Sustainable Energy

5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 6:1-2,3-8; Psalm 137:1-5,7-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Video: YouTube Sung Wing Chun

My dear friends, are you familiar with the term sustainable energy? I’m sure you are, right? It refers to power drawn from sources that are both renewable and clean. Sources like the sun and the wind, for example. In contrast, fossil fuels, like oil and coal and natural gas, are unsustainable. Not only will they eventually run out, they also tend to pollute the environment. As you know, we use all these forms of energy to power our machines. But what about ourselves? Is there such a thing as sustainable energy for the human body? What do you think?

I recently came across a YouTube video that seems to suggest there is. In the video, someone named Chu Shong Tin, a now deceased martial artist from Hong Kong, a master of Wing Chun kungfu, speaks about how his teaching methods have evolved over the years. Earlier, he had focused on training students in the technique of pushing hands. However, he found that, while his students made good progress, they fell short in one significant way. Although most of them were much younger and physically stronger than him, they all tired out much faster. Eventually, Master Chu realised that, whereas his students relied on muscular strength, which didn’t last, his own energy came from a different source. And it was this mysterious inner power that he then tried to help his students access. We may say that he taught them to use a more sustainable form of energy.

But even if there is such a thing as sustainable energy in the martial arts, could there something similar in the spiritual life? A form of energy that is both renewable and clean? And, if so, how do we tap into it? I believe these, my dear friends, are the questions that our readings invite us to ponder today. They do this by offering us three examples. That of Isaiah in the first reading, of Paul in the second, and Peter in the gospel. And, in each of these examples, we see three distinct steps in the process of tapping into sustainable spiritual energy. Three key moments for gaining access to grace.

The first step is taken not so much by us as by God. It is the step of encounter. In the first reading, Isaiah has a spectacular vision of the Lord seated on a high throne, surrounded by a multitude of heavenly beings. In the second reading, Paul writes about how the crucified and risen Jesus appeared not only to the Twelve, but also to Paul himself. Paul is, of course, speaking about his experience of being struck down on the road to Damascus. In the gospel, out of all the seagoing vessels parked by the lakeside, Jesus chooses to board Peter’s boat. Which he uses first as a pulpit for preaching the gospel to the crowd, and then as a stage for demonstrating to Peter the power of God.

Isaiah, Paul and Peter. Three unsuspecting people, who each encounter the Lord. And although the exact details may be different, there are some important similarities. For example, all three have their lives disrupted in a significant way. In a way that demands from them a response, which each one feels painfully inadequate to make. Isaiah protests his own polluted state. I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips. Paul too is deeply aware of his own unworthiness. Since I persecuted the Church of God, I hardly deserve the name apostle. And Peter is moved to say to Jesus, Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man. If sustainable energy is, by definition, renewable and clean, then perhaps these protests are signs that the energy these men had relied on before was unsustainable.

Thankfully, however, the first moment of encounter soon leads to a second, and much needed, moment of empowerment. Like that old martial artist in the video, God helps each person to tap into a different and more sustainable source of power. An angel cleanses Isaiah’s lips with a live coal taken from the heavenly altar. Paul speaks of bearing fruit, not only by his own hard work, but by God’s grace. And Jesus tells Peter not to be afraid, for he and his companions will be given the ability not just to catch fish, but to gather people into the kingdom of God.

Encounter leading to empowerment. These are the first two moments of grace. But, on their own, they are still incomplete. A third is needed. We see this perhaps most clearly in the second reading, which begins with Paul speaking about the gospel not only as something that the Corinthians have received, but also as something in which they are firmly established. Unlike the martial arts, the power of the good news, the sustainable spiritual energy of grace, from which Paul himself draws, is not just something to be used only on special occasions, for performing certain specific functions, and then to be carefully stored away.

On the contrary, the grace of God is meant to be something on which one relies for the whole of one’s life, in all its aspects. Isn’t this what we find already in the opening prayer that we offered earlier? There, we spoke about relying solely on the hope of heavenly grace. Relying on grace not just in addition to other forms of power. And not just for performing certain religious actions at certain specified times. Not just at Mass on a Sunday, for example. But to rely on grace solely. At all times, and for all actions. To be firmly established on grace. We see this also in the first reading, where, after receiving his call, Isaiah ends up devoting his whole life to being God’s messenger. Here I am, send me. And, in the gospel, we’re told that Peter and his companions left everything and followed Jesus. They gave up their reliance on unsustainable sources of energy, and gradually reestablished their whole lives solely on grace.

Encounter, empowerment, and establishment. Three important steps for converting from a reliance on ourselves to a dependence on God. And are these not steps that we all need to take especially today? When so many of us find ourselves tired and stressed out? So often on the verge of burnout? Struggling to find meaning and purpose in the face of the many oppressive demands of daily life. Drawing from dubious sources of energy, like guilt and shame, or greed and envy, or anger and resentment, or loneliness and boredom. Energies that are not only easily exhausted, but that also tend to pollute our lives, and compromise our relationships, even in our own families.

And yet, in the midst of all this, God continues to call us, as God called Isaiah and Peter and Paul. God continues to call us to establish our lives on the sustainable energy that is the love of God shown most clearly in the Dying and Rising of Christ. The same love that we are gathered at this Eucharist to celebrate. To rely solely on the grace of God’s love. Isn’t this our true vocation as followers of Christ?

Sisters and brothers, despite notable exceptions, many countries and large companies around the world are taking steps to shift to more sustainable sources of energy. What must we do, you and I, to respond more generously to God’s call to us to do the same in our spiritual life today?

The Power(lessness) of Love

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Jeremiah 1:4-5,17-19; Psalm 70:1-6,15,17; 1 Corinthians 12:31-13:13; Luke 4:21-30

Video: YouTube BonnieRaittVEVO

My dear friends, what do you think? Is love powerful or powerless? I’m sure many of us have heard songs about the power of love, right? But do you know any songs that sing about love’s powerlessness? Are you familiar, for example, with these words from a love song released in 1991?

'Cause I can't make you love me if you don’t.

You can't make your heart feel something it won’t.

Here in the dark, in these final hours,

I will lay down my heart, and I'll feel the power.

But you won’t. No, you won’t.

'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don’t.

These words are sung by someone who realises, painfully, that the one she loves doesn’t love her back. And one striking thing about the song is how it shows love to be both powerful and powerless at the same time. On the one hand, her love for the beloved gives the singer the power to lay down my heart, even when her partner doesn’t do the same. And yet, on the other hand, she is also pitifully powerless. ‘Cause I can’t make you love me, if you don’t… I can’t make you love me. That’s the title of this sad but beautiful song about the powerlessness of love.

Yes, it’s true, isn’t it, my dear friends? Love is often both powerful and powerless at the same time. This is also what we find in our readings today. In the first reading, we’re told that the word of the Lord was addressed to the prophet Jeremiah. And this word is at once a word of love and a word of power. For God tells Jeremiah that, even from his mother’s womb, God has lovingly known him and formed him, consecrated him and appointed him as prophet to the nations. This call, this vocation, gives Jeremiah power to speak courageously in the name of God. To confront all this land of Judah, its leaders and its people, even when they offer him stiff resistance and cruel persecution. They will fight against you but shall not overcome you, for I am with you to deliver you. This, my dear friends, is the power of love.

And yet, although Jeremiah speaks in the power of God’s loving word, his ministry is also marked by powerlessness. For, however hard he tries, and however loudly he cries, Jeremiah fails to turn the people’s hearts back to God. Like the singer of that sad song, he is unable to make the people love the One who loved them first. I can’t make you love me, if you don’t.

And what is true of Jeremiah is true also of Jesus. Of course, we know that Jesus is more than just a prophet speaking God’s word. As John’s gospel tells us, Jesus is himself the Word of God made flesh for us. And, as Word of God, who is Love, Jesus wields great power. He is able to win the approval of the people in the synagogue by the gracious words that came from his lips. He is able even to escape the crowd, when it turns hostile, and tries to corner him and kill him.

And yet, powerful though he may be, in the gospel, Jesus also shows a mysterious powerlessness. For although he has worked great miracles in Capernaum, he doesn’t seem able to do the same in Nazareth, his own hometown. For he says that no prophet is ever accepted in his own country. Like Jeremiah the prophet, and like the singer of that sad song, Jesus seems unable to make people love the One who loved them first. I can’t make you love me, if you don’t.

Like that sad song, the experiences of Jeremiah and Jesus show us that love is often both powerful and powerless at the same time. But that’s not all, my dear friends. The Scriptures actually show us something even deeper about true love, about God’s love. For although, in the gospel, Jesus amazes us by miraculously escaping those who want to kill him, this is not the full extent of his power. Further on in the story, Jesus will show an even greater power than this. Do you know how he does it? Not by escaping those who want to kill him, but instead by humbly submitting himself to them in love. 

For the amazing thing about God’s love is not just that it is both powerful and powerless at the same time. But, even more than that, God’s love actually shows its power most clearly, most wonderfully, most effectively, precisely in its powerlessness. Isn’t this what we find in the second reading as well. Which describes love as being always patient and kind… never jealous… never boastful or conceited… never rude or selfish… The power of love is shown most of all in its powerlessness. In its ability to remain patient and kind, even unto death. Death on a cross.

And, if this is true, then perhaps, unlike the singer of that sad song, Jesus does actually have a mysterious power to make me love him, even when I don’t. Even when I find it difficult to be patient and kind. Even when I find it difficult not to be jealous, or boastful, or conceited… Difficult to truly lay down my heart for love of God and of my neighbour, my family, my colleagues, my friends, and even my enemies. When I find myself becoming more selfish than selfless, more indifferent than loving, perhaps what I need to do is to again gaze upon the Crucified One, who shows his love for me by humbly hanging on a cross. Isn’t this why we take the trouble to gather to celebrate Mass every Sunday? So that we may remember Christ’s loving sacrifice for us, and draw power from his utter powerlessness. So that I may be made to love him, whom I so often do not love enough.

‘Cause I can’t make you love me, if you don’t.

You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.

Sisters and brothers, what must we do to allow the powerless One to give us power to love him even more than we do today?

Both In Name & In Fact

Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord

Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 71(72):1-2,7-8,10-13; Ephesians 3:2-3,5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

Picture: cc Choo Yut Sing

My dear friends, if you were to walk past a house with the image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus proudly displayed above the front door, what will you think? If you’re like me, you’ll probably conclude that the family living there is Catholic. And, very likely, you’ll be right. But what if you then have the opportunity to spend some time in that house? To get to know its occupants? And you discover, to your surprise, that they all hate one another. Can’t stand the sight of each other. What will you think then? Perhaps much as you’ll try your best not to judge, you may wonder sadly to yourself why this family is Catholic only in name, but not in fact? For, as we all know, being Catholic requires more of us than simply putting up the right decorations above our front door. To be truly Catholic, both in name and in fact, we need also to live the way Christ lived. Or at least to try our best to do so.

But if this is true of being Catholic, then what about celebrating Christmas? As you know, the Christmas decorations along Orchard Road this year were criticised for being too secular. For focusing too much on Disney characters, and neglecting the birth of Christ. And perhaps this is true. I must confess that I didn’t get a chance to see those decorations for myself. So I can’t judge. But doesn’t this critique invite us then to ask an important question? If the decorations along Orchard Road reflect a secular Christmas, then what does a sacred Christmas look like? Is it only a matter of displaying a different set of decorations?

I believe our Mass readings help us to ponder this question, and so to deepen our celebration of the coming of Christ. To see this, we need to first consider who King Herod is. To remember that he actually holds a title. The title of King of the Jews. King of the Chosen People of God. And, as the gospel demonstrates, as king, Herod has access to considerable religious knowledge. He is able to consult the experts of the Jewish religion, in order to find out where the Christ-child is likely to be found. So that, if Christmas has to do only with having the right name, holding the right title, or putting up the right decorations, then surely King Herod can be expected to have a sacred Christmas.

And yet, this is not what we find in our readings. For they show us that Herod’s response to the coming of the Light is perhaps far more secular than sacred. We see this when we contrast his response to that of others. In the first reading, the city of Jerusalem is encouraged to arise, and to shine out. For not only is the glory of the Lord shining upon her, but all the foreign nations will stream to that light. And Jerusalem is expected to respond in a particular way. She is told that at this sight, you will grow radiant, your heart throbbing and full. In other words, she will be filled with joy and delight. This is what a sacred Christmas looks like. People delighting to welcome strangers among them.

In contrast, Herod’s reaction to the coming of the wise men from a foreign land is the exact opposite. He is feels threatened by them and the news they bring of the birth of a new King of the Jews. And his heart is filled with dread. Dread instead of delight. For Herod, this is what a secular Christmas looks and feels like.

And this dread that Herod feels leads him to respond in what might perhaps be seen as another secular way. In contrast to the wise men, who are willing to travel a long distance, and even to humbly seek the advice of foreign experts, in order to find and to pay homage to the newborn king, Herod wants only to locate the baby in order to kill it. This is a second contrast that we find in our readings. The wise men want to pay homage. To offer humble worship. Herod wishes to commit homicide.

Which brings us to a third helpful contrast. This time between Herod and St Paul. In the second reading, Paul tells the Ephesians that he has received a grace from God: The mystery of God’s love revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. And this precious grace, this great mystery, is meant not just for Paul, but for everyone. Even foreigners. For pagans now share the same inheritance… they are parts of the same body… the same promise has been made to them, in Jesus Christ… Here we find a third characteristic of a sacred Christmas. Not only is Christmas about being filled with delight, not only should it lead us to pay homage to Christ ourselves, it should also make us willing to share God’s gifts with others. As Paul does. As the wise men do. And as Jerusalem is expected to do too. In sharp contrast, because of his dread, which makes him willing to kill, in order to protect his own privileged status, Herod’s aim is not to share God’s light with others, but to smother it.

Delight versus dread. Homage versus homicide. Sharing versus smothering. This is what a truly sacred Christmas is supposed to look like. And if all this is true, then it becomes clear that it’s not enough for us simply to put up the right decorations at Christmas. We need also to engage in the right practices. The better to welcome the newborn King into our hearts, into our lives, and into our world. For by this everyone will know that we are his disciples, if we have love for one another (cf John 13:35).

Sisters and brothers, what are you doing to celebrate a sacred Christmas, not just in name, but also in fact, today?

Want to BTO?

The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, & Joseph (C)

Readings: 1 Samuel 1:20-22,24-28; Psalm 83(84):2-3,5-6,9-10; 1 John 3:1-2,21-24; Luke 2:41-52

Picture: cc Choo Yut Shing

My dear friends, do you know what it means when a young man suddenly turns to his girlfriend one day and says, Want to BTO? This is, of course, the common Singaporean version of a marriage proposal. B-T-O, as you know, stands for build-to-order, the name of a system used by the Housing Development Board, or HDB, to allocate its apartments. To BTO is simply to apply for a HDB flat together. A flat that is built only when enough orders have been placed. B-T-O. Build-to-order. For many couples in Singapore, this is the first step towards starting a new family.

Now I’m sure we can all agree that this very pragmatic approach to proposing marriage is also highly unromantic. And yet, which of us would be so ignorant as to frown upon those who choose it? No. Most of us can understand the practical necessity that justifies this approach to starting a family. We know that, in most cases, the matrimonial home is a family’s single most valuable material possession. So it’s quite natural, even highly commendable, that great care should be taken to secure it first. To ensure that the family has a place to call home.

But if this is true of a family’s material wellbeing, can we not say the same about its spiritual health? Its holiness? Is it not just as important, if not even more so, that a family should also have a good spiritual home to call its own? But what does such a place look like? And how does a family come to occupy it? These are the questions that our prayers and readings help us to ponder, as we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family.

Actually, the words of the opening prayer that we offered earlier, already give us an indication of where a holy family should find its spiritual home. As you will recall, we asked God to grant that we may, in the joy of your house, delight one day in eternal rewards. In other words, we asked to live in God’s house. And in our readings too, as you’ve probably already noticed, we find repeated references to God’s house. They are happy who dwell in your house, O Lord. This is what we sang in response to the psalm. But what does it mean? Where exactly is God’s house?

For Hannah, in the first reading, the answer is clear. God’s house is the place where God lives among God’s people. A place that has a very specific physical location. It is found in the Temple at Shiloh. Where Hannah’s family goes on an annual pilgrimage, to offer sacrifice to God. Which is why, even though she loves her Samuel very much, Hannah is willing to leave her only son at the Temple, soon after he has been weaned, to live there for the rest of his life. In addition to expressing her gratitude to God, Hannah probably also wants her son to, quite literally, live in God’s house, all the days of his life. And so to become holy.

There is an obvious parallel between the experience of Samuel and Hannah in the first reading, and that of the boy Jesus and his parents in the gospel. Here too, the action centres around the Temple, the house of God. Now no longer located at Shiloh, but in Jerusalem. And, here too, we see a child remaining in the Temple. Although, this time, the initiative comes from the child himself. Did you not know, Jesus asks his poor parents, that I must be busy with my Father’s affairs? Or, in another translation, Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?

Clearly then, according to our Mass texts, for a family to be holy, it needs to make its home in God’s house. But where exactly is God’s house to be found today? If we were to stop our reflection at this point, it would seem that God’s house is limited only to specific physical locations. Such as the Temple at Shiloh and in Jerusalem. Or perhaps even this church. Aren’t churches like ours also sometimes referred to as God’s house? But if that were the case, wouldn’t it mean that all our families will have to move into the church if we want to be holy?

Thankfully, that is not the case. For although Jesus loses himself in the Temple for some days, unlike Samuel, he doesn’t remain there for the rest of his life. The gospel tells us that he eventually returns to Nazareth with his parents, and lives under their authority… And yet, even though Jesus, Mary, and Joseph do not live in the Temple, we are still expected to believe that they remain in God’s presence. They make God’s house their spiritual home. This is what makes them a Holy Family. But how do they do this? And how do we imitate them?

The second reading gives us the answer, when it tells us that  those who keep the Lord’s commandments live in God and God lives in them. And God’s commandments are these: that we believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and that we love one another as he told us to. To believe in Jesus, and to love one another. This is how families can be expected to remain in God’s presence. This is how we live in God’s house. This is how we become holy.

Which is actually very simple to understand and to preach. But not so easy to do. For isn’t our life, our family life, often filled with many shiny things that tempt and distract us? As well as with many shadowy things that burden and break us? Ambitions and worries that often move us away from the peace and joy of our spiritual home in God, towards locations of chaos and conflict. What can we do when this happens? How to remain in God’s presence? In God’s house?

We find a helpful answer in the opening sentence of the second reading. Think of the love that the Father has lavished on us, by letting us be called God’s children; and that is what we are… In times of temptation and of trial… And also in times of relative calm… Perhaps even as a daily discipline… Think of God’s love… Think of the coming of Christ at Christmas… Think of the Lord’s Dying and Rising… As we are doing now at this Mass… Think of how, through the mystery of his loving sacrifice on the Cross, we have all become children of God… Members of the Father’s holy household…

Isn’t this a concrete way for us to locate the holy presence of God in our daily lives? To make God’s house our spiritual home? When we do this, as individuals and also as families, are we not, in a sense, building God’s house among us? Building it according to God’s order? The better for us to live securely in the love, joy and peace of God’s presence?

I’m reminded of these words from a well-known hymn: ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. Where charity and love are, there God is…

Sisters and brothers, as we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what must we do to build God’s house among us, and so to become truly holy? What must we do to BTO today?

From Speed to Presence (Rerun)

Nativity of the Lord (Mass During the Day)

Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 97:1-6; Hebrews 1:1-6; John 1:1-5,9-14

Video: Posted on YouTube by julingen

My dear friends, have you ever heard it said that our world is shrinking? You know what it means, right? It’s not that the world is actually getting smaller in size. The way a piece of clothing might shrink after washing. No. When people say the world is shrinking, they’re not talking about size but about speed. What they mean is that we can now travel long distances in a much shorter time than before. This is the gift of technology. You hop onto a plane today, and you can find yourself halfway round the world tomorrow. Or, if you don’t want to travel, you can use Skype or WhatsApp, Facetime or Facebook, to speak with a faraway friend instantaneously. Face-to-face.

Speed. This is how technology enables us to shrink our world. To bridge long distances. By increasing the speed of our movement and our communication. And who can deny that this is a good thing? A great gift? By increasing our speed, technology helps us connect with more people, in a much shorter time.

And yet, we also cannnot deny the adverse side-effects to this increase in speed. Do you know what they are? I can think of two: Stress and shallowness. Whether we care to admit it or not, the constant acceleration puts a strain on us. Physically, emotionally, relationally. For example, don’t many of us continue to feel lonely and disconnected, despite having so many names on our list of contacts? Don’t we sometimes feel as though there’s no one there for us? No one who really understands what we’re going through? And when we do get together with others for a meal, don’t we often spend more time fiddling with our phones than interacting with them at table?

Paradoxically, our constant connection often results in deeper disconnection. We’re in touch with many people, but in ever shallower ways. We have the capacity to find out more about distant cultures, but prefer to keep them distant. We have access to the latest news, but lose our ability to distinguish the truth from the lies. And perhaps even the desire to do so. Driven to remain ever in motion, we no longer know how to linger. To ponder. To connect with our deeper selves. Let alone with others.

But what alternative do we have? How else can we bridge the distances between us? To shrink our world? I’m not sure, my dear friends, but I thought I found the answer when a visiting priest once said to me, Your church is getting smaller. I knew what he meant. He had concelebrated our Christmas Midnight Mass. And, as expected, the church was packed to capacity. So that, to this visitor, whose last visit was a while ago, our church appeared to be shrinking. Not because of any change in its actual size. But because more people seemed to be present in it.

Could this be another way of bridging distances? Of shrinking our world? A way that depends not on speed, but on presence? Actually, isn’t this what Christmas is all about? At Christmas, we celebrate the bridging of the tremendous distance that separates us from God. How does God do this? Not by moving faster. But by drawing nearer. By deepening God’s presence among us and within us. Isn’t this what we find in our readings today?

How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the one who brings good news… Why is God’s message described as beautiful? Not because of its speed. But because it is full of the consoling presence of God. Your watchmen raise their voices, they shout for joy together, for they see the Lord face to face... God shrinks the distance between us. Not by moving more quickly. But by entering more intimately into our lives. Allowing us, quite incredibly, to even see God face to face.

We find a similar message in the second reading. At various times in the past… God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets; but in our own time… he has spoken to us through his Son. God progresses from communicating through prophets, to speaking through the Son. And we must not mistake this change for a mere substitution of one messenger for another. For the reading makes it clear that the Son is far more than just another messenger. No. He is the radiant light of God’s glory and the perfect copy of his nature... The Son is the very presence of God himself. In and through the Son, God bridges the distance between us by deepening God’s presence among us.

The gospel puts it even more poetically. In the beginning was the Word: the Word was with God and the Word was God.... The Word was made flesh, he lived among us, and we saw his glory,... In and through Jesus, the Word of God comes among us as a living breathing human being. Immersing himself in our pains and struggles. Sharing our hopes and dreams. Forever connected to us in a bond that can never be broken. In and through Christ, God enters the world, and shrinks it. Not by an increase in speed, but by the deepening of Presence.

What does this mean for us, my dear friends? We who often do not know how to connect with others except by moving faster. We who try so desperately to cover more ground in the shortest possible time. But who then discover distances opening up that we seem unable to bridge. Distances reflected as much in the loneliness and disconnection that we experience within ourselves, as the conflicts and divisions that we see around us.

Perhaps what makes Christmas such tremendous good news for us, is that it reveals a gentler and more effective way of shrinking our world. Not through stressful and superficial speed. But by courageous and consoling presence. The presence of a poor defenceless baby, whom we believe to be the Word-of-God-Made-Flesh for us. For you and for me. A Word that’s not content to speak only from afar. But Who mercifully enters the messiness of our lives. To comfort and encourage us with his Presence.

As we gather to adore this baby. As we allow his presence to fill our minds, our hearts, and our lives. Perhaps we can also allow him to teach us, to nudge us, to deepen our own presence as well. Our presence to ourselves, and to our families… Our presence to our Church, and to our world…

I’m reminded of that moving scene from the movie The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, in which the elf-queen Galadriel asks the wizard Gandalf why he chooses to depend on the little hobbit Bilbo Baggins. This is Gandalf’s answer:

I do not know. Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I’ve found. I’ve found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it’s because I’m afraid. And he gives me courage.

To which the queen responds:

Do not be afraid… You are not alone. Should you ever need my help, I will come.

My dear friends, what will you do to allow the little Babe-in-the-Manger to shrink your world this Christmas?