Tuesday in the 23rd Week of Ordinary Time
Memorial of St. Peter Claver, Priest
Aim High!

Readings: 1 Corinthians 6:1-11; Psalm 149:1b-2, 3-4, 5-6a and 9b; Luke 6:12-19
Picture: CC drp

Aim high, my late grandfather used to tell me. Aim high! Then, even if you miss, at least you won’t be too far off the target. Of course, I’ve come to see that this is not always the best advice. It can, for example, be counterproductive when offered to perfectionists and workaholics. It can breed a kind of perpetual discontent, an inability to be happy with what one has and the person one is. Even so, there’s value in it when seen in an appropriate light. It can, for example, help us to understand what Paul seems to be saying to the Corinthians in our first reading today.

At one level, Paul’s message does seem to be less than helpful in this very complex world of ours. At a time when the church has been rocked by one scandal after another – when even priests have been convicted of serious sexual and financial crimes – it seems quite naïve, and even downright dangerous, to still think that we should try to deal with all our difficulties and disputes in-house, without recourse to the civil authorities. Even if this may have been feasible in the days of Paul, for better or for worse, that time is now past. Today, even whole dioceses run the risk of bankruptcy as a result of civil suits.

What value then do Paul’s words have for us today? Even while we – as individuals and as a Christian community – allow ourselves to have greater recourse to civil authorities, perhaps Paul’s admonishment of the Corinthians might serve to remind us not to settle simply for what the law courts have to offer. Perhaps what Paul offers us is a crucial reminder to aim higher.

For while the civil law and the authorities that uphold and enforce it may be indispensable in maintaining societal order, our identity as Christians impels us to go further. Consider Jesus’ actions in the gospel today. As is common in Luke’s account, Jesus prefaces every major decision with prayer. He bases his choice of the Twelve not so much on external legal prescriptions as on his intimate relationship with his Father. And it is also from out of this relationship that Jesus’ true authority flows, bringing much comfort and healing to the many who seek him. More than societal order, what Jesus offers is the fullness of life that comes from being reconciled with God and with one another. Beyond law and order, Jesus brings love and peace. As followers of Christ, can we afford to settle for less? Even as we are expected to give heed to the prescriptions of civil authority, does Jesus not also call us to go beyond? As he does with the Twelve in today’s gospel, does he not invite us to share in the same authority that he wielded with such awe-inspiring effect?

Quite coincidentally, the Jesuit saint we celebrate today offers us an example of someone who heeded this call to an amazing degree. In the time of Peter Claver, the buying and selling of human beings was not against the law. And yet, Peter left his comfortable European homeland to spend his life ministering to newly arrived slaves in faraway Colombia and working tirelessly for their cause. In this complex world of ours, are there not still many who continue to cry out for something like Peter’s daring dedication and ardent advocacy?

How are we being invited to aim higher today?

Feast of the Birthday of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Celebrating Interruptions

Reading: Micah 5:1-4a or Romans 8:28-30; Psalm 13:6ab, 6c; Matthew 1:1-16, 18-23 or 1:18-23
Picture: CC Sebastiano Pitruzzello (aka gorillaradio)

It’s usually no surprise who gets to be the center of attention at birthday celebrations. The birthday celebrant, of course! After all, a birthday is a time to celebrate the gift of a particular life, and all the blessings that that life brings to the rest of us. And so, it may at first be more than a little surprising that on the day when we celebrate the birthday of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the spotlight seems to be on someone else. Although our readings do refer to the our Blessed Mother, we seem drawn not so much to focus our attention on her as to consider how the birth of Jesus Christ came about… The gospel provides us with a lengthy genealogy of Jesus, as well as a description of how Jesus came to be born in the household of David. What, we may well wonder, does all this have to do with Mary?

To answer this question, perhaps it’ll be helpful for us simply to follow the lead of our readings. Two things – two rather paradoxical aspects – may stand out for us when we consider how the eternal God takes flesh in time and space. The first is how Jesus’ arrival springs quite spontaneously from the natural course of human living. In Jesus, God doesn’t come among us as a spectacular and extraordinary revelation from on high. There’s no blinding flash of light, no loud booming noise, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. There’s only an orderly succession of names – Abraham became the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob – at the end of which is born the baby Jesus who is called the Christ. If there is consolation to be found in this aspect of Christ’s birth, it comes to us in the realization that we don’t have to be spectacular or extraordinary individuals to experience God. God seems to delight in showing up in the humblest of situations, among the most ordinary of people.

But that’s only one side of the story. There is another, perhaps apparently less palatable, but no less consoling aspect. It is summed up in the word interruption. Listening to the litany of names in Jesus’ genealogy, for example, aren’t we struck by how the list of men is (thankfully) punctuated – interrupted – at key points by women? There is Rahab, the mother of Boaz, Ruth, the mother of Obed, Bathsheba, the mother of Solomon, and finally, the one whom we celebrate today, Mary, the mother of Christ, and our mother. And, as we well know, each of these women has their own story to tell. Theirs are stories of interruptions to the deceptively smooth flow of human life and history. Much like how Jesus’ birth comes as an unsettling – even shocking – interruption to the plans and expectations of saintly Joseph. He was betrothed to Mary, but before they lived together, she was found with child… What do these considerations tell us, if not that as ordinary and unspectacular as God’s coming often seems to be, it also often encounters us as an interruption to our best laid plans.

Perhaps here is where we finally come to some appreciation of what it is we are celebrating today. Perhaps here is where we are reminded of the great gift that Mary’s life brings us. In Mary, we find the indispensable quality for welcoming and experiencing God. In Mary, we find the admirable capacity to live an ordinary human life while remaining open to the many God-filled interruptions that characterizes it. For, as we heard in the first reading, whether it is in the smooth flow of daily living, or in its disturbing interruptions, all things work for good for those who love God… To celebrate Mary is to share and to rejoice in her gift of delighting in the ordinary yet surprising ways that God comes among us, the different ways in which Jesus continues to be born into our world.

How might we better celebrate our blessed Mother’s birthday today?

Friday in the 22nd Week of Ordinary Time
Calming the Anger Within

Readings: 1 Corinthians 4:1-5; Psalm 37:3-4, 5-6, 27-28, 39-40; Luke 5:33-39
Picture: CC EddieB55

I’m told that victims of abuse or trauma often bear scars that cut much deeper than the physical. It’s sort of like the dog that has often been beaten. Every time it sees someone with a stick in hand, it may react either by putting it’s tail between its legs and running away, or by baring its teeth and going on the attack. Never mind if the stick is actually only an umbrella, or a blind person’s cane. It’s always perceived as a threat. It always evokes a similar reaction each time. And things are not much different with humans too. A child that has often been beaten will instinctively wince and dodge when a hand is raised. Even if the intention is to stroke instead of slap, to hug instead of hit.

Although such reactions are understandable, they will often adversely affect one’s relationships. Consciously or not, one’s initial – and perhaps habitual – reaction to others will always be characterized by caution, since everyone is always perceived as a threat. Needless to say, misunderstandings are bound to occur. And piecemeal attempts at patching ruptured relationships will only go so far. What’s needed is a radical change in how one perceives reality as a whole – to realize that, as dangerous as this world is, not everyone is out to get us, not every would-be friend is a fiend in disguise; to learn to relax when appropriate, to let down one’s guard enough to allow healthy relationships to develop.

Perhaps something like is what Jesus is talking about in today’s gospel. New wine must be poured into fresh wineskins… For some reason, whether or not it is through abuse or trauma, some people have a warped image of God. Jesus understands that his presence and action must be a scandal – a stumbling block – to those whose view of God is that of a judgmental police officer – ever ready to spot and to punish the slightest deviation from the norm. The disciples of John the Baptist fast often… but yours eat and drink… He knows that no piecemeal explanation of his actions will be sufficient to convince them. No one tears a piece from a new cloak to patch an old one. What is needed is nothing less than a revolution in their perspective on God – that God is more like a loving Father than a finger-pointing judge. And this is a revolution that, through his life, death and resurrection, Jesus aims to bring about. Rather than merely patching tears and refilling tired wineskins, Jesus offers them, and us, a whole new garment and fresh skins overflowing with the Spirit.

For, as Paul tells the Corinthians in the first reading, this God of ours is the only One capable of judging rightly. It is only God who can truly search the obscure depths of the human heart. It is only God who can uncover the good that often seems so well hidden, even to ourselves. And isn’t it such a consolation that, no matter what others or we ourselves might think, when God does this, when God does finally manifest the motives of our hearts… everyone will receive praise?

But first we must be willing to allow our perceptions to change. We need to allow God to calm our fearful and all too judgmental hearts. On an ongoing basis, we need to experience the height and depth of God’s love, in the person of the crucified and risen Christ, as he comes to meet us in each passing moment of every passing day.

How might the Lord be offering us new cloaks and new wineskins today?

Wednesday in the 22nd Week of Ordinary Time
Memorial of St. Gregory the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church
Settling the Upset Stomach

Readings: 1 Corinthians 3:1-9; Psalms 33:12-13, 14-15, 20-21; Luke 4:38-44
Picture: CC Denise Soong

From time to time, even those of us with the strongest of constitutions experience a stomach upset. Whether it is caused by disagreeable cuisine, food poisoning, or something more serious, the condition affects our body’s ability to extract nourishment from all but the most easily digestible of foodstuffs. And, as long as it lasts, we often have no choice but to carefully watch what we eat. At least for a time, we may be reduced to a liquid diet, for example, or something simple (and bland) like rice porridge. And even though we could probably continue to survive on such a simple diet even after we’ve recovered, isn’t it true that many of us will look forward with great expectation to the time when we can, once again, enjoy more tasty fare – fish head curry, or beef rendang, or chili crab, for example?

Which is why it sometimes puzzles me that we don’t often experience the same cravings when it comes to spiritual nourishment. Isn’t it true that, as regards our spiritual diet, many of us seem only to be able to find sustenance in the most simple and obvious of sources? Finding God is a struggle for us, even in the most well-constructed and quietest of worship spaces, and during the most inspiring of liturgies, let alone the often chaotic situations of our daily lives? Could this be why many are increasingly finding themselves drawn towards more solemn liturgies – celebrations that tend to underscore the absolute transcendence of God?

This, in itself, is of course not a bad thing. I myself enjoy such celebrations. But isn’t it disturbing that there are those who tend to think – and to insist – that this is the only valid way of finding God, thus creating a bone of contention out of what should be a source of unity? Further, isn’t it also legitimate to examine the extent to which our participation in such celebrations helps us to continue finding God in the everyday? Isn’t it important that we learn to draw spiritual nourishment also from the more complex and diverse foods that God may choose to serve us outside of obviously sacred space and time? In the words of the first reading, shouldn’t we learn to appreciate more solid food? Shouldn’t this be the mark of a mature Christian?

But how do we do this? How do we get over the upset stomachs that prevent us from enjoying and drawing sustenance from more robust foods, and keep us at odds with one another? Perhaps what we need is what Peter’s mother-in-law received in today’s gospel. Perhaps we need the Lord himself to take us by the hand and to heal us of our infirmity, so that, like Jesus, we can find and serve God in the many and diverse situations and people that God may send our way.

How might God wish to settle our upset stomachs today?

Tuesday in the 22nd Week of Ordinary Time
Mind Reading

Readings: 1 Corinthians 2:10b-16; Psalms 145:8-9, 10-11, 12-13ab, 13cd-14; Luke 4:31-37
Picture: CC Hern Y

Since moving to this new place, I find it important frequently to remind myself to do something that doesn’t always come naturally, at least not to me. Ordinarily, I find myself too easily engrossed in my own concerns, rather oblivious to what is happening in the world around me. I believe the technical term for this condition is… blur. But, especially because I find myself in new surroundings and around unfamiliar people, I’ve been trying to pay more attention not just to what people say, but also to how they say it, not just to their speech, but also to their actions. How else to know what’s on their minds and in their hearts, except by learning to read what is expressed in word and deed?

Which is something useful to call to mind today, as our Mass readings present us with a contrast between realities beyond the material. In the first reading, Paul distinguishes between the spirit of the world and the spirit of Christ. And the gospel presents for our consideration the contrasting effects of the spirit of an unclean devil and the authority and power of Jesus. The lesson is quite clear: what should characterize us as Christians is the latter spirit, the latter authority and power, as opposed to the former. As Paul tells us, we are those who have the mind of Christ. But how are we to know if this is indeed the spirit that moves us in any given situation? How are others to tell what is in our minds and hearts? What is within us can only be determined externally by our words and our deeds.

Consider the effects of the spirit of the unclean devil on the possessed person in the gospel. Enslaved and oppressed by what is within him, the man in the synagogue speaks and acts as someone imprisoned by fear and anxiety, even when faced with the One who is just in all his ways. Have you come to destroy us? The overwhelming preoccupation of this person is with self-preservation and self-advancement.

In contrast, the spirit of God moves Jesus to do the very thing that we heard him preach about in yesterday’s gospel passage: proclaim liberty to captives… set the downtrodden free… Jesus’ preaching effectively casts out the unclean spirit from the possessed person. And the one who was oppressed is released. The one who was imprisoned is set free. Jesus’ preoccupation is with self-donation for the betterment of others.

Presented with this stark contrast between opposing spirits, do we not find ourselves drawn to pay careful attention to what we encounter daily in the world around us, to learn to distinguish the effects of the spirit of the world from the spirit of Christ? Do we not also find ourselves invited to discern carefully the spirits that are moving not just around, but also within us?

And is it not important for us also to consider what people see when they look carefully at us who bear the name of Christ, at what we say, surely, but also at what we do? Living as we are in a world teeming with the poor and the oppressed, the blind and the captive, to what extent are we preoccupied with self-donation rather that self-advancement?

If others were to read our minds by studying our deeds, what spirit would they discover?