Support For The Suddenly Shaken

Funeral Mass for Simon Teo

Readings: Wisdom 4: 7-15; Psalm 22; 1 Corinthians 15: 51-57; John 11: 17-27

Picture: By Ina Carolino on Unsplash

My dear friends, have you ever found yourself in a moving vehicle–say a bus, or a train, or even a car–which happens to jerk or brake very suddenly? We know what that feels like, don’t we? It’s as though, not just our body, but even our heart is violently shaken out of place. And our natural reaction is to reach out and try to hold onto to something for support. Similarly, as we move through the routine of daily life, we sometimes encounter situations that throw us off-balance. Not just physically, but also mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. And something inside us spontaneously reaches out for support. Perhaps this is also how we’re feeling, as we face the shock of our brother Simon’s sudden passing. Even if we may not realise it–possibly because we are preoccupied with the many important practical details associated with a funeral–our hearts still yearn for something that can steady us. Something to help us keep our balance, even as we grieve and mourn. This is what the scriptures offer us today.

The first reading aptly speaks of someone who dies before his time. Which some may see as a sign of God’s displeasure. For if a long life is a blessing, then shouldn’t a short life be considered a punishment? But the reading suggests a different view. By calling to their heavenly home those still relatively young, God is removing them from the evils and temptations of this passing world. For grace and mercy await the chosen of the Lord, and protection his holy ones. God’s desire is not to punish, but to preserve and to protect.

The second reading offers us further spiritual support by reminding us that, for us Christians, death is more like a comma than a full-stop. A full-stop brings a sentence to an abrupt end. But a comma marks a pause. It may even bring about a transformation, a radical change of direction. For we Christians believe that we are not all going to die, but we shall all be changed… because our present perishable nature must put on imperishability… Death is swallowed up in victory. The full-stop becomes a comma. And this happens not because of our own holiness, important as that may be, but through our faith in the Lord Jesus.

Isn’t this why, amid Martha’s confusion and grief, Jesus takes the time to tenderly engage her in conversation? What is the Lord doing for his beloved friend, if not helping her to keep her balance. Gently drawing out of her the faith that lies hidden in her heart. That God-given ability to hold onto the Lord. The One who, through his own Dying and Rising, has the power to console us and steady us, amid the many unpredictable ups and downs of our earthly existence. I am the resurrection and the life. If anyone believes in me, even though he dies he shall live… Do you believe this?

Do you believe this? This is the Lord’s response to all who who mourn. Do you believe this? A question that can steady us, when we are shaken out of place. Do you believe this? Sisters and brothers, even as we move through the process of grieving, how might we also help one another to keep pondering this powerful question in the days ahead?

Preparing For The Food That Tenderises

Solemnity Of The Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ

Readings: Exodus 24:3-8; Psalm 115 (116): 12-13, 15-18; Hebrews 9: 11-15; Mark 14: 12-16, 22-26

Picture: By Sara Cervera on Unsplash

My dear friends, do you like kiwifruit? I recently watched a documentary that taught me something about kiwifruit that I didn’t know before. Not only can it be eaten as food, it can also be used as a tenderiser. In the documentary, some kiwifruit was mashed into a paste, and then spread onto a thin slice of meat. After just a few minutes of coming in contact with the fruit, the meat could be pulled apart very easily. Along with this amazing tenderising power, there were two other things in this experiment that I found striking. The first is the way the kiwifruit took effect. It’s possible to tenderise meat by pounding it violently with a mallet. But the kiwifruit worked in a much more quiet, hidden way. On the surface, nothing seemed to be happening. It was only later, when the meat was examined, that it became clear how tender it had become. The second is how some preparatory steps had to be taken, for the experiment to work. The meat had to be sliced, the fruit mashed, and then left on the meat for some time… Tenderising power, hidden effects, and preparatory steps. Today, our scriptures tell us that the Body and Blood of Christ has these same three characteristics.

In the first reading, the ritual actions performed by Moses at Mount Sinai have a clear tenderising effect. Together, the teaching of the commands of the Lord, and the sprinkling of the blood of sacrificed animals–first on the altar, and then on the people–result in a softening of the people’s hearts. Causing them to agree to observe all that the Lord has decreed. Making them more acceptable in God’s sight. Drawing them into a tighter communion with and in the Lord. And this tenderising process takes place in a quiet, hidden way, in the hearts and lives of the people. Also, to facilitate this process, preparatory steps had to be taken earlier, which include the washing of their clothes (Ex 20:14ff). All so that the people might be led more fully by God, out of the slavery of Egypt, and into the freedom of the Promised Land.

Tenderising power, hidden effects, and preparatory steps. We find these same three characteristics in the actions of Jesus in the gospel. By sharing a ritual meal with his disciples, on the evening before he suffers, Jesus gives them, and us, something to remember him by. A way to recall, and make present again, his deep love and selfless sacrifice for us. So that, amid the often troubling, traumatic, soul-hardening experiences of life, our hearts might still remain tender enough for us to continue submitting ourselves to God. As the second reading tells us, the blood of Christ… can purify our inner self from dead actions so that we do our service to the living God. The Eucharist has the power to keep us from being enslaved by various obsessions and compulsions–such as with work and money, status and luxury–and to enable us to live in the freedom of the love of God.

And this tenderising power of the Eucharist often takes effect in a quiet, hidden way. For example, in Luke’s gospel, how do the two disciples on the Road to Emmaus come to recognise the Crucified and Risen Christ, when he breaks bread with them? Could it be it was because their earlier experience of the Last Supper had tenderised their hearts in a hidden way? So that after suffering the trauma of the Lord’s Crucifixion, they were better able to experience the comfort of his Resurrected Presence. Motivating them to reverse the initial direction of their journey. Away from the darkness of despair, and back into the light of hope (24:30-33). Isn’t this also what we believe can happen to us, when we gather for the Eucharist? Through the repetitive, seemingly boring, actions we perform every week, we believe hidden changes take place within and among us. Gradual transformations that may become clear only later, perhaps in moments of crisis.

But for this to happen, important preparatory steps need to be taken. Like what the two disciples in the gospel were sent to do. As well as all the work that goes into our own celebration of Mass every Sunday. From the greetings we exchange, to the songs we sing. From the clothes we wear, to the items we use. From the postures we adopt, to the procedures we follow. From the prayers we boldly offer, to the Word we reverently receive and proclaim… And whether we serve in the sanctuary, or participate from the pews, don’t we all need to do our part to carefully dispose our hearts and minds and bodies for worship? Such as by prayerfully reading in advance the scriptures assigned for that Mass. For just as the kiwifruit has to be mashed, and the meat sliced thin, so too do steps need to be taken to make the Divine Presence more accessible to us, and our hearts more receptive to God.

Sisters and brothers, if the Body and Blood of Christ is truly offered to us both as nutritious food, and an effective tenderiser, then what can we do to better prepare ourselves to experience its benefits more fully at every Mass?

The Embrace

Solemnity of The Most Holy Trinity

(Caritas Social Mission Conference)

Readings: Deuteronomy 4: 32-34, 39-40; Psalm 32 (33): 4-6, 9, 18-20, 22; Romans 8: 14-17; Matthew 28: 16-20

Picture: By Jordan Whitt on Unsplash

My dear friends, this may sound like a strange question to ask, but how does a child come to know its parent has two arms? I’m not sure, but I wonder if it involves a process like this… Imagine a little toddler, crying. We’re not sure why. Perhaps it’s hungry or lonely, lost or afraid… Very quickly, its parent rushes over, gathers the child into the parent’s arms, and comforts it. Gradually, the wailing subsides into sniffles, which turn into smiles, and even escalate into giggles. Soon the child feels secure enough to ask to be let down, so that it can explore the world. Except that it’s not just the world the child is exploring, but also the true extent and endurance of its parent’s embrace. The child is discovering how far it can go, while still feeling the warmth of its parent’s arms around its body. And, provided it continues to sense this loving presence and unconditional acceptance, the child might feel secure enough to share, in its own way, something of that warmth with others. Bringing them amusement and joy. Becoming an extension of its parent’s embrace… Could it be that it is by repeatedly undergoing such a process, of entering, exploring and extending an embrace, that a child comes to know its parent has two arms?

Which brings us to a question this feast invites us to ponder today. How do we come to know that the God we worship is both one and three? A Trinity of Father, Son, and Spirit? In the opening prayer we offered just now, we were reminded that it is by sending into the world the Word of truth and the Spirit of Sanctification that God the Father made known to the human race God’s wondrous mystery. Like a parent using both arms to gather a troubled child into a loving embrace, so too does the Father gather us to God’s self, through the Word, and in the Spirit. Isn’t this also what we find in the scriptures?

In the first reading, Moses reminds the people of Israel that, when they were helpless and in distress, it was God who gathered them, with mighty hand and outstretched arm, into the safety of God’s own embrace. Addressing them with God’s majestic word. Speaking to them in God’s powerful voice. Bringing them out of Egypt, through the wilderness, and now to the doorstep of the Promised Land. So powerful is this experience of being embraced by God that, many generations later, the psalmist is moved to sing of how, not just Israel, but the whole of creation itself is embraced by God: The Lord loves justice and right and fills the earth with his love. By his word the heavens were made, by the breath of his mouth all the stars… By a comforting word, and with a caressing breath God continually embraces creation into existence.

And yet, down through the ages, God’s people repeatedly fails to remain in God’s embrace. They keep straying. Causing, and suffering, great distress as a result. So God does something most remarkable. In the power of the Spirit, God’s Word becomes flesh. And by the Word’s Living, Dying, and Rising, the Father draws all of creation even more tightly into God’s embrace. Giving all those who submit to the embrace, the power to call God by the intimate name, Abba!, Daddy! Making them – making us – adopted children of God, and heirs to God’s glory. People who are able, not just to enter the safety of God’s embrace, but also to keep exploring the richness of its blessings, and to extend this same embrace to others. Particularly those most vulnerable, those in greater distress, including the whole of creation itself.

Isn’t this the deeper significance of the evangelising mission entrusted by the Crucified and Risen Jesus to the Eleven in the gospel? Isn’t this what it means to baptise and to teach all the nations? Beyond just performing a religious ritual, important as that may be, it is to usher others ever more securely into the safety of God’s embrace. Helping everyone, even creation itself, to know that our God is a loving Father, who has two arms. By which he keeps gathering everyone to God’s self. Through the Son. And in the Spirit.

And isn’t this also why we are gathered here at this conference? Not just because we are interested in a so-called social mission. As though it were possible to divide God’s embrace into two, one spiritual and another social. Rather, isn’t it more accurate to say, as Pope Francis takes care to point out, in The Joy of the Gospel, that ours is a single evangelising mission, which has an indispensable social dimension (EG, Ch 4)? So that, even if we may decide, for convenience, to set up different organisations. Making some responsible for the spiritual, and others for the social. It’s important that we heed Pope Francis’ warning, and avoid the constant risk of distorting the authentic and integral meaning of the mission of evangelisation (EG, 139). For if evangelisation has an indispensable social dimension, then we cannot truly bear witness to Christ without also paying attention and responding to prevailing social realities and needs.

Conversely, our efforts at addressing social needs will be truly Christian, only to the extent that they are somehow motivated and informed by the values and processes of the gospel. Only to the extent that we and those we assist are somehow helped to enter, explore and extend the embrace of God. Otherwise, our organisations will be no different from NGOs. Which is not to say that we must always speak explicitly about Christ. It’s not always opportune, or even appropriate, to do so. Nor is it the case that everyone must first have entered God’s embrace, before they can engage in Christian social action. For isn’t it true that, when we reach out to those in need, even when we ourselves may be feeling lost, that very encounter can become a privileged occasion for us to be gathered again, even more closely, into God’s embrace?

And yet, it remains important for us to intentionally cultivate organisational cultures and processes that facilitate evangelisation. Ways of proceeding that help us and others experience God’s embrace. Developing our own capacity to discern together the promptings of the Spirit. Allowing us to grow into an ever more synodal church.

Sisters and brothers, even now, through the Son, and in the Spirit, God our loving Father is gathering creation to God’s very self. What can we do, in the days ahead, to keep entering, exploring and extending this tender embrace?

The Hidden Work of Art

60th Wedding Anniversary of Charles & Suzanne

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 26: 1-4, 13-16; Colossians 3: 12-17; John 15: 9-17

Picture: By Brandon Smith on Unsplash

Charles & Suzanne, my dear friends, what does beauty look like? If someone were to ask us to imagine something beautiful right now, what would come to mind? … In the novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, the story is told of an exceptionally handsome young man, who vainly gets his own portrait painted, and then expresses a willingness to sell his own soul, if only he can keep looking young and beautiful forever. Somehow, his wish is granted. Even though Dorian lives a selfish, immoral, pleasure-seeking life, he never ages. His physical appearance remains exactly the same, year after year. What does change, however, is his portrait, which he never shows to anyone. Though, outwardly Dorian remains as beautiful as ever, the more bad things he does, the uglier the hidden picture of him becomes… Although this story is, of course, only a work of fiction, it does contain some truth, doesn’t it? It prompts us to ponder what true beauty looks like. And isn’t this also what our scripture readings invite us to do today? To ponder what true beauty looks like?

I hope Suzanne doesn’t mind me sharing this. But I must confess to being more than a little amused, when I read her email to me, containing the readings for this jubilee Mass. In it she informed me that it was Charles who had chosen the first reading, and that, in response, she had reminded him that, contrary to what we find in the reading, she is not a silent wife. And yet, in the first reading, what is perhaps more striking than the wife’s silence, is her beauty: Like the sun rising over the mountains of the Lord is the beauty of a good wife in a well-kept house…

I hope I’m not embarrassing him too much by making this observation but, by choosing this reading, isn’t Charles telling us that his spouse – who, as we know, is an artist – is as beautiful as a brilliant sunrise? And aren’t these words all the more striking, when we remember that they’re chosen not for a wedding, but for a diamond jubilee? At a wedding, the couple typically has no first-hand experience of married life. Together, they’re both looking only ahead. So any mention of a beautiful life together must be no more than an aspiration, a hope, something to aim towards, and to pray for. On the other hand, after 60 years of marriage, these same words are no longer only aspirational. They’re also an affirmation, a reason to rejoice, and to give thanks. Thanks to one’s partner, and thanks to God.

The same can be said about the other readings as well. While the first reading helps us imagine beauty by drawing our attention to a work of nature – the sunrise – the second reading points to something made by human hands. It uses the image of a stylishly cut suit of clothes to help us imagine what the lovely virtues of Christian living look like. Virtues that, presumably, Charles and Suzanne have cultivated and experienced, in their 60 years together as husband and wife. Virtues like sincere compassion… kindness and humility, gentleness and patience and, above all, love.

Not so much the romantic kind of love, which may wax and wane like the phases of the moon, important though that may be. But more the love that Jesus professes in the gospel. The love that he tells his disciples to treat as a place in which to live. As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Remain in my love. The love of constant commitment, which prompts a person even to go so far as to lay down one’s life for one’s friend. Which can be done not only by dying a physical death, but also by persevering in sharing a meaningful life of mutual self-sacrifice, for the sake of the other. Isn’t this what the readings tell us true beauty looks like? Isn’t this the reason why we are gathered to celebrate and give thanks?

All of which may point to another grain of truth we find in the fictional story of Dorian Gray. Could it be that, just as Dorian's mysterious portrait served as a hidden record of all the ugliness he brought into his own life, so too is a lasting record kept – deep within our hearts, and enfolded in God’s embrace – of all the beauty we cultivate in our lives. Beauty that often remains hidden to the naked eye, yet endures and deepens with the passing of the years. As St Paul reminds us in his second letter to the Corinthians, (e)ven though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day…. because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal (4:16, 18, NRSV).

Sisters and brothers, as we join Suzanne and Charles today, to joyously celebrate and give thanks for their years of fruitful married life, how might we also help one another cultivate, in our own lives, the beauty that endures unto eternity?

The Power of Place

Pentecost Sunday

Readings: Acts 2: 1-11; Psalm 103 (104): 1, 24, 29-31, 34; Galatians 5: 16-25; John 15: 26-27, 16:12-15

Picture: By Becca Ayalah on Unsplash

I'd like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony.

I'd like to hold it in my arms, and keep it company…

My dear friends, I wonder if any of us still remembers these words, taken from a song released way back in 1971. The song began as a jingle, advertising a famous soft drink. But it became so popular, its writers added more words to it, removed the references to the soft drink, and transformed it into a chart-topping pop song. How did this happen? How did the focus shift from marketing yet another commercial product to sharing an inspiring message of unity and peace? I don’t know. But I hope it’s not too naive to think that perhaps it had something to do with the power of place. That instead of a world where everyone drinks the same sweet fizzy beverage, we realised we much prefer one where we can all live together in harmony. A place of caring and communion, rather than endless consumption and cut-throat competition.

The attractive power of place. We find something similar in our scriptures today. It’s not exactly clear what is happening in the first reading. The Spirit brings about something mysterious. Somehow, simultaneously, the marvels of God are proclaimed in many different languages. On the one hand, the reading tells us that this is the result of the power of speech. The disciples received a gift, allowing them to preach in foreign languages. But it’s also possible that their listeners were given the power of hearing. Allowing them to understand the gospel in their respective native tongues.

And more than just speech or hearing, there's also the power of place. The reading tells us that the disciples had all met in one room. In another translation (RSV), they were all together in one place. What is this place? At one level, the answer seems obvious. They were likely gathered in the upper room, where the Last Supper had been eaten. But could it be that more than just their physical location, the reading is pointing us to a spiritual place. The same place to which their listeners – devout Jews from every nation under heaven – were all drawn to assemble. The same place that Jesus had talked about at the Last Supper, when he told his friends to remain in him, as branches in the vine. For as long as they remain in this place, the Spirit of truth will lead them to the complete truth. Reminding them of everything the Lord had taught them. Deepening, not just their understanding of his teaching, but their relationship with and in him. (The Spirit) will glorify me, since all he tells you will be taken from what is mine…

More than just a miraculous gift of speech or hearing, what we see at Pentecost is the power of place. Not just any place, but that special spiritual location that we have devoted all of the forty days of Lent and the fifty days of Easter to finding and occupying. Why else have we spent all this time devoutly focusing our hearts and minds and bodies on the great Mystery of the Lord’s Passion, Death and Resurrection? Why, if not to help one another find and remain in the Lord? Trusting in his promise that, if only we keep doing this, we too will experience anew what the early Church received: the awesome power of the Spirit, moving in this place.

Giving us courage to keep doing what the second reading tells us we need to do. To reject self-indulgence, and to choose instead to be led by the Spirit. So that we might belong to Christ Jesus, and inherit the kingdom of God. To keep choosing to work for a world where the wholesome fruit of the Spirit flourishes, instead of one marked only by the deadly obvious results of self-indulgence. A world that’s truly safe for everyone. Which may sound too much for us to do. Busy and distracted enough as we are. And perhaps it is. But hasn’t our observance of Lent taught us to focus less on what we have to give up, and more on what the Lord is offering us? The promise of unending love and unity and peace, found in Christ, found in God’s kingdom. The attractive power of place.

I’d like to teach the world to sing… These words are actually from the song’s second verse. In the first and third verses, we find clearer references to place… I’d like to build the world a home, and furnish it with love. Grow apple trees and honey bees, and snow-white turtle doves…. I’d like to see the world for once, all standing hand-in-hand; and hear them echo through the hills, for peace throughout the land… Could it be that, just as it was more than fifty years ago, a song like this still has the power to attract and inspire us? Not just to work to build such a glorious place – wherever we may find ourselves – but also to keep singing about it, in the power of the Spirit, so that others too may join our joyful endeavour?

Sisters and brothers, as the beautiful season of Easter draws to a close, how is the Spirit renewing in us the precious experience of the power of place today?