Passport Renewal

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Isaiah 66:18-21; Psalm 116 (117); Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13; Luke 13:22-30

Picture: Photo by ConvertKit on Unsplash

My dear friends, do you need to renew your passport? As you know, it was announced just a few days ago that those whose passports are valid for only six months or less should apply for a new one now, if they wish to travel in December… We all know that a valid passport is crucial, not only for travel abroad, but also in order to return home. For a passport is what gains us recognition and access.

And isn’t the failure to gain recognition and access precisely the problem in the gospel? Jesus tells us to enter by the narrow door. For once the door is locked, you may find yourself knocking, but the master of the house will say (and he says it twice), I do not know where you come from. It’s as though the Lord is reminding us to renew our passports, so that we may be recognised and granted entry into God’s kingdom. How do we do this? What does it mean to enter by the narrow door?

It’s important to remember that, if the door is narrow, it’s not because those wishing to enter are too many, or the master too stingy. In the first reading, the Lord is so generous that passports are granted freely and widely, not just to the people of Israel, but also to everyone else. I am coming, the Lord says, to gather the nations of every language…. I will give them a sign and send (them) to the nations.

We Christians believe that this sign, this door, this God-granted passport is none other than Jesus himself. Who tells us in John’s gospel, I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved (10:9). Isn’t this why the door is narrow? It’s narrow because, to enter it, I have to walk the way Jesus walked, the way of humility and loving service, the Way of the Cross.

Unlike official travel documents, the passport that gains me entry into heaven is not printed on paper, nor can it be carried in my pocket or purse. No, the passport into heaven consists in a life moulded into the shape of Christ’s, and a heart made tender, like the one that was pierced through for our faults, and crushed for our sins.

And how is this moulding of life, this tenderising of the heart accomplished, if not by the method described in the second reading. Suffering, we’re told, is part of (our) training; God is treating you as his sons. Suffering, borne patiently, humbly and hopefully, in union with the crucified Christ, bears fruit in peace and goodness. Precious gifts that we can share with those around us who may be suffering even more. Such as those whom the pandemic has left much lonelier and more vulnerable, or those most affected by rising costs of living. 

Sisters and brothers, even as some of us may be rushing to obtain a new travel document, in order to enjoy a brief vacation overseas, what steps should we be taking to help one another ensure that our heavenly passports remain valid for entry into our eternal home?

Between Profiles & Persons

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Deuteronomy 30:10-14; Psalm 68 (69): 14, 17, 30-31, 33-34, 36-37; Colossians 1:15-20; Luke 10:25-37

Picture: Kenny Eliason on Unsplash

My dear friends, what is the difference between a profile and a person? Many of us use profiles to interact with others on social media. But we also know how dangerous it is to confuse an online profile with the actual person. Haven’t we all heard of love scams that rob victims of both their money and dignity? Also, beyond social media, haven’t we read about the injustice caused in some countries, by so-called racial profiling? When police target people simply for the colour of their skin, without any regard for the actual person.

This distinction between profile and person is what lies at the heart of our gospel reading today. When that cheeky lawyer asks Jesus, who is my neighbour?, he is asking for a profile of the kind of person he should love. In his mind, fellow Jews clearly fit the bill, but foreigners do not. What is not so clear is whether a Samaritan qualifies as a neighbour. As you know, although not exactly foreigners, Samaritans were still considered outsiders. But Jesus refuses to give the lawyer what he wants. Instead of providing a profile, the Lord tells a story, ending with a command: Go, and do the same yourself. Go and act like that Samaritan who, unlike the priest and the levite, chose to relate to the victim as a person, instead of a profile. Allowing himself to see the needy one’s plight, and be moved to show mercy…

I have to confess that I find this call to treat others as persons very challenging. Although I know, theoretically, that we are all called to love everyone equally, in practice, given the limited time and energy available to me, I have to choose those to whom I offer more care and concern. And how do I choose, except by using profiles? By favouring my family and friends, for example, or my community, or class… And I also often apply profiles of some kind even without me realising it. Such as when I relate to people according to society’s expectations of them, regardless of their actual situation? Or when I treat others according to what people may say (or gossip) about them, instead of relying on my own personal experience?

How then to obey the Lord’s command? How to reconcile the call to treat people as persons with the different profiles that I adopt? Perhaps I need to learn from the early Fathers of the Church, who heard the parable not first as an obligation to fulfil, but as a gift to receive. For who is that Samaritan, if not Jesus, who sees me as a person, and takes pity on me? Saving me from my sins, by laying down his life on the Cross. Listening to the parable in this way, allows me to experience what we believe happens at every Mass… The living Word of God no longer feels far away, but draws very near. Giving us a new vision of reality. Remaining in our mouths and hearts for our closer observance. For Christ is not just the image of the unseen God. He is also the first to be born from the dead. Able to free me from all the dead actions and interactions, the spiritual scams, to which I fall prey all too often.

Sisters and brothers, in Christ, God chooses to treat each and all of us as living persons rather than dead profiles. How shall we help one another to do the same for others today?

Fences

13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: 1 Kings 19: 16, 19-21; Psalm 15 (16): 1-2, 5, 7-11; Galatians 5: 1, 13-18; Luke 9: 51-62

Picture: by Benjamin Ibañez on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever heard of an invisible fence? Years ago, someone walked by a house, and saw a beautiful golden retriever sitting calmly in the front yard. And he wondered why the dog didn’t run away, since the yard didn’t seem to have a fence. Only later did he discover that there is such a thing as an invisible electric pet fence, consisting of wiring buried underground, which interacts with a gadget worn by the pet, keeping it from crossing a designated boundary. Some fences are less obvious than others.

Which is helpful to remember, while we ponder the scriptures today. As you know, in the letter to the Galatians, from which the second reading is taken, St Paul tries to persuade his gentile Christian readers not to allow themselves to be fenced in by the Jewish law of circumcision. For, by Dying and Rising, Christ has already set us free, apart from the Law. So that, for the Galatians, accepting circumcision would be the same as submitting again to a yoke of slavery.

But there are also less obvious forms of slavery. Which is why Paul warns his readers not to allow their freedom from the Law to provide an opening for self-indulgence. And in case we may wonder how self-indulgence can be a form of slavery, we have only to consider some of the addictions to which we can fall prey in modern society. Beyond the more obvious ones like narcotics, alcohol and gambling, aren’t there also less obvious drugs like pornography and sex, gadget-use and gaming, overwork and over-consumption in general? 

But if the ability to do whatever we want can lead to a less obvious form of slavery, then what does Christian freedom look like? And how do we become truly free? According to Paul, Christian freedom consists in simply being able to love. To love God and neighbour, by engaging in works of service, energised and guided by the Spirit.

And what Paul describes in theory, Elijah and Jesus illustrate in practice. After spending time communing with God on Horeb, the mountain of the Lord, the previously burnt-out prophet receives not just a fresh mission, but also renewed energy to carry it out. Selflessly, Elijah anoints Elisha to succeed him. Similarly, soon after having been transfigured on a mountain, Jesus resolutely takes the road to Jerusalem, despite knowing the difficult destiny that awaits him there.

So for both Elijah and Jesus, the freedom and energy to respond to God’s call, come from a prior encounter with God. Perhaps this is why, for a good number of us, our faith can feel less like being set free to love, and more like being fenced in by obligations. For aren’t our lives so packed that we don’t have the space even to catch our own breath, let alone to encounter and be energised by the Breath of God?

If this is true, sisters and brothers, then what can we do to let God remove the fences in our lives, visible or otherwise, so that we may continue being set free for love today?

Who We Are Meant To Be

Solemnity of the Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ (C)

Readings: Genesis 14:18-20; Psalm 109 (110): 1-4; 1 Corinthians 11: 23-26; Luke 9: 11-17

Picture: By Bing Hui Yao on Unsplash

My dear friends, do you remember that familiar story of how an eagle’s egg was once placed in a chicken coop? It hatched, and the eaglet grew up thinking it was a chicken, imitating all that chickens do, scratching in the dirt from dawn to dusk. Then, one day, it happened to look up, and saw another eagle, soaring majestically among the clouds. After staring for a moment, in wonder and admiration, the eagle went back to scratching in the dirt for the rest of its days.

Contrary to what some might think, the current shortage of fresh chickens is not the reason for retelling this story. I’m not suggesting that we eat eagles instead. The story is a tragedy of mistaken identity, of forgetting who one is meant to be. But what is our true identity? Who are we meant to be? I think his is the question our Mass readings invite us to ponder today.

In the gospel, by teaching, healing and then feeding the crowds, Jesus is not just meeting their physical needs. He is performing a prophetic action, pointing to a deeper meaning. In feeding the five thousand, Jesus does four things to the food: He takes and blesses. He breaks and gives. And, we’re told that after all had eaten, the leftovers filled twelve baskets.

Taking and blessing, breaking and giving. These are the same four actions performed whenever we gather for the Eucharist. And the second reading tells us that the Eucharist points to something even more. For Jesus asked us to do it as a memorial of him. Every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you are proclaiming his death. And Jesus’ death was not just the routine execution of a random criminal, but the voluntary self-offering of one who, like Melchizedek, is both king and priest. The Lord laid down his life in a kingly act of loving service. To reconcile, as priest, the world to God.

So the feeding of the five thousand points to the Eucharist, and the Eucharist points to the Lord’s death as priest, prophet and king. But what then is the fruit of the Lord’s Dying and Rising? What did he leave behind? We believe, of course, that he left us his Real Presence in the Eucharist, his Body and Blood. But isn’t there something else? Something to which the twelve baskets of leftovers refer? Doesn’t the Lord also remain truly present in a gathering of people, also known as the Body of Christ, of which we are all members?

And isn’t this what Corpus Christi is also about? In addition to  the eucharistic host, we also celebrate our identity as a eucharistic people. This is who we are called to be. A priestly, prophetic and kingly people, called not just to celebrate the Eucharist here in church, but also to let our celebration inspire us to live eucharistic lives out in the world. Fulfilling ordinary daily responsibilities in ways that bear witness to the love of God. Laying down our lives in loving service, not just to family and friends, but also to those in greater need.

Sisters and brothers, if this in broad strokes is how Christians are meant to soar like eagles, then what must we do to help each other avoid simply scratching in the dirt today?

Moved by the Music

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity (C)

Readings: Proverbs 8:22-31; Psalm 8:4-9; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15

Picture: cc roanokecollege

My dear friends, do you read music? Unfortunately, I don’t. But even if I did, I expect that the experience of reading a piece of music off a page will be quite different from actually hearing it played. And I wonder if the same might not be said about the Trinity. As we know, the doctrine of the Trinity is the way we make sense of how God can be both one and three at the same time. We do it by saying that God is a Trinity of persons – Father, Son & Spirit – sharing the dignity of a single substance. But simply knowing how to recite the formula is not enough. For, like musical notation on a page, in addition to being read, the doctrine also needs to be played and heard, for its intended effect to be more fully experienced.

Our readings help us to do this by highlighting a key aspect of the doctrine that is easily missed, namely, God’s deep desire to communicate, to connect, even to commune with us. The first reading does this by re-writing the story of creation. It tells us that God’s first creation – created even before the oldest of his works – is Wisdom. And a key characteristic of Wisdom is delight. Not only does Wisdom delight God, by being ever at play in his presence, she also delights in the company of human beings like us. Created Wisdom connects us with the God who is present in all that God creates. So we might say that God’s first gift to us, even before we ever existed, is the gift of connection.

Yet so strong is God’s desire to connect that God isn’t satisfied with doing it through a creature like Wisdom. God also chooses to reach out to us personally. The second reading reminds us that, through the Life, Death and Resurrection of Jesus – the second person of the Trinity – we are given privileged access to God. An access that we enjoy, not just by pondering the beauty of nature, but also by finding solace in the Crucified and Risen Christ, whenever we suffer. In the company of Christ, our sufferings bring patience, perseverance, and a hope that does not deceive us, because it flows from the love that the Spirit pours into our hearts.

This is how the same Spirit leads us into the complete truth. Which includes the consoling message that, contrary to what our daily experiences may sometimes lead us to believe, our God is not distant, or disinterested, or disconnected from us. No, the God in whom we profess belief, is not just a Unity in splendid isolation, but a Trinity in constant communion. Drawing us into the loving embrace of Father, Son, and Spirit, and sending us forth to reach out to others. But to enjoy the music of this truth more completely, we need to go beyond reading it off a page, or preaching it from a pulpit. Above all, we need to pray. For prayer is how we let God connect with us. And isn’t this what God has gathered us here at this Mass to do? Amid the different struggles we may each have to face, we come to experience together a prayerful connection with the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit.

Sisters and brothers, if music is meant more to be heard than to be read, then what can we do to help one another better enjoy the Trinity’s consoling and challenging melodies today?