Whose Journey?

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Wisdom 7:7-11; Psalm 89 (90):12-17; Hebrews 4:12-13; Mark 10:17-27

Picture: cc TimOve

My dear friends, what do you think about when you hear the words epidemic, pandemic, and endemic? For many, they mark stages in our ongoing journey of coping with Covid-19. And I confess that, when I hear them, I tend to focus first on myself. I want to know what I can and cannot do. Can I travel, or am I grounded? Can I eat out, or must I take home?… And yet, the word epi-demic literally means upon or above a people. Pan-demic means all people. And en-demic means in a people. So, at least linguistically, these words actually refer, first of all, to a journey made by the virus. The passage from an epidemic to a pandemic implies that a virus has become much more pervasive. Whereas progressing into endemicity marks its deeper penetration and greater persistence.

The image of a journey is also central to our prayers and readings today. At first glance, perhaps the more obvious journey is that of the seeker. In the first reading, King Solomon describes his own pursuit of Wisdom. He desires it so much, prays for it so fervently, prioritises it above all material wealth and health and beauty, that he finds what he seeks. He successfully reaches his destination.

Like Solomon, the rich man in the gospel is also a seeker. He too desires to inherit eternal life. The secret of which he begs Jesus, on bended knee, to reveal to him. Unfortunately, at this point in his journey, unlike Solomon, the rich man is unable to prioritise God. He cannot let go of his wealth. Despite having faithfully kept many of the Commandments, he has somehow allowed his possessions to possess him.

If our reflection stops here, then the lesson seems as clear as it is challenging. Don’t be like the rich man, who can’t complete his journey, because he’s too attached to his riches. Be like King Solomon. Let go, and let God! But how many of us can do this? Isn’t letting go precisely what we find so difficult, living as we do in this hyper-modern consumeristic society of ours, where many are possessed, not just by present wealth, but even by dreams of riches yet to come? Isn’t this why a single math exam can leave so many of our twelve-year-olds, and their parents, so badly shaken?

Thankfully, seekers are not the only ones on the move. God is as well! This is how the gospel begins: Jesus was setting out on a journey… More than a change in geographical location, we may think of this as part of the Word of God’s fruitfully circular passage, from Heaven to Earth, from Cross to Grave, and beyond. And even if Jesus’ loving gaze on the road fails to move the rich man to dispossess himself, perhaps the Lord’s broken Body, on the Cross and in the poor, can yet succeed. Perhaps this is how the Word of God becomes truly alive and active among us. Penetrating and moving us to do even the impossible. All the more if we make it a point to gaze upon Him intently and courageously, regularly and together. Here, at this Mass, and out there, in the world.

Sisters and brothers, much more than any virus, God’s Word also wishes to become pan-demic and en-demic. How shall we better follow and facilitate His passing among us today? 

Between Boon & Bane

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Genesis 2:18-24; Psalm 127(128); Hebrews 2:9-11; Mark 10:2-16

Video: YouTube DIRKWORKS2

I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden. Along with the sunshine, there’s gotta be a little rain some time…

My dear friends, I won’t ask you whether you know these lines from a song that topped the charts back in 1970. You may risk revealing your age... Suffice to say that the song refers to that time in life when a blessing begins to feel like a burden, when sunshine turns to rain. Have you ever experienced this before? A family is thrilled, for example, when it first receives a puppy. But it later realises that, in addition to looking cute, puppies also bark incessantly, chew indiscriminately, and require patient toilet-training. What to do then? Return the gift? But what if, instead of a puppy, the gift is a human baby… or a spouse… or life itself?

What to do when blessings start to feel like burdens? This is also a question our readings invite us to ponder today. At first glance, the gospel presents little more than the all-too-familiar Catholic teaching on marriage. The repeating of which often risks alienating the divorced, depressing the single, and tempting the still-married to feel just a little too self-satisfied. But the gospel also offers us two contrasting responses to the moment when blessings become burdens.

For the Pharisees, if you are a man, and your wife starts to feel like a burden, the Law allows you to discard her and marry another. In effect, treating the woman more like property than a person. But the Lord's approach is different. By setting the question of marriage within the context of Creation, Jesus reminds us that, not just marriage, but life itself is, first of all, a generous gift from a loving God. From this perspective, important insights follow.

In the first reading, God doesn’t just present the man with the gift of another person, a woman. God actually teaches the man the proper process for building a loving relationship with an equal. The process involves three steps. First, the ego must be put to sleep. Then there needs to be a donation of oneself, signified by the rib. And only after these two steps are taken, can there be a true recognition of another as bone from my bones, and flesh from my flesh.

Strikingly, the second reading reminds us that these are also the same three steps that Jesus takes to save us. On the Cross, he submits to the sleep of Death. From his pierced side, flow blood and water. And at his Rising, his followers gain recognition as his adopted brothers and sisters, members of his Body. To recall this tremendous gift of Jesus, as we do now, is to receive a further gift. The gift of power, power to receive and to live life as it is meant to be lived, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, till death brings us before the One who gave us all.

Along with the sunshine, there’s gotta be a little rain some time… It’s unavoidable that life sometimes feels more like a burden than a blessing. As it probably does now, for many, in these trying times. Yet life remains a precious gift to be reverently received and courageously shared with others.  What must we do to live this gift ever more fully today?

The Challenging Gift of Correction

25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: Wisdom 2:12,17-20; Psalm 53 (54):3-6,8; James 3:16-4:3; Mark 9:30-37

Picture: cc Martin Hricko

My dear friends, have you ever gone the wrong way without realising it? Maybe you make a wrong turn while walking or driving, or you board the wrong train. Whatever it is, you unwittingly end up heading in a wrong direction… How would you react, if someone were to point out to you your mistake?

I ask, because this is more or less the kind of situation in which the disciples of Jesus find themselves in the gospel. Although they appear to be travelling along the same geographical route as Jesus – through Galilee, and into Capernaum – the reading makes it clear that the disciples are walking a very different spiritual path from their Master.

To see the difference we have only to compare what they and Jesus talk about. For the second time in Mark’s gospel, Jesus speaks movingly about being delivered into the hands of men, for the sake of the gospel. The disciples, however, argue among themselves about which of them is the greatest. What a sharp contrast between the self-sacrificing love of the Lord, and the self-promoting competition among his friends!

We find the same contrast in the first reading. Where the righteous life of the virtuous man attracts the anger of the godless, who make plans to test him with cruelty and with torture. Much like how the enemies of Jesus will test him, eventually subjecting him to a shameful death on the Cross.

The second reading then gives us a fuller picture of these two opposing spiritual itineraries, by tracing the external actions of both the virtuous and the godless, back to their respective roots. Disharmony, and wicked things of every kind, are traced back to jealousy and ambition, and all other disordered desires fighting inside the human heart. Whereas peace and kindness, consideration and compassion for others flow out from within those who allow themselves to be filled with the wisdom that comes down from above. The Wisdom personified by Jesus himself.

All of which enables us to better appreciate the precious gift that Jesus is offering his disciples. By asking them to review their argument on the road, the Lord is helping them to realise that they are on the wrong path. But, understandably, the disciples find it hard to accept this gift. Isn’t this why their first reaction to the Lord’s question is an embarrassed silence? So the Lord responds by inviting them to become more like little children. To be less afraid of admitting one’s own error, and to be more willing to rely on the merciful guidance of God.

And what about us? On the long difficult road of pandemic life that we have been walking together, there are surely many opportunities for both selfless sacrifice and selfish ambition. How is the Lord inviting us – as individuals and families, as church and society – to review our words and actions, our desires and motivations, so as to uncover the moments when we may have inadvertently taken the wrong path?

Sisters and brothers, what must we do to better accept the Lord’s precious yet challenging gift of correction today?

Angels Against Anorexia

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Readings: 1 Kings 19:4-8; Psalm 33(34):2-9; Ephesians 4:30-5:2; John 6:41-51

Picture: cc Ilya Kuzniatsou

My dear friends, do you know what it feels like to lose your appetite? When I lose my appetite, it doesn’t mean that I’m not hungry, or that I don’t need food. I do. It’s just that, at that moment, I somehow forget the natural connection between hunger and food. This may happen when I’m overwhelmed by some stronger feeling. Such as when I’m too excited or too tired. It's quite understandable then, once in a while, to forget to eat. But a prolonged loss of appetite can be dangerous. An example is the life-threatening condition known as anorexia.

I mention this, because a loss of appetite is what we find in our readings today. In the first reading, Elijah is on the run. Hunted by Queen Jezebel, who wants to kill him, the prophet is so overwhelmed by exhaustion that he loses even his appetite for life, let alone for food. Thankfully, God refuses to let Elijah give up. Repeatedly, an angel is sent to rouse him from sleep, to remind him to eat, and to refresh him, so that he is again able to experience God.

In the gospel, it’s clear that what has been lost is the appetite for spiritual food. And this condition has become chronic, particularly among the religious leaders. It’s as though they are suffering from a spiritual anorexia. Having lost their taste for spiritual food, they’re unable to recognise the bread of life, even when it stands in front of them. Instead of welcoming and partaking of it, they complain. They feel threatened by it. Perhaps they are overwhelmed by other hungers, anxious to satisfy other appetites.

But still Jesus refuses to give up. Relying on the power of God, he continues to invite people to eat. For just as God had sent an angel to feed Elijah, so too does the heavenly Father continue to draw people to Jesus, teaching them to follow the One whose Dying and Rising leads them into eternal life. Not just life beyond the grave, but that fullness of life that begins already here and now. The kind of life described in the second reading, which reminds us to be friends with one another, and kind, forgiving each other as readily as God forgave you in Christ. A life of love, lived in right relationship – with God, with others, and with all of Creation.

All of which presents us at once with a great consolation and a serious challenge. It’s a great consolation to know that even now, God keeps working tirelessly to draw starving people to Christ. For isn’t this what is so sorely needed even here, in our own apparently affluent and advanced country? Where a growing number of us – particularly our school-going children – seem to be losing their appetite for life? And much as we may blame this on the pandemic, hasn’t Covid-19 only exacerbated a pre-existing condition? And doesn’t this situation pose a serious challenge to us Christians? First to truly allow Christ to nourish us, to faithfully live that fullness of life he offers, and to generously share it with others.

Sisters and brothers, like Elijah in the first reading, there are many exhausted people around us, who desperately need a messenger from God to remind them to get up and eat. What must we do to become such angels against anorexia today?

Submitting to the Shepherd's Stress

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

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

Picture: cc Matt Clark

My dear friends, are you tense? Do you ever have moments when you wish that all the tension in your life was removed forever? Perhaps we’ve all felt like that at one time or another. And especially so in these days of Covid-stress. Yet not all tensions are bad. Some may even be necessary. For example, isn’t the tension in the strings of a guitar what allows it to produce such beautiful sounds?

And music-making is not the only activity that involves tension. The same can be said about shepherding, which is what our readings talk about today. In the first reading, God accuses the leaders of Israel for being lazy shepherds. For failing to accept the tension that comes with caring for God’s people. For allowing the Lord’s flock to be scattered. God then promises to raise up a new line of kings, who will properly care for the sheep. A promise that finds its fulfilment in the gospel, where Jesus appears as the Good Shepherd.

But have you noticed how Jesus himself experiences tension while shepherding? The reading begins with the Lord inviting his disciples to retreat to a lonely place to rest for a while. By doing this, he shows his care for them. He shepherds them. But having arrived at their chosen vacation spot, they are confronted with a large crowd. The sight of which moves the Lord’s heart with pity, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he decides to postpone the vacation, and to teach them at some length.

Isn’t there a tension here between the Lord’s concern for his disciples and his pity for the people? And isn’t this but one example in a life lived in constant tension? Indeed, could we not say that the Lord’s very existence is one of tension? Tension between both the divine and human natures present in a single person. A merciful tension, embraced out of love and compassion for us. A courageous tension, culminating in Death, Resurrection, and Remembrance at the Eucharist. A reconciling tension that unites both Jews and Gentiles.

Which is not to say that we should embrace all tensions indiscriminately. No, some tensions are oppressive, and need to be challenged. Such as those that may result from the unjust working conditions that some employers may inflict on their employees. Or the unrealistic expectations that some families may place on their children.

What our readings invite us to recognise is that, as followers of Jesus, we need to learn to graciously acknowledge and accept the unavoidable tensions that come with caring for others. Whether at home, at work, or wherever there are people in need of our help. And we can only bear these tensions fruitfully, if we continually bring them to the Lord in prayer. Allowing him to revive our drooping spirits, and to guide us along the right path, the path of Christ’s peace.

Sisters and brothers, a guitar must be tuned before it is played. What must we do to let the Lord tune us, so that we too may produce sweet music to the glory of God today?