Worth Playing For? (Rerun)

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Wisdom 9:13-18b; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14-17; Philemon 9-10, 12-17; Luke 14:25-33

Dear sisters and brothers, have you ever watched Survivor? Those who have will know that Survivor is a reality TV game-show, where a bunch of people happily bid farewell to family and friends, and allow themselves to be stranded for more than a month at some remote location. Where they are left to fend for themselves, with little more than the clothes on their backs. Not only do they have to construct their own shelters, and catch and cook their own food, they also have to compete with one another in physically-demanding and mentally-draining challenges, in an effort to keep from getting voted off the game. In the words of the show’s tagline, they have to outwit, outplay and outlast one another. It’s not a game for softies. As the days go by, and more and more of them get voted off, the remaining participants grow visibly thinner and thinner for lack of nourishment. Some get sick or injured. Others suffer emotional breakdowns. And all of this on national television.

Even so, despite the incredibly difficult conditions, there is no shortage of people eager to play. The show is already entering its 27th season! Why do people do it? The reason is quite obvious. Not only do they stand a chance of winning a million US dollars, players also attain instant celebrity status. Their suffering is not for nothing. Which is also something the show’s host, Jeff Probst, continually reminds the participants. At the start of each challenge, after having shown the players what they stand to win, Jeff always asks them the same question in three words: worth playing for? Is this prize worth giving up the company of family and friends for? Is this worth being exposed to the elements and starving yourself half to death for? In almost all cases, the survivors’ answer is yes. Yes, it is worth playing for.

And, like the survivors, we Christians also need continually to ask ourselves a similar question. For, if our Mass readings today are anything to go by, it would seem that the Christian life is not any less demanding than Survivor. As Jesus, our host in today’s gospel reading, tells us: If any man comes to me without hating his father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters, yes and his own life too, he cannot be my disciple. Anyone who does not carry his cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. The demand sounds blunt and uncompromising. The word hate is used to emphasise that in all situations, the Christian must act in such a way as to place the Lord first. Above even family and self. This is, of course, not an easy thing to do. Which is why, Jesus insists that those of us who wish to follow him need to examine our commitment. Like the survivors, we must continually ask ourselves the question, Is it worth playing for?

But, in order to answer this question, we need first to consider a little more closely–to appreciate a little better–the nature of this game we are playing. What exactly is it we are being asked to sacrifice? And for what reward? To begin with, notice how Jesus ends his speech in today’s gospel with a call to renunciation. None of you can be my disciple unless he gives up all his possessions. With this statement, Jesus helps us to understand what it means for a Christian to hate family and friends, and even his or her own life.

Could it be that what we are being called to hate–what we are being asked to give up–is not so much our family and our life as such, but rather our tendency to see and to treat everything and everybody, including our own lives, as mere possessions? As things that we own? Isn’t this what is happening, for example, when some spouses or siblings take each other for granted? When they ignore or neglect or mistreat one another? Or when some parents pressure their children to fulfil the parents’ own dreams? Overloading them with unreasonable expectations and unbearably heavy schedules and responsibilities? Or when grown children fight with one another over their inheritance? Tearing the family apart in the process? Or when individuals overwork themselves, for whatever reason? To the point of physical and emotional burnout? In such situations, and many more, aren’t people relating to one another, and to themselves, only in terms of possessions? Only as objects of ownership? As things to use and abuse?

Our readings help us to see what happens when this is done. When we relate to things and to people only as possessions, everything and everyone in our lives somehow turn into obstacles that prevent us from knowing and fulfilling God’s plan for us. Much like what the first reading tells us about our material existence: a perishable body presses down the soul, and this tent of clay weighs down the teeming mind, such that we are unable to know the intentions of God. Unable to divine the will of the Lord. Which is why, in order to seek and to fulfil God’s will for us, we must first be willing to give up our possessions. To allow God’s holy spirit from above to transform our relationships. So that they are no longer obstacles but pathways to God.

Isn’t this also what Paul is asking Philemon to do in the second reading? Writing from prison, Paul asks his friend to renounce his right of ownership over Philemon’s runaway slave Onesimus. Whom Paul had met in prison and converted to Christianity. According to Paul, if he is willing to do this, Philemon’s relationship with Onesimus will be transformed. Paul writes: I know you have been deprived of Onesimus for a time, but it was only so that you could have him back for ever, not as a slave any more, but something much better than a slave, a dear brother…. a blood-brother as well as a brother in the Lord. What Paul is asking Philemon to do is to renounce a material possession, in order to gain a heavenly relative. By giving up his claim of ownership over Onesimus, Philemon will be fulfilling God’s plan. He will be allowing the Holy Spirit to transform the obstacle of slavery into a pathway of love in the Lord. But, for this to happen, much depends upon whether or not Philemon is free enough to say yes. Like the players of Survivor, much depends upon how Philemon answers the question: Is this new relationship with Onesimus worth playing for?

It thus becomes clear, sisters and brothers, that the reward we Christians are playing for consists in the very things that we prayed for earlier in our opening prayer. You will recall that we asked God to enable us to receive true freedom and an everlasting inheritance. The inheritance that is ours as adopted sons and daughters of God. The inheritance that is the Kingdom of God, whose coming Jesus proclaimed. The Kingdom, in which all bonds of domination and ownership are transformed into relationships of love in the Lord. The Kingdom, where people are no longer sold into slavery.  No longer forced to leave family and friends, in order to find work as undocumented migrants in foreign lands. Under unsafe conditions. For less than a living wage. In this Kingdom, chemical weapons are no longer used on anyone, much less on innocent civilians. In this Kingdom, violence is no longer an option for the resolution of disputes. International or interpersonal. In this Kingdom, peace and justice prevails, because the love of God permeates everything, everyone, everywhere.

Sisters and brothers, there are many people who are willing to endure considerable suffering just for the chance of winning a million US dollars – before tax – and the title of Sole Survivor. Can we who call ourselves Christian do any less? Especially when what’s at stake is the Kingdom of God?

Sisters and brothers, in the concrete situations of our lives, as individuals and as church, God continues to invite us to make a choice for the Kingdom. So what do you think? Is it worth playing for today?

Super Ironwoman

Day 4 of Nativity Church Feast-Day Novena


I Believe in Jesus Christ, Incarnate of the Virgin Mary

Readings: 1 John 1:1-4; Psalm 97; John 1:9-14

Picture: The Real Singapore (Apple Daily)

Sisters and brothers, do you remember a woman by the name of Ms Louise Chow? Also known as Super Ironwoman? Do you remember who she is? And how she got that nickname? Her story was told in the news just a couple of weeks ago. According to the reports, Ms Chow was jogging one day along the waterfront of Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong, when she noticed a crowd of people watching a man who had fallen into the sea. As it turned out, the man was mentally unstable, and was trying to commit suicide. Now you may remember that this was also the time when Typhoon Utor was passing through Hong Kong. So the winds were very strong. Blowing at more than 100 km/h. And the waves were high. You can probably imagine what it looked and felt like. But, in spite of all that, Ms Chow did not hesitate. She interrupted her run, took off her shoes and socks, grabbed a life-buoy, dived into the choppy waters, and pulled the man to safety.

Sisters and brothers, don’t you think that was a very heroic thing to do? If it were me, I’m not sure whether I would have done the same... Actually… probably not. There were, after all, other people there at the scene. Perhaps some just walked away without a second thought. And maybe some others stood by and watched. Doing nothing. Except maybe exchanging comments with their friends, or just taking some photographs. And then, very likely, there were also some other people who may have tried to reach out and help. But only from afar. Only from the safety of the shore. What made Ms Chow stand out, was her willingness to jump straight into the dangerous waters. Again, I don’t know if that was a wise thing to do. But that was what she did. As a result, a man’s life was saved that day. And Ms Chow earned for herself the name Super Ironwoman.

Now you may be wondering, sisters and brothers, why I’m telling you this story. I do it because I think it can help us to understand a little better–to ponder a little more deeply on–the theme that you have chosen for this fourth day of your Novena in preparation for the parish feast. Today’s theme is the Incarnation. And, as you know, to incarnate literally means to put on flesh. The Incarnation has to do with God becoming a human being in Jesus Christ. That much we all know. But what does the Incarnation really mean to us and for us? What difference does it make in our lives? This is where the Super Ironwoman story can help us.

Why did Ms Chow dive into the dangerous waters of Victoria Harbour? She didn’t have to. She didn’t plan to. She could have chosen simply to continue jogging. Her action was a spontaneous response to an urgent situation. An emergency. A matter of life and death. She did it to save someone who was trying to take his own life. Isn’t this also something like what the Incarnation is for us? Isn’t this a little like why God decides to become flesh? To dive into the choppy waters of our human situation? God does this in order to rescue us from drowning. To save us from certain death. Even from committing suicide.

But some of us may object. Surely none of us here is drowning, right? None of us is trying to commit suicide. We’re all still very much alive. But are we? Really? What does it mean to be alive? Of course, we all know what it means biologically. We consider someone to be alive when the person is still breathing. When the heart is still pumping. When the brain is still thinking. And yet, we also know that we human beings are created by God for something more than mere biological life alone. We are meant for something greater. Something which our Mass readings call eternal life.

We have seen Eternal Life, the first reading tells us, and we bear witness, and we are telling you of it. But what is this Eternal Life? And how is it different from mere biological life? Jesus himself gives us the answer in John’s gospel (17:3). As he prays to his heavenly Father, Jesus says: this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. According to Jesus, eternal life is far more than just breathing lungs and beating heart and active brain. For Jesus, to have eternal life is to enter and to remain in a loving personal relationship with God. It is to put God first in one’s life. Anything less than this is less than eternal life.

Which, of course, immediately presents us with a problem. The same problem that we find in the gospel reading. Which tells us that although God was already in the world, the world did not know him. And since eternal life is to know God, then not to know God is somehow to die. And, worse still, to choose not to know God is to choose to die. To commit suicide. It is to decide, like that mentally unstable man in Hong Kong, to drown in our own ignorance of God. And isn’t it true, sisters and brothers, that many of us, if not all, have some experience of drowning in this way? Don’t I know what it feels like to put other things and other people in front of God? To drown in my greed, for example. My desire to accumulate more and more things. Like bigger houses. Or faster cars. Or richer friends... Or to drown in my worries and anxieties. My jealousies and resentments. My unwillingness to forgive those who may have hurt me. My lack of care and attention for those who may need my help. Especially those for whom I bear some responsibility. My parents. My children. My siblings. My neighbours. The poor.

Sisters and brothers, we all say that we believe God is everywhere. In every situation, and in every person. Yet, isn’t it true that many of us, myself included, often find it difficult to see and to recognise God. When things go well for me, I tend to forget all about God. And then, when things go badly, I look for God, but can’t seem to see where God might be hiding. I say I believe that God is everywhere, and yet I find it hard to see God present in the challenging situations I may encounter. Or the difficult people I may have to face. Sisters and brothers, isn’t it true that we all know the feeling of drowning in our own ignorance of God?

Fortunately for us, God responds to our drowning in the same surprising and heroic way as the Hong Kong Super Ironwoman. Of course, God can simply choose to walk away. Or to stand by and take pictures. Or to reach out to us only from afar. But God doesn’t do these things. God chooses instead to dive into our human situation. To put on flesh so that we can learn to recognise God. To hear God. To see God. To touch and feel God. This is what Jesus does for us. When we look carefully at his life. Especially as it is described in the Gospels. At the way he comes to be born as a helpless baby. Born in a manger because there was no room at the inn. At the way he grows up, humbly and quietly obedient to his parents (cf Luke 2:51). At the way he spends his adult life, tirelessly teaching people about his heavenly Father, and mercifully healing them of their illnesses. At the way he allows himself to be tortured, and put to death, and then raised to life again on the third day. When we carefully consider the life, death and resurrection of Christ, we finally come to know what God is like. We come to realise what is written in the first letter of John (4:16): that God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.

And that’s not all. As we grow in our relationship with Jesus, the Word made flesh, we also gradually learn to recognise him present to us and loving us in all the different situations and people in our lives. And not just to recognise, but also to respond. To respond to him in the same way that God responds to us. To respond as Ms Louise Chow did when she came across a fellow human being in need. Diving into the choppy and dangerous waters of their situation. And pulling them into the safety of God’s loving embrace.

Sisters and brothers, in the Incarnation, God becomes our Super Ironwoman. How is God diving into your life today?

Between Acting & Authenticity

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 3:19-21,30-31; Psalm 67:4-7,10-11; Hebrews 12:18-19,22-24; Luke 14:1,7-14

Picture: cc Cliff

Sisters and brothers, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Academy Awards right? More popularly known as the Oscars? Perhaps you’ve watched the award show on TV. You know what it looks like. You can recall the glitz and the glamour. You also know what the Oscars are for. You know that they are given every year to people who have distinguished themselves in the film industry. And one important way to distinguish yourself–though not the only way–is of course by being a good actor. The Oscars are, among other things, an acting award.

They honour celebrities. People who have become famous for their extraordinary talent at pretending to be someone they are not. Their ability to assume a personality other than their own. To put on a mask, as it were, whenever they wish. To appear happy, when they’re actually feeling sad. Or friendly, when irritated. Or interested, when they really couldn’t care less. This is what the Oscars do. They honour those who can act. And it’s not only the Oscars that do this. We also have the Emmys for TV. The Tonys for theatre. The Golden Horse in Taiwan. Our own Star Awards... And then, of course, we also have, on a much smaller scale, the unofficial, nameless performing awards. Those prizes that are presented, from time to time, to actors of a different sort. As when someone in the office gets promoted, not because he’s a particularly good worker, but simply because he has a talent for telling the boss whatever s/he wants to hear.

Now, I hope you don’t get the wrong idea, sisters and brothers. I have nothing against the Oscars. Or against acting, for that matter. In fact, I’m not ashamed to admit that watching movies is one of my favourite pastimes. The reason why I mention the Oscars is not because I wish to criticise them, but because I think they can help us to uncover one way in which we may very easily misunderstand what our Mass readings are actually telling us today. As you’ve probably already noticed, our readings speak to us about the importance of being humble. The greater you are, the first reading tells us, the more you should behave humbly, and then you will find favour with the Lord. In other words, be humble and God will reward you. That much is clear. What is less clear, however, is what it really means to be humble. What true humility really looks like.

At first glance, it seems that humility looks a lot like play-acting. That to be a really humble person is to be nothing more than a good actor. Isn’t this what we seem to find in the story told by Jesus in the gospel? Why should I first take the lowest–the least honourable–place at a wedding feast? Is it because I think that’s where I truly belong? No. I take the lowest place, only because I hope to be promoted by my host. And not just promoted, but promoted in front of all the other guests. In my heart of hearts I actually want to occupy a higher place. If possible, even the highest. But I only pretend that I want the lowest one. So that I can be rewarded. Sisters and brothers, if this is what being humble looks like, then isn’t humility no different from acting? And isn’t the wedding feast in the story very much like the Oscars? An award ceremony for great pretenders? A celebration of those with a talent for appearing to be someone they’re not?

Sisters and brothers, I think we can trust our instincts if we feel uneasy with this interpretation. If we somehow find ourselves unable to escape the nagging feeling that humility shouldn’t look like this. After all, why should I pretend to be less than I really am? Shouldn’t I be true to myself? And is God really not much different from an award presenter at the Oscars? Can the God of Truth actually be a reward-er of pretense? Surely we have gone wrong somewhere. And perhaps where we’ve gone wrong is to take the story that Jesus tells too literally. We have forgotten that the story is meant to be, not a piece of practical advice for celebrities attending an award ceremony, but a parable. Jesus’ primary concern is not really our conduct at any ordinary wedding feast, as important as that may be. What Jesus is talking about is another great event. The very same wonderful occasion so vividly described for us in the second reading.

What you have come to, the reading tells us, is Mount Zion and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem where the millions of angels have gathered for the festival. We have come not to any ordinary place. Not even to an annual award ceremony. But to God himself. And in this divine place, at this heavenly event, we are no longer simply guests hoping to be honoured at someone else’s celebration. Nor are we celebrities participating at some media-saturated extravaganza. For here at this festival, everyone is a ‘first-born son’ and a citizen of heaven. Here we truly belong. This is our party.

And what’s more important is how we obtain this status. Not through any merit of our own. Not because we are particularly talented or capable. Or rich or righteous. We have made it here only because of Jesus. He is the mediator who brings a new covenant and a blood for purification which pleads more insistently than Abel’s. If we have been found worthy to be present at this event, it is only because God has shown us boundless mercy. If we have been found fit to participate in these festivities, it is only because we have first been purified by the blood of the Lamb. So that what we celebrate is not our own achievement, but God’s generosity. Not our talent, but God’s mercy. The responsorial psalm puts it well when it teaches us joyfully to exclaim, in your goodness, O God, you prepared a home for the poor. Truly, this is what God has done and is doing for us. Indeed, we are the poor. Poor at least in spiritual merit, if not in material resource. For without Christ and his Cross, we would all be lost. Cast out in the darkness. Far away from home.

If all this is true, then what we find in our readings looks less like an award ceremony for the rich and famous than it does a soup kitchen for the hungry and homeless. Less like a gathering of publicity-craving celebrities than an assembly of those being fed on the broken body of the crucified and risen Christ. Those who have finally come to accept their own poverty. Their own inability to save themselves. However hard they may try. Isn’t this what humility really looks like? Not pretense. But truth. Not manipulation and competition. But openness to receive what we would otherwise be incapable of attaining for ourselves. Isn’t this what humility really means? Not acting, but authenticity? Not an award ceremony, but a celebration of the hospitality and mercy of God.

And isn’t this also what we are celebrating here today? The feeding of our deepest hunger. The quenching of our most urgent thirst. A feeding and a quenching that we can only truly experience to the extent that we are willing first to accept our own poverty in the sight of God. And doesn’t this also help us to understand why it is only proper that Jesus should expect us to reach out a caring and helping hand to those who are unable to repay us? To the aged and the sick. To the hungry and the homeless. To the lonely and the depressed… We show hospitality to others without expectation of return, because this is precisely what we have first received from God.

Humility is more about authenticity than acting. And the spiritual life is more of a celebration of God’s hospitality than it is an award ceremony. Sisters and brothers, in our lives as individuals and as church, what more can we do to go beyond the Oscars today?

Spotting the Right Question

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 66:18-21; Psalm 116:1-2; Hebrews 12:5-7,11-13; Luke 13:22-30

Picture: cc Naina Redhu

Sisters and brothers, imagine for a moment that you were a student preparing for a major examination. Maybe the ‘A’ or ‘O’ or ‘N’ levels. And imagine also that there was just too much material and too little time for you to study everything. What do you do? Well, very likely, you do what many students do. Instead of studying everything, you choose to focus on certain topics more than others. You try to make an educated guess as to what is more likely to be tested that year. You take a calculated risk. And, to help you to do this, you study closely the questions that were set in earlier years. You study the trend. You try to spot the right questions.

If done well, with the proper guidance, this kind of gamble usually pays off. At least some of the questions you’ve prepared will indeed be asked in the exam. And you end up doing much better than if you had tried to study everything. But then, sadly, there are also some students who, for one reason or other, end up spotting the wrong questions. Imagine for a moment that you were one of these students. You’ve prepared hard to answer a certain number of chosen questions. You enter the exam hall. You open the exam booklet. And, to your horror, none of the questions in the booklet are the ones you’ve studied. Imagine for a moment, what would be going through your mind and heart. Imagine the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. The sense of dread and despair. The feeling of wasted efforts. The terrible realisation, that you could have passed this examination, if only you had studied different topics. If only you’d chosen the right questions. But you didn’t. You spotted the wrong ones instead...

Not a pleasant feeling. Not an experience anyone would want to have. Or even to wish upon someone else. And yet, isn’t this very much like how the people are probably feeling in our gospel reading for today? In a sense, they too are undergoing a major examination. The mother of all examinations. Not just the ‘A’ or ‘O’ levels. But the test that determines who will be saved. The entrance examination for eternal life itself. And the reading makes it clear that this examination is decided on a single criterion. Notice what the master of the house says to those who knock on the door: I do not know where you come from. Which is another way of saying, I do not know you.  Quite clearly, entrance into eternal life is determined by how well the candidates know and are known by the master of the house, the Chief Examiner himself.

But how does one demonstrate this knowledge? What question or questions does one need to answer? Quite clearly, the people in the gospel have spotted certain questions. They have prepared certain answers. We once ate and drank in your company, they say, you taught in our streets. In other words, for these people, knowledge of the Chief Examiner is judged mainly by proximity. By having occupied and shared the same social and geographical spaces as the Chief Examiner. Perhaps they even pride themselves in being members of the same race or country as the Chief Examiner. But, to their shock and horror, these are not the questions that are being asked of them. Entrance to the kingdom does not depend on proximity. At least not the kind on which they rely. Nor does it depend on race or nationality. For, as we find in the first reading, God’s desire is to gather people from all nations. People from places far and wide. Even and especially foreigners. Those who do not belong to the Jewish race. I am coming to gather the nations of every language, says the Lord. And not only is the Lord gathering foreigners. God promises even to make some of these foreigners into priests and Levites. People chosen to help others come closer to God.

So if neither physical nor social proximity, if neither racial nor national identity gains one entrance into eternal life, then what does? How does one come to know and be known by the Chief Examiner? What question or questions does one need to study in order to show that one has acquired this knowledge? Try your best to enter by the narrow door, Jesus says. But what is this narrow door? The answer is not difficult to find. We discover it by recalling the experience of Jesus our Lord. He came for one reason. To lead us all through the Doorway of eternal life. And when we consider the Way that Jesus himself walked, we begin to see that although it may be hard to enter this narrow door, it is not difficult to spot it when we come across it. The door is easy to recognise, because it has a very distinctive shape. It bears the shape of the Cross.

To enter through the narrow door is to follow Jesus in walking the Way of the Cross. Which is also the Way of Love. It is to try continually to respond always in a loving way to the different challenges, the various trials and tribulations, that the world may place in our path. Forgiving those who hurt us... Trying to work for the good of others and not just ourselves... Ultimately, seeking to do only what God desires of us. This is what Jesus did. Jesus who humbled himself to become the Suffering Servant of all. Jesus who laid down his life for his friends. And it is not easy to do this. This is not usually our first response to challenging situations. It takes time and effort to learn it. To acquire it.

Thankfully, however, we do not have to do it alone. As the second reading reminds us, God trains us as a Father trains his sons and daughters. God trains us precisely by allowing us, from time to time, to undergo suffering. Suffering is part of your training, the reading tells us. God is treating you as his sons. So that when we do encounter trials in life, we are to try our best not to be discouraged. Not to give up. Rather, we are to try courageously to hold up our limp arms and steady our trembling knees and smooth out the path we tread. To look to Christ Jesus for strength and inspiration. For this is how we come to know our crucified and risen Lord and to be known by Him. This is part of our training. A crucial part of the preparation that helps us to pass the examination with flying colours. For it is intimacy, and not mere proximity, that gains us entrance into eternal life.

Sisters and brothers, it is of course no longer possible for us to share exactly the same physical and social spaces that Jesus of Nazareth occupied more than two thousand years ago. Nor is it likely that there are any Jews among us this morning. And yet, isn’t it true that it remains quite easy for us to assume too quickly that we already know the Lord? And are known by him? Just because we come and occupy a seat here every week? Isn’t it all too easy for us to think that simply by coming to Mass every Sunday we are already preparing adequately for entrance into eternal life? Don’t we sometimes think that repeated entrance through the wide doors of this church will automatically gain for us admittance through the narrow gate of God’s kingdom? And yet, how many of us are truly able to see and to make the connections between our comfortable presence here at Mass on a Sunday with the challenges that we may have to face over the course of the rest of the week? Or with the discomfort that others around us may be experiencing. The poor. The sick. The aged. The homeless. The depressed... What can we do, what must we do, to learn to better recognise and to respond ever more generously to the Lord? Who continually chooses to come to us in the difficult situations and the troubled people we may encounter when we leave this place? What are we doing to come to know and to be known by Christ ever more intimately?

Sisters and brothers, the knowledge that we need to excel in the Great Examination of eternal life has already been revealed to us. But are we really spotting the right questions today?

Sayang

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)


Readings: Ecclesiastes 1:2,2:21-23; Psalm 89:3-6,12-14,17; Colossians 3:1-5,9-11; Luke 12:13-21

Picture: cc sue ssh

Sisters and brothers, do you speak Malay? I don’t. But, for some reason, I’m reminded today of a Malay word. It’s a word that I’m quite sure many of us are familiar with. It’s the word sayang. You’ve heard it before. You know what it means. The word is, after all, part of the title of a very famous Malay folk song. We’ve all heard of Rasa Sayang. So what does sayang mean? If I’m not wrong, when used as a noun, sayang is a term of endearment. It means something like darling or sweetheart. And, when used as a verb, the word means to love, or to show affection. Even to kiss. You probably already know this, but according to Wikipedia–and I’m not sure how accurate this is–the literal English translation of Rasa Sayang is I’ve got that loving feeling! So the word sayang has something to do with love and intimacy. With warmth and affection. With familiarity and relationship…

But not always.

As some of you may know, the word sayang actually has another meaning. A very different meaning. A meaning that, I believe, is very similar to that of the same word in Filipino. When used with this meaning in mind, the word is often uttered with a sigh and a shake of the head. As in (sigh) sayang lah! Which means something like, what a waste! Or what a pity! And I imagine this is what might be said, for example, by someone who, for some time, has been eyeing a very attractive and highly eligible young man, or young woman. And who suddenly discovers that that particular person has already tied the knot with someone else. Maybe someone who’s not even that good looking. Or that rich and successful. (Sigh) sayang lah! What a waste! What a pity!

But why, sisters and brothers, you may be wondering, are we discussing Malay vocabulary when we really should be meditating on the scriptures? The answer is quite simple. It seems to me that our Mass readings for today are really located somewhere in between these two meanings of the Malay word sayang. Or, to be more exact, I think that what our Mass readings help us to do is to move from one meaning to the other.

Consider what we find in the first reading today. Vanity of vanities, the preacher says. According to scripture commentators, in Hebrew, the word translated in English as vanity can also mean something like breath or vapour. In the first reading, the word is used to refer to the experience of someone who has worked very hard, very successfully, and accumulated much wealth. But, at the point of death, this person has to leave all possessions to someone else. For when one passes through the gates of death, all those material possessions, painstakingly accumulated over the years, are like the breath that passes through our nostrils. They slip through our fingers. There’s just no way for us to  hold on to them. No way for us to bring them along with us when we pass from this life to the next. Vanity of vanities. All is breath. All is vapour. Or, if the preacher were a Malay, we could very well imagine him saying, with a deep sigh and a sad shake of his head, (sigh) sayang lah! What a waste! What a pity!

And don’t we find something similar in the gospel? Here, Jesus warns us about the dangers of avarice. About the foolishness of striving constantly to accumulate material wealth, thinking that what is accumulated will actually make us secure. This is how the rich and successful man in Jesus’ parable thinks. But the Lord points out that no amount of money, or property, or financial investments, or business contacts can enable a person, any person, to escape the jaws of death. We all have to die. And then what becomes of all those things we have accumulated? Again, vanity of vanities. All is breath. All is vapour. What a waste! What a pity! (Sigh) sayang lah!

But the good news is that it doesn’t have to be this way. At the point of our death, when we look back on our lives, we don’t necessary have to be filled with regret. We are not all condemned to shake our heads, and to sigh, and say (sigh) sayang lah! According to Jesus, this particular reaction is not the fate of everyone. It is reserved only for a certain kind of person. The kind of person whom the Lord describes as one who stores up treasure for himself in place of making himself rich in the sight of God.

Storing up treasure for oneself versus making oneself rich in the sight of God. Here, sisters and brothers, we find the way out. Here, we find the means to avoid being filled with regret when we reach the end of our earthly life. What we need to do–what our readings are proposing to us–is to move. To move from selfishness to charity. From greed to compassion. Instead of simply working and accumulating wealth for ourselves and for our immediate family, or even for our country–as important as all that may be–we are called also to spare a thought for others. Especially for those who are most in need our help. Whether materially or otherwise. Those who are, in some way, entrusted to our care. It is in reaching out to help them, that we actually make ourselves rich in the sight of God.

The second reading describes this same shift in at least two ways. It speaks of the need to kill and to cultivate. To strip off and to put on. What we need to kill, what we need to strip off, is the kind of life that is centred only on the self and on all its superficial cravings. The self, who seeks gratification and security only in passing things. Only in vanity and in vapour. The self who, at the point of death, will have no choice but to look back on its life and see only a wasted opportunity. (Sigh) sayang lah!

In contrast, what we need to cultivate, what we need to put on, is a different kind of life, a different kind of self. A life and a self that we do not really build for ourselves. But rather, a life and a self that we receive from Christ. By gradually, and continually, allowing Him to be the centre of our earthly existence. By living according to His concerns. According to His values. Mercy and compassion. Forgiveness and love. Values and concerns that do not pass away. But that endure for all eternity.

This then is the movement that we are all called, by virtue of our baptism, to make. Not just from selfishness to charity. Or from greed to compassion. But, really, ultimately, a movement from being wrapped up only in ourselves to being engulfed in the warm embrace of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. The same embrace that we are celebrating at this Mass. It is this movement that will make all the difference for us when we die. At the point of our death, after having cultivated, through prayer and good works, an ever deepening relationship with Christ, we will no longer have to look back on our life and say regretfully, with a sigh and a shake of the head, (sigh) sayang lah! But rather, with a joyful smile, and a warm embrace, and perhaps even a kiss, we will be saying to the Lord, Rasa sayang! I’ve got that loving feeling! It’s so good to be home!

Sisters and brothers, the word sayang really has two very different meanings. At the point of death, which meaning would you rather be using? And what do you need to do to move from one meaning to the other today?