Beyond Colour-Correction

 3rd Sunday of Easter (A)

Readings: Acts 2: 14, 22-33; Psalm 15 (16): 1-2, 5, 7-11; 1 Peter 1: 17-21; Luke 24: 13-35

Picture: By Diana Polekhina on Unsplash

My dear friends, this may seem like a strange question to ask, but what does the liturgy have in common with toothpaste? Some of us may have seen that commercial for a popular brand of toothpaste, which still plays frequently on YouTube. It features a pretty young K-Pop star, explaining the benefits of using purple-coloured toothpaste. Why purple? Because purple colour-corrects yellow. Yellow teeth… plus purple toothpaste… equals… a whiter more beautiful smile. Or so the theory goes…

Forgive me if it seems disrespectful to say so, but doesn’t this sound strikingly similar to what we are celebrating liturgically over these days? The transition from the penitential purple of Lent to the glorious white of Easter? And we know that, beyond the penitential practices undertaken in Lent, the colour purple points especially to the Passion of Jesus. The humiliation and death he suffered at the hands of his enemies. The soldiers dressed him in royal purple to make fun of him. We believe that by humbly accepting the painful purple of his Passion, Jesus was able to correct the ugly yellow of our selfishness and sin. Changing it into the glorious white of God’s adopted children. All this we know. At least in theory. A theory we happily mark by the changing of liturgical colours.

Which is actually a fairly easy thing to do. Especially since we have a conscientious sacristan and her capable assistants to do it for us. But what about the deeper reality that these symbols are meant to signify? The transformation, not just of the colour of our vestments, but of the texture of our hearts. How to change hearts that may have been broken by the painful sadness of the Cross, into hearts renewed and made bold again by the joyful hope of Easter? Isn’t this the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today?

The marvellous transition from the painful purple of the Passion to the joyous white of the Resurrection. Isn’t this what Peter is describing to the crowd, on the Day of Pentecost, in the first reading? How, through the Resurrection of Christ, and the descent of the Holy Spirit, he and his companions have received power to conquer their grief and trauma, their guilt and shame, their fear and anxiety. So as to courageously proclaim the Good News. But, again, how does this actually happen? Is it really as easy as changing one’s vestments, or using a different-coloured toothpaste? Requiring no more than a gritting of the teeth, or a clenching of the fist? Something we can accomplish on our own? If so, why did we pray as we did at the start of this Mass? We asked God to enable us to exult in renewed youthfulness of spirit, so that rejoicing now in the glory of our adoption, we may look forward in confident hope to the rejoicing of the day of resurrection? Doesn’t our need to ask imply that what we seek is a grace, a gift from God? So how to go about receiving it?

Two words from the responsorial psalm––which Peter quotes in the first reading––provide us with valuable insight. You will show me the path of life, the psalmist says, the fullness of joy in your presence… Path and presence. In order to receive the grace of Easter, there is a path we need to traverse. A way marked by the presence of the Crucified and Risen One. Who comes to us not only bearing the gift we seek, but also helping us to receive it. Isn’t this the experience of the two disciples in the gospel? The reading begins by telling us that Cleopas and his companion are on the way. They are walking along a particular path. How might we describe this path? Geographically, it’s the road leading to a town about half a day’s journey from Jerusalem. But isn’t this also a spiritual path? One that we have already encountered before? Isn’t it recognisable as part of that road that Jesus invited us to walk with him all through Lent, and especially in Holy Week? Isn’t the Road to Emmaus simply an extension of the Way of the Cross? Isn’t this why it’s no surprise that this path should be graced by the Lord’s consoling and encouraging presence? Could it be that Jesus comes to walk with his friends, because they are walking in his footsteps?

And it’s helpful for us to pay attention to how the disciples do this. How they engage in certain practices, which help them remain on the Way. First, they feel safe and comfortable enough to surface the confusion that still burdens their hearts, and to share it wth each other. Then they are led to ponder the Scriptures. Allowing God’s Word to help them realise that it was ordained, or necessary, that the Christ should suffer. For it is by doing so that he becomes the spotless lamb that sheds its precious blood to set us free. And, finally, they press the Lord to stay, or to abide, to remain, with them, as they break bread together… The surfacing of burdens, the pondering of scripture, the breaking of bread… Aren’t these also the practices in which we are engaging at this Mass?

Path, presence and practices. This is how we come not only to receive the gift we seek, but also to share it with others. Just as our brave and beloved Pope is doing now on the world stage. For unlike purple toothpaste––which is marketed as no more than a beauty hack, a mere cosmetic, an agent of superficial change––what the Lord offers is something far deeper. No less than the transformation of hearts: from broken to burning to bold. Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another better receive and rejoice in this precious gift this Easter?

The Race(s) We Run

 Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord

Readings: Acts 10:34, 37-43; Psalm 117 (118): 1-2, 16-17, 22-23; 1 Corinthians 5:6-8; Matthew 28:1-10

Picture: By Mathieu Improvisato on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is it like to run a race? I’m not sure, but doesn’t it depend on the type of race? Some races are really strenuous and draining, yet many people still choose to run them. Often just for fun. Even over and over again. Like that highly popular endurance race going on at the National Stadium this weekend. It’s called Hyrox... And then there are also races of a different sort. Races beyond the world of sport. Races that people engage in, not for fun, but because they’ve somehow fallen or found themselves trapped in it. For example, right now, even as those Hyrox enthusiasts sweat it out in Kallang, others in the Middle East are engaged in a desperate race to find the remaining crew member of the US fighter jet that was shot down over Iran on Friday. And we know that these efforts are part of a wider arms race. For one of the reasons given for the war is the need to stop Iran from producing a nuclear weapon.

Which makes it all the more disturbing, doesn’t it, that here at home, it has become appropriate for us to apply this same language of war to how we approach the formation of our children? To call it an education arms race. Describing how some of us see fit to take what should be a wholesome pursuit of excellence, the fulfilling of a child’s potential, even a quest for life’s deeper meaning, and to deform it. Disfigure it. Reduce it to an anxious contest for securing ever more wealth, status, privilege… An extension of that other contest in which so many adults often feel trapped. The infamous stress-producing, burnout-inducing, soul-sapping, fertility-reducing rat race.

It’s helpful for us, myself included, to keep all this in mind, even if it may feel a bit like a wet blanket, on this joyous Easter Day. For it’s possible to hear Peter’s re-telling of the story of Jesus, in the first reading, as a collision between two opposing itineraries. Two contrasting ways of running a spiritual race. On the one hand, beginning from Galilee, and relying on the power of the Holy Spirit, Jesus goes about doing good and curing all who had fallen into the power of the devil. All who find themselves trapped in a deadly race, from which they’re helpless to extricate themselves. How does the Lord do this? By teaching everyone to trust in the loving mercy of God. Inviting them to come to him. To learn from him. To shoulder his gentle yoke, and to find rest in him (Mt 11:28). On the other hand, the religious authorities of the day, at least as they are portrayed in the gospels, lay unbearable burdens on people’s shoulders, without making any effort to move them (Mt 23:4). Feeling threatened by the Lord, and jealous of him, they see no other alternative than to kill him, by hanging him on a tree. Yet, by raising him to life, God proves him right. Authenticates his race. And by allowing him to be seen, God empowers those witnesses to run the same race as Jesus did...

To be set free from a death-dealing race, in order to run a life-giving one. Isn’t this what is happening to the disciples in the gospel? Isn’t it striking that, at the start, all three of them are dashing about so frantically? Whether or not they realise it, the pain and trauma of the preceding days have led each of them to run a race of some kind. And it’s helpful for us to ponder their experience a little more deeply. What might be going on in Mary’s heart, as she races away in search of Peter and the other disciple? Her love for Jesus has drawn her to the tomb. And it is this same love, that makes her feel alarmed and frightened to find it empty. They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him… In other words, not satisfied with torturing and killing our beloved Master, have they now stooped so low as to desecrate his corpse as well? Still, much as Mary’s actions are motivated by love, it is a love that remains unenlightened by faith. Isn’t this why the reading begins by telling us that it was… still dark? The gospel is telling us that, at this point, Mary is still racing in the darkness of un-faith.

And we might say the same about Peter and the other disciple. Like Mary, it’s likely that they too are both motivated by love, and also clouded by grief and anxiety. But something happens to them inside the tomb. Something in them begins to change. At least in the disciple Jesus loved. For the gospel tells us that, having entered the empty tomb, and seeing how neatly the burial cloths were arranged, he saw and he believed. Although the gospel doesn’t elaborate, we might imagine what he does next. The contrast between his urgent arrival at the tomb, and how he leaves it. No longer frantic, but pensive, reflective, encouraged, even peaceful… No longer blinded by anxiety. But gradually suffused with the light of faith. A faith that brings with it the dawning of Easter hope and joy. As well as the power to run a different race. The race of and in the Lord.

To be set free from a death-dealing race, in order to run a life-giving one. Isn’t this the precious gift of Easter? Isn’t this what the second reading is inviting us to receive and to live? Isn’t this what it means to get rid of the old yeast, and to become a new batch of bread? And isn’t this also what we will commit ourselves to, in a few moments, when together we renew our baptismal promises, and are sprinkled with blessed water?

If a simple sport like Hyrox can inspire such devotion in its followers, how much more does Easter have the power to move us. Sisters and brothers, what race are we really running today?