often like them too?

And notice how the Lord responds. He tells the apostles that their attitude is similar to that of the pagans, whose rulers like to throw their weight around. But Jesus says we Christians must be different. Instead of choping seats, our concern should be serving people. Instead of occupying space for ourselves, we need to make space for others. For this is what Christ does for us. The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Through his Cross and Resurrection, Jesus makes space for us in God’s kingdom. And by asking us to imitate him, the Lord is not placing a heavy burden on our shoulders. By teaching us to make space for God, he’s helping us to enjoy the fullness of life. Like breathing, it’s a matter of life and death.

The first reading shows us what this can look like in practice. Although they face many hardships, St Paul and his friends do not despair. Why? We are only the earthenware jars that hold this treasure. They are able to remain hopeful, amid their many trials, because their focus is not on their own success or failure, but on the Lord. Their concern is not to occupy but to make space. That’s what jars do. They make space for the Lord, and for others. As a result, they are able to see their sufferings as a participation in the sacrifice of Christ. The same sacrifice we are celebrating here at Mass. The sacrifice that brings life to all. So death is at work in us, but life in you… Again, like breathing, it’s a matter of life and death.

Which brings us to the theme for this ninth and final day of our novena to St Anne. Why is wasting time with family not wasted time. Isn’t it because wasting time is a way of making space, not just for family, but also for God? Some of us may remember that, back in 2016, Pope Francis issued a document entitled Amoris Laetitia (AL), or The Joy of Love. And in this document, the Pope reminds us that God doesn’t just live in individual persons, but also in families. According to the Pope, (t)he Lord’s presence dwells in real and concrete families, with all their daily troubles and struggles, joys and hopes (AL 315). It’s very important, of course, that every Catholic family should try to make time to pray and celebrate the Eucharist together regularly (AL, 318). But, beyond that, the Pope tells us that God is present not only when the family prays, but also in the thousands of small but real gestures family members make to express their love for one another (AL, 315). It doesn’t have to be in front of an altar, or in a church. It can also happen at the dining table or in the living room, at a restaurant or in the family car. Wherever we serve or make space for one another, we are serving and making space for God. Married couples shape with different daily gestures a “God-enlightened space in which to experience the hidden presence of the risen Lord” (AL, 317).

And there are many different ways to do this, limited only by our own creativity and generosity, as well as the receptivity of the other. What’s important is that we be present to others, by paying attention to them. As the Pope tells us, (w)e can be fully present to others only by giving fully of ourselves and forgetting all else. Our loved ones merit our complete attention. Jesus is our model in this, for whenever people approached to speak with him, he would meet their gaze, directly and lovingly (cf. Mk 10:21) (AL, 323). But this is not easy for us, since we live in a time of continual distraction. Don’t many of us find it hard even to tear our eyes away from our phones long enough for us to cross a busy street?

Which is why we can’t really make space for one another in the family, unless each of us is also regularly making space in our own hearts for God. And when we do this, when we each make efforts to deepen our relationship with God, it brings our families many spiritual benefits. According to the Pope, (t)he space which each of the spouses makes exclusively for their personal relationship with God not only helps heal the hurts of life in common, but also enables the spouses to find in the love of God the deepest source of meaning in their own lives (AL, 320). For (i)f a family is centred on Christ, he will unify and illumine its entire life. Moments of pain and difficulty will be experienced in union with the Lord’s cross, and his closeness will make it possible to surmount them (AL, 317). In other words, like breathing, it’s a matter of life and death.

My dear friends, if you like, perhaps we can end our reflection this evening by repeating that exercise we did at the start. Except that, this time, when we breathe in, let’s humbly ask God to help us to truly make space for another and for God. And when we exhale, let’s ask God to remove from us everything that might hinder our efforts. Okay? Ready? Go…

Sisters and brothers, through his Dying and Rising, Jesus has already made a life-giving space for us in God’s kingdom. What shall we do to make space for him, by wasting time with our families more regularly, in the days ahead?

The Benefits of Putting Up Our Feet

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Jeremiah 23: 1-6; Psalm 22 (23); Ephesians 2: 13-18; Mark 6: 30-34

Picture: By Philippe Murray-Pietsch on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever finally gotten a chance to sit down and put your feet up, after a long day of running around, and only then realised how exhausted you really are? The tiredness was actually already there before, but we appreciate it more only when we rest. Isn’t it interesting how we know something better by experiencing its opposite? But could the reverse be true too? Could we also know better what it means to rest, by considering its opposite? So what is the opposite of rest? What does it look and feel like?

This is a question that our beautiful responsorial psalm helps us to ponder today. Psalm 22(23) is, of course, very familiar to us. We often use it at funerals, to remind us that death is not an end, but a doorway to final rest in God. And yet, more than what we can expect after we die, the psalm speaks about what we can enjoy here and now, if only we allow the Lord to lead us on life’s journey. The psalm mentions three earthly experiences that are the opposite of rest. Instances where we need the Lord to care for us. The first is the drooping spirit. For the psalmist, the Lord is like a good shepherd, a caring leader, who ushers us to green pastures and restful waters to revive our drooping spirit. Refreshing us when we feel discouraged and depressed, when our motivation flags, and our morale is low. Sort of like how a brief power nap can rejuvenate us, when the burden or boredom of the day makes it difficult to keep our focus, to maintain our passion for life.

The second experience is the valley of darkness, where we find ourselves struggling to discern the right choices we need to make, the proper path we need to take. When various distractions or temptations may cloud our vision, confuse our inner compass, making it hard for us to see where we need to go… Should I leave this job… marry that person… adopt a child… listen to my friend… do more… do less…? In such morally exhausting moments, the Lord gives us rest, by providing safe and reliable guidance. You are there with your crook and your staff; with these you give me comfort. The third experience is when we find ourselves in the sight of our foes. Times when we may actually know quite well what the Lord wishes us to do, but feel intimidated by opposing voices or forces, and lack the courage to do what needs to be done. Then the Lord energises and sustains us, by preparing a banquet to feed us, and by anointing us with oil for strength. Helping us to stiffen our backbone, so that we are able to stand up bravely for God before the world.

Refreshment for the drooping spirit, guidance in the valley of darkness, and sustenance in the sight of our foes. These are among the ways the Lord cares continually for those who follow his lead. But it’s not just individual persons who need rest. Don’t families and communities, nations and societies do too? And like individuals, don’t groups of people also encounter situations that are the opposite of rest? Signs that the group needs to be cared for. Signs that the group’s leaders have the responsibility of noticing and addressing. Isn’t this why God criticises the political and religious authorities in the first reading? You have let my flock be scattered and go wandering and have not taken care of them. The scattering of the flock is a sign that it needs rest. Yet the leaders have neglected to do anything about it. They have failed to help their people find rest. Very likely, this is because the leaders themselves have not paid enough attention to their own need for rest. Unlike the psalmist, they have not allowed the Lord to shepherd them.

All of which helps us to better understand what Jesus is doing for the apostles and the crowds in the gospel, as well as what he does for us, especially when we gather for Mass. By calling the apostles to accompany him to a lonely place to rest for a while, by making the effort to teach the crowds at some length, and by feeding us at this Eucharistic table of Word and Sacrament, the Good Shepherd gathers and guides, sustains and refreshes his sheep. Helping us to find true rest in him, even as we continue on life’s arduous  journey. Teaching us how to look at ourselves and at others with that compassion, which the Lord offers particularly to all who are exhausted from having to bear life’s burdens. The same compassion that eventually leads Jesus to Calvary. Where, as the second reading reminds us, by allowing his blood to be shed, the Lord gathers the previously separated Jews and Gentiles into a single flock. Creating one single New Man in himself… by restoring peace through the cross.

Refreshment for the drooping spirit, guidance in the valley or darkness, sustenance in the sight of our foes, and peace for the scattered sheep. This is what Jesus offers us, if only we are willing to follow him. Sisters and brothers, how is the Lord calling us to put up our feet, and find our rest in him today?

Between Changing Faces & The Constant Heart

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Amos 7: 12-15; Psalm 84 (85): 9-14; Ephesians 1: 3-14; Mark 6: 7-13

Picture: By Joeyy Lee on Unsplash

My dear friends, how are we coping with work? Even if we are already retired or in-between jobs, a home-maker or still in school, isn’t this question still relevant to us, if not directly, then at least indirectly? All the more because the face of work is changing rapidly. For better or worse, some countries are moving towards a 4-day work week. Greece being a notable exception. Also, more jobs now offer the possibility of working off-site. And, what’s perhaps most significant of all, it’s becoming more and more difficult to stay in a chosen career. In the past, it was possible to devote one’s youth to training for a career, and then most of one’s adulthood to practising it, before spending the twilight years relaxing in retirement. But now, increasingly, many have to go through two or more cycles of training and practice, often in different fields, even as the retirement age gets raised ever higher. And it’s taken for granted that the growth of artificial intelligence will further accelerate this process. So how are we to cope? The obvious way is, of course, to continually push ourselves to learn new skills, to acquire fresh knowledge, to keep up with work’s rapidly changing face.

Our scriptures, however, offer us a different approach. They remind us that, more than just an external face, work also has a deeper heart… When Amaziah calls Amos a seer, or a prophet, in the first reading, he sees prophecy only as an occupation, as a means of earning (one’s) bread. Amaziah is talking about the face of work. But Amos quickly corrects the priest, by telling him that, for Amos, prophecy is not a mere career that he has chosen for himself, but a vocation, for which God has chosen, called and sent him. It was the Lord who took me from herding the flock, and the Lord who said, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel.” God’s call lies at the very heart of Amos’ prophetic work.

Similarly, when the Twelve apostles in the gospel set out to preach repentance, to cast out… devils, and to cure the sick, they do all this not as a mere occupation, but as a vocation. They do it, because Jesus has summoned and sent them, as well as giving them authority over the unclean spirits. Over all the evil influences that diminish human dignity, and occasion human suffering in this world. And it’s important for us to see that this prophetic work of preaching and healing, benefits not only those who receive it, but also those who perform it. Isn’t this what the second reading reminds us?

Blessed be God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with all the spiritual blessings of heaven in Christ… By choosing, calling and sending us in Christ, God has blessed us not just with one or two or even three, but with all the blessings of heaven. Not just training us for a career that’s here today, and may be gone tomorrow, but forming in us and for us an enduring identity: the priceless gift of being adopted sons (and daughters) of God. Not just freeing us from the burden of our sins, but also revealing to us the grand vision of God’s eternal plan for all of creation, as well as our cherished place in that plan. Whatever our chosen career or occupation or state of life, whatever we may happen to do to earn our living, we Christians share the dignity of a common vocation. We are chosen to be, for his greater glory, the people who… put their hopes in Christ… As it was for Amos and the Twelve, so too for us. God’s call lies at the heart of all we do.

But if this is true, if God’s call were truly to lie at the heart of everything we Christians do, then doesn’t it follow that there should be one specific type of training that we need most of all? One crucially important ability, in which we all need to be formed? The same ability that the psalmist is exercising in the opening verse of the psalm, when she says, I will hear what the Lord God has to say, a voice that speaks of peace, peace for his people… The ability to listen attentively, to recognise perceptively, and to respond generously to God’s voice, amid the many other different voices that call out to us every day. A tender, loving, and merciful voice that calms and consoles us, even as it may challenge us. Calling and sending us to share this same precious blessing with others, including our own beloved children and grandchildren. Helping them too, to allow God’s voice to remain ever at the heart of all they do.

And isn’t this a blessing and an ability that’s needed all the more now, when so many are being driven to burnout and mental distress, just trying to keep up with the ever-growing demands of daily living? For when one is forced to keep changing one’s face, isn’t it only to be expected that doing so might well place a heavy strain on one’s heart?

Sisters and brothers, even as we may have to keep up with the rapidly changing face of work, what must we do to help one another allow God’s voice to remain always at the heart of all we do, today and every day?

A Tale of Two Trajectories

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezekiel 2: 2-5; Psalm 122 (123); 2 Corinthians 12: 7-10; Mark 6: 1-6

Picture: By Joseph Pearson on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever had trouble standing up? Recently someone shared one such experience with me. After casually bending over to feed his dog, this person was shocked to find that he could not straighten up… He had thrown out his back… I think I’d be shocked too, if the same thing were to happen to me. Shocked, because the power to stand upright is something I take too much for granted. I know, of course, that most of us acquire this power near the beginning of our lives, only to lose it as we approach the end. And I also know that this is true not just physically, but also psychologically, and socially. Although we may devote much of our time to acquiring the ability to make up our own minds, to regulate our own feelings, to stand on our own two feet, this independence will eventually come to an end. Physically, psychologically and socially, our lives follow a similar trajectory to that of a rocket. What goes up must eventually come back down. I know this. But I too easily allow myself to forget it. Hence my shock, whenever something happens that brings me crashing back to earth. Not just a bad back, but any sudden misfortune, any unexpected trial.

Which is why it’s good to recall that, in addition to the physical, psychological, and social, there’s also a spiritual approach to standing upright. What does it look like, and how do we follow it? These are the questions our scriptures help us to ponder today. The first reading begins by telling us that, when the Spirit of God enters Ezekiel, the prophet is given the power to stand upright before God. And not just before God, but also before the rebellious people of Israel. God sends Ezekiel to proclaim God’s message to them, even though they will reject it. God wants them to know there is a prophet among them. But that’s not all. Two verses before our reading begins, we’re told that Ezekiel’s initial reaction to the sight of God’s glory, is to fall on his face. Which indicates that, if the prophet receives the power to stand up, it’s likely because he first knows how to bow down. Spiritual uprightness follows the trajectory not of a rocket, but of the poor servant and slave in the psalm. Instead of climbing up, only to fall back down, they humbly bow down, to be mercifully lifted up.

We find something similar in the gospel. Which, at first glance, seems to offer us nothing more than an unsettling, even scandalising, image of a powerless Jesus. Due to the stubborn disbelief of his former neighbours–their lack of faith–the Lord is unable to perform any miracle–any work of power–in his own hometown. And yet, isn’t Jesus exercising the same spiritual power that Ezekiel received in the first reading? Rather than watering down his words and actions to appease his audience, to gain their approval, Jesus remains true to God’s message. In the face of suspicion and rejection, he is able to stand upright before both his faithful God, as well as the faithless people. And he will keep standing upright, even when rejection escalates to persecution, and then to condemnation. Humbly he submits himself to the trajectory of a suffering servant, even to the point of accepting death on a cross. Only to be raised up on the third day. Bringing with him, the rest of creation, including all those brave enough to follow in his steps. As the opening prayer reminds us, in the abasement of (the) Son, (God) has raised up a fallen world…

Isn’t this why, in the second reading, St Paul can speak of making his weaknesses his special boast? Although he prays earnestly for God to remove the mysterious thorn in (his) flesh, Paul is still willing to accept it, to submit to it, along with all the other trials he has to suffer for the sake of the gospel. Like Ezekiel and Jesus before him, Paul follows the trajectory of a servant. He first learns to humbly bow down, in order to be mercifully raised up by the Lord. He realises that, in his own weakness, the power of Christ becomes more effective. For it is when I am weak that I am strong.

And isn’t this the same Mystery to which we are being conformed, whenever we gather to celebrate the Eucharist? We recall the trajectory of Christ’s Life and Death and Resurrection, in order to follow more faithfully in his steps. Learning to treat our own trials as opportunities to humbly bow down before the Lord, so that God might mercifully raise us up. Receiving the power not just to stand upright before our God and our world, but also, as much as we are able, to reach out and to help raise up those bowed down by the burdens of life. Especially now, when our local society is finally being encouraged to embrace wider definitions of success, perhaps it's an opportune moment for us Christians to find ever more creative and intentional ways to follow our own God-given trajectory for standing upright.

Sisters and brothers, even if we may be shocked when we are suddenly bowed down by life, how might God be using such trials to teach us to follow Christ more closely today?

Between Galilee & Gethsemane

12th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Job 38:1, 8-11; Psalm 106 (107):23-26, 28-32; 2 Corinthians 5:14-17; Mark 4:35-41

Picture: By Ana Curcan on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever witnessed the healing power of a kiss? Say a child falls down, while running across a playground, and scrapes its knee. As tears roll down its face, the child’s parent rushes over, and kisses the injured limb. Amazingly, the pain is soon forgotten. The child gets up, and resumes running. How does this happen? The kiss doesn’t heal the scraped knee. But it does soothe the shaken spirit. And the power to do this flows from the identity of the one who kisses, and from the message the kiss communicates. It makes all the difference that the kiss is given not by a stranger, but by a caring parent, who uses it to tell the child, I love you, I am here with you, there’s no need to be afraid… So that even if the external injury may persist, the internal distress abates. Allowing the child to resume its journey into adulthood. We find something similar in our scriptures today.

Perhaps what stands out most in our readings is the reminder that our God is Lord of the Storm. The psalmist tells us that, with a mighty word, God can both summon and still the stormy waters of the sea. And Jesus wields this same power in the gospel. At his spoken command, the raging Sea of Galilee quickly quietens down, allowing the disciples to resume their crossing over to the other side. This reminder of God’s mastery over storms can give us much consolation when we are caught in the turbulence of life. It inspires us to cry out to God for help, as the disciples do. And, at times, we do get what we ask for. The storm abates. But doesn’t it also happen that, at other times, despite our most fervent prayers, the storm persists? And we may be tempted to think that the Lord is asleep, or he’s ignoring us, or he doesn’t really care about us, or we may have offended him in some way.

Which is why, it’s helpful for us to see that, in the scriptures, it isn’t just storms at sea that are calmed, but also storms of the heart… When God finally speaks to Job in the first reading, after a very long silence, it is mainly to address Job’s inner turmoil. For the common belief at the time was that suffering is the result of one’s own wrongdoing. And since Job is suffering, he must have sinned, even though his conscience is clear. So, on top of his many external trials, Job is labouring under a cloud of unfounded accusation. And, like a parent planting a kiss on an injured knee, God helps Job to calm this inner storm, by posing a question of identity. By asking who? Who pent up the sea behind closed doors…? Inviting Job not just to acknowledge God’s might, but also to recognise that this mighty God is very close to Job, and cares enough for him to speak to him from the heart of the tempest.

Similarly, in the gospel, after stilling the unruliness of the wind and waves, Jesus turns his attention to the turbulence in his disciples’ hearts. Why are you so frightened? How is it that you have no faith? In other words, don’t you know who I am, and how much I care for you? So that, like Job, the disciples too are led to ponder the Lord’s identity. Who can this be? Even the wind and the sea obey him? And just as God speaks to Job from the very heart of the storm, so too does Jesus remain in the same boat as his disciples, while they continue their crossing, from the darkness of disbelief to fullness of faith in the Lord. And Jesus will keep accompanying them on this crossing, even to the point when the tables will eventually be turned. When the Lord will be the one distressed by storms, and his disciples will fall asleep. As we may recall, this is what happens at Gethsemane (Mk 14:32ff). Where, despite the Lord’s most fervent prayers, the external storm refuses to abate. And Jesus courageously consents to the divine call to become the kiss that the heavenly Father wishes to bestow on his fallen children. Communicating to them–communicating to us–the reassuring message, I love you, I am here with you, there’s no need to be afraid… Ironically, one of the first things Jesus will have to do, to answer this call, is to accept a kiss. Not a kiss of affection and reassurance, but of deception and betrayal (Mk 14:45).

My dear friends, what happens to us when we truly allow ourselves to ponder these mysteries, as we are invited to do every time we gather for Mass? Perhaps, like St Paul in the second reading, we too will find ourselves overwhelmed by the love of Christ, who submitted so humbly to unfounded accusations, and laid down his life for us all. Perhaps we too will be urged on to continue making the crucial crossing into spiritual adulthood. To live no longer for ourselves, but for him who died and was raised to life for us. Bravely enduring whatever storms may come along our way, and even helping others to weather their storms too.

I love you, I am here with you, there’s no need to be afraid… This is God’s constant message to us in Christ. Sisters and brothers, what must we do to receive this tender and healing kiss ever more readily and ever more courageously today?

Contact Points for Spiritual Strength

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezekiel 17:22-24; Psalm 91 (92):2-3, 13-16; 2 Corinthians 5:6-10; Mark 4:26-34

Picture: By Call Me Fred on Unsplash

My dear friends, how do we charge our electrical devices? Typically, we use a plug to connect the device to a socket. The three pins in the plug fit neatly into the corresponding spaces in the socket and, through these three contact points, electricity flows. We usually take it for granted that the plug will fit into the socket. Unless we’re in a foreign country, with sockets different from our own. Then we need an adaptor… But what about our spiritual batteries? Do we have a similar process for charging them too? This is the question our Mass texts help us to ponder today. In the prayer we offered earlier, we called God the strength of those who hope in God, and we confessed that, without God, our mortal frailty can do nothing. Without God, we are like devices without electricity. Good to look at, but unable to function properly. What to do? The scriptures offer us something like the connection between the spaces in a socket and the pins in a plug. Three contact points, through which power flows from God to us.

The first space in the socket is the crucial reminder of the importance of God’s initiative. Through the repeated use of the word I, the first reading emphasises that it is God who will preserve and renew the exiled people. I will take a shoot… I will plant it… I… have spoken, and I will do it. Similarly, in the gospel, Jesus likens the kingdom of God to the growth of a seed, which happens mysteriously, of its own accord. Above all, it is God alone, who makes things grow. The farmer’s part is simply to cooperate, to respond appropriately and generously to God’s initiative. Sometimes to sow or to reap. At other times to rest and to wait.

And if God’s initiative is the first space in the socket, then the pin that fits into it is named by a word that appears twice in the second reading. We are always full of confidence. Or, in another translation (RSV), we are always of good courage. Confidence or courage, not in our own efforts, but in God’s prior initiative, and tireless work. This is the first contact point through which we draw energy from God. But this connection is not easy to maintain. It’s not easy to remain confident, especially when growth appears slow, or even non-existent. Which is why we need a second contact point.

We find this in the next parable that Jesus tells in the gospel. Like a mustard seed, which is tiny at the time of planting, the kingdom of God has very humble beginnings. Which may discourage those of us who are conditioned to look only for instant flashy results, and easily measured key performance indicators. Forgetting that, not only did the Saviour of the world himself start out as a tiny helpless baby, lying in a smelly basin used for feeding animals, he was also cruelly put to death on a cross. Which is why, the pin that fits into this second space is the ability to walk or proceed by faith and not by sight. To see and evaluate everything with the merciful heart of Christ, instead of the prideful ambitions of this world.

The third space in the socket is a feature shared by the cedar tree in the first reading, and the mustard plant in the gospel. Once fully grown, they both provide abundant room for every kind of bird to find safe shelter, to rest in the shade of their branches. In contrast to the injustice and oppression found in this passing world, God’s kingdom offers a profound restfulness to all. Especially those who are weary and… carrying heavy burdens (Mt 11:28). Those in any kind of distress. And the pin that fits into this inclusive space is our striving to do not our own will but God’s. Our willingness to imitate St Paul, who is always intent on pleasing God.

So God’s initiative, and our confidence; the humble beginnings of God’s kingdom, and our ability to see and evaluate everything with the eyes of faith; the profound restfulness of God’s kingdom, and our striving to please God in all things. In the scriptures, these are the three points of contact through which spiritual strength flows from God to us. And isn’t this a particularly important message for all of us, who live in this pressure-cooker called Singapore? According to a news article published in April, although we enjoy some of the highest living standards in Asia, (ours) is also one of the most stressed-out societies. And as reported just three days ago, a recent survey has found a growing risk of burnout among workers and a need for greater mental health support. If this is true not just of Singaporeans at large, but also of us Christians, then perhaps it cannot be taken for granted that the plugs we use actually fit the socket that God provides. Perhaps we need something like a spiritual adaptor, such as the ones we use when visiting a foreign country. So that we Christians might not only learn to charge our own batteries, but also reach out to help others do the same.

Sisters and brothers, what can we do to better allow God to strengthen us on life’s journey today?

Something Wrong With the Water?

10th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Genesis 3: 9-15; Psalm 129 (130); 2 Corinthians 4: 13-5: 1; Mark 3: 20-35

Picture: By on Jason Leung Unsplash

My dear friends, given a choice, which would you prefer? To feel at home or not at home? To be like a fish swimming happily in water, or struggling desperately out of water? At first glance, the answer seems obvious, doesn’t it? Surely the preference must be to feel at home. Who in their right mind wants to be a fish out of water? And yet, if we were to give it a little more thought, doesn’t our answer have to depend also on the quality of the water? If the water is pure and clean and wholesome, then it’s natural for a fish to feel at home in it. But what if it’s a boiling hot pot of soup? What kind of fish will actually feel at home in that, except a dead one?

People feeling like fish out of water… This is what we find in our scriptures today. In the first reading, there are clear signs that the man and the woman no longer feel at ease in the garden of Eden, that safe and beautiful place, which God had given them to care for, and to call home (Gn 2:8, 15). They are so ashamed of their own nakedness, that they hide themselves from God. They also point accusing fingers at others, and even at God, for their own wrongdoing. It was the woman you put with me; she gave me the fruit, and I ate it… So that even before God actually drives them out of Eden (Gn 3:23-24), the man and the woman are already interiorly exiled from it. They no longer feel at home in their God-given home. Similarly, after telling us that Jesus went home with his disciples, the gospel goes on to describe how the cosy little kampong where the Lord grew up has become for him a very uncomfortable and unsafe place. Not only do his friends and relatives want to take charge of him, because they think he’s crazy, the scribes visiting from Jerusalem accuse him of being possessed and manipulated by the prince of devils. So that, like Adam and Eve in Eden, Jesus too feels like a stranger in his own earthly home.

But even if both our first parents and Jesus share the same feeling of being like fish out of water, there is a sharp contrast in the quality of the water. Unlike Adam and Eve, who feel out of place in the idyllic garden specially created for them by God, the water in which Jesus finds himself is very different. Speaking in parables, Jesus refers to it as a kingdom, and a household, ruled by Satan, the strong man. A place that is plainly unsuited for dignified human living. Like how boiling hot soup is unsuited for fish to live in. And there’s a difference not just in where they are, but also in why they feel the way they do. Whereas Adam and Eve are exiled from Eden, as a result of their disobedience, Jesus enters Satan’s domain in obedience to his heavenly Father. And he does this in order to tie up the strong man, and burgle his house. Adam and Eve have committed a selfish act of rebellion. But Jesus is engaged in a merciful mission of rescue. He plunges into the dangerous waters of our troubled world, to seek out and save the lost. To gather and lead us back into the wholesome life-giving waters of the Father’s will. Helping us to reclaim our God-given dignity, and even to become members of the Lord’s own family. Anyone who does the will of God, that person is my brother and sister and mother…

All of which might lead us to reflect on our own lives in this passing world. Which, despite its impressive advances in science and technology, still shows clear signs of Satan’s insidious influence. Not just in painful conflicts between nations, but also in petty rivalries among individuals. Not just in the terrible damage we inflict on our planet, but also in the unreasonable burdens we place on our families. Not just in the obvious suffering of migrants and refugees, but also in the often hidden distress of those saddled with addictions and afflictions of various kinds. Side-effects of the struggle to cope with the demands of life in our hyper-modern world.

Faced with such an environment, what are we to do? Could it be that beyond just continually driving ourselves and our children to do our utmost to swim more happily through it, we also need to entertain the possibility that there might be something wrong with the water? So that together we might find ways to change it for the better. To do what we asked God to help us do, in the prayer we offered earlier: At God’s prompting, to discern what is right, and with God’s guidance, to do it. Learning to test the waters of our world against the values of the gospel. And even to share in the Lord’s experience of being homeless here. So that we might make our home in God. For as the second reading reminds us, when this tent we live in on earth is folded up, there is a house built by God for us, an everlasting home not made by human hands, in the heavens.

Sisters and brothers, perhaps it’s not always a bad thing to feel like fish out of water. Depending on the water, it may even be a sign we’re still alive. What can we do to continue testing the water, so as to truly make our home in God today?

Support For The Suddenly Shaken

Funeral Mass for Simon Teo

Readings: Wisdom 4: 7-15; Psalm 22; 1 Corinthians 15: 51-57; John 11: 17-27

Picture: By Ina Carolino on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever found yourself in a moving vehicle–say a bus, or a train, or even a car–which happens to jerk or brake very suddenly? We know what that feels like, don’t we? It’s as though, not just our body, but even our heart is violently shaken out of place. And our natural reaction is to reach out and try to hold onto to something for support. Similarly, as we move through the routine of daily life, we sometimes encounter situations that throw us off-balance. Not just physically, but also mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. And something inside us spontaneously reaches out for support. Perhaps this is also how we’re feeling, as we face the shock of our brother Simon’s sudden passing. Even if we may not realise it–possibly because we are preoccupied with the many important practical details associated with a funeral–our hearts still yearn for something that can steady us. Something to help us keep our balance, even as we grieve and mourn. This is what the scriptures offer us today.

The first reading aptly speaks of someone who dies before his time. Which some may see as a sign of God’s displeasure. For if a long life is a blessing, then shouldn’t a short life be considered a punishment? But the reading suggests a different view. By calling to their heavenly home those still relatively young, God is removing them from the evils and temptations of this passing world. For grace and mercy await the chosen of the Lord, and protection his holy ones. God’s desire is not to punish, but to preserve and to protect.

The second reading offers us further spiritual support by reminding us that, for us Christians, death is more like a comma than a full-stop. A full-stop brings a sentence to an abrupt end. But a comma marks a pause. It may even bring about a transformation, a radical change of direction. For we Christians believe that we are not all going to die, but we shall all be changed… because our present perishable nature must put on imperishability… Death is swallowed up in victory. The full-stop becomes a comma. And this happens not because of our own holiness, important as that may be, but through our faith in the Lord Jesus.

Isn’t this why, amid Martha’s confusion and grief, Jesus takes the time to tenderly engage her in conversation? What is the Lord doing for his beloved friend, if not helping her to keep her balance. Gently drawing out of her the faith that lies hidden in her heart. That God-given ability to hold onto the Lord. The One who, through his own Dying and Rising, has the power to console us and steady us, amid the many unpredictable ups and downs of our earthly existence. I am the resurrection and the life. If anyone believes in me, even though he dies he shall live… Do you believe this?

Do you believe this? This is the Lord’s response to all who who mourn. Do you believe this? A question that can steady us, when we are shaken out of place. Do you believe this? Sisters and brothers, even as we move through the process of grieving, how might we also help one another to keep pondering this powerful question in the days ahead?