Note: Breaking the Word will be taking a break for the next couple of weeks. :)

19th Wednesday in Ordinary Time (II)
Christian Conflict Resolution

Reading: Ezekiel 9:1-7; 10:18-22; Psalm 113:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Matthew 18:15-20

Disagreement and conflict are inevitable parts of human life at all levels – inter-personal, communal, national, international… Even our church, the Body of Christ, if it is to live up to its claim to being catholic (universal), needs continually to negotiate the differences that exist between its various members and parts. How is this negotiation to take place? Our readings invite reflection on this question, even as they present us with some characteristics of Christian conflict resolution.

An important part of this process is the role to be played by official communal authority. In the gospel, Jesus says, report it to the community. Because we are part of a community, we all live under authority, whether we actually have direct recourse to it or not. And the exercise of this earthly authority has God’s mandate. Whatever you bind on earth shall be considered bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth shall be considered loosed in heaven.

But official authority is neither the first nor the last word on the matter. In the gospel, Jesus asks that the parties first speak to one another. If your brother does something wrong, go and have it out with him alone, between your two selves. A key characteristic of Christian conflict resolution is dialogue. Indeed, is not the recourse to authority itself a fraternal conversation carried out at another level? And, quite strikingly, even the result of this fraternal conversation receives the divine mandate. If two of you on earth agree to ask anything at all, it will be granted to you by my Father in heaven.

However, we will be mistaken to think that every exercise of authority, or every fraternal conversation, necessarily receives the divine mandate. We notice how in the first reading, for example, not even the sanctuary of the Temple is spared from God’s judgment. Something else is essential. Authority must be exercised and fraternal conversation must be carried out under a very specific sign, the same sign that is marked on the foreheads of those who are saved in the first reading, the sign of the cross. It is when conflicts are resolved in the same spirit with which Christ the Lord emptied himself, even unto death, that we have the assurance that whatever is bound by us on earth is also indeed bound in heaven. For this is Christ’s promise: where two or three meet in my name, I shall be there with them.

As we go about negotiating the inevitable conflicts that come our way, we might do well to ask ourselves: in whose name are we meeting?

Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Victory in Motion

Reading: Revelations 11:19a; 12:1-6a, 10ab; Psalm 45:10, 11, 12, 16; 1 Corinthians 15:20-27; Luke 1:39-56

I must confess to having a rather static view of happy endings. The happily ever after of many a fairy-tale is my idea of a happy ending, but with an added twist. The lead character or hero, whoever he or she may be, walks or rides off into the horizon, and the scene freezes. The curtain closes. There is no more movement. The hero is happy – frozen – but happy.

Today, in the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we celebrate the ultimate happy ending. Christ the Lord has won the victory over sin and death. And Mary – representing all of us – shares fully, body and soul, in this victory. Christ’s victory is Mary’s victory. And Mary’s victory is also our victory. What is it like? What do the readings tell us?

We might begin with the response to the psalm. On your right stands the Queen… Where is Mary? She remains, always at the right hand, in the presence, of Christ her Son and Lord. Is this not also the kind of happy ending to which we can aspire: to always be in the presence of Christ, our heart’s desire? But what is it like to be in Christ’s presence?

It may be possible to think of it in static terms, as I tend to do with fairy-tales: Mary standing, frozen, at Christ’s right hand. But that vision doesn’t help me very much as I continue to live and struggle in this life. There seems little connection between this static vision and the perpetual motion of daily living. The gospel presents us with a more helpful scene. Here, Mary is far from static. Quite to the contrary, Mary is in full flight. Carrying Jesus in her womb, Mary went as quickly as she could to the aid of Elizabeth. There is no room for the frozen here. What we find instead is a presence-to-Christ that remains in motion, a motion that saves. For Mary, to remain in Christ’s presence is, inevitably, to announce and accompany Him in his mission of universal salvation. And in the hill country of Judah, this probably meant, very concretely, helping Elizabeth with house-chores, working in the kitchen, fetching water, feeding the animals…

We cannot say for sure what the ultimate happy ending is like that awaits us in the heavens. But while we’re still here on earth, we learn much from Mary’s example. Hers is the life that led to the Assumption, the happy ending to which we are called. And from Mary we learn what it means to be present to Christ, to share in Christ’s victory: not just being preoccupied with our own individual – frozen – victories, but being present to Christ in ways that remain always in motion, even as Christ remains in motion, reaching out to save the world, one little corner at a time.

Monday in the 19th Week of Ordinary Time (II)
Memorial of St. Maximilian Kolbe
Two Faces of Glory

Readings: Ezekiel 1:2-5, 24-28c; Psalm 148:1-2, 11-12, 13, 14; Matthew 17:22-27

In the responsorial psalm, we acclaim the glory of God that fills the whole earth. What does this mean? The other readings help us in our meditation.

In the first reading we have Ezekiel’s vision of the glory of God. There is thunder and lightning, fire and wind… But central to the vision is the human-like figure ablaze in glorious light. This awesome vision of the power and majesty of God, who chooses to appear as a human figure presents us with one face of God’s glory. Probably not many of us will have experienced a vision such as Ezekiel’s, at least not with the same intensity. But perhaps some of us will have seen this face of God’s glory – perhaps in a beautiful sunset, or in the face of a new-born child, in praise and worship, or in silent adoration before the Blessed Sacrament.

In the gospel Jesus, the God-human, speaks of his own impending suffering and death. Surely this is a radical contrast to Ezekiel’s vision. What has power and majesty to do with suffering and death? How could Jesus’ prophecy about his own fate have anything to do with God’s glory? The incident with Peter and the fish provides some indication. On their own, suffering and death are evils to be lamented and avoided if at all possible. But, as we well know, there is a deeper significance to Jesus’ suffering and death. Rather than seeking to escape his fate Jesus embraces it. Why? Just as Jesus pays the temple tax for Peter – despite not being obligated to do so – so by his suffering and death, Jesus pays the debt owed by humanity to the horrible reality of sin. And it is the love that motivates this self-sacrificing payment that presents us with another face of God’s glory. This second face of glory is perhaps less easily recognized than the first. But it is by no means uncommon. Consider the saint we celebrate today. While Maximilian Kolbe was imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp, a prisoner escaped, and the Nazis responded by choosing ten people to die by starvation. One of the men had a family, and Kolbe, a Franciscan, voluntarily died in his place. Like Jesus before him, Kolbe embraced death for love of another. We probably don’t see sacrifices like Kolbe’s everyday. But are there not people in our lives who die to themselves for love of others in less conspicuous but no less admirable and inspiring ways?

What face of God’s glory are we being shown today?

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Nourishment in the Desert

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

The desert can be a very formidable and uncomfortable place. There’re no air conditioners in the desert, no refrigerators or ice-cold beers, no hamburgers or Kentucky Fried Chicken, no washing machines or showers, no wireless connections or DVDs… And yet, today we hear of someone who actually goes a day’s journey into the desert. Why? Is Elijah out of his mind?

Quite coincidentally, if you believe in coincidence, not too long from now, most of us will also be journeying into the desert, to a place called Turpan. In fact, we’ll be spending the night there. Have you asked yourself why? Are we out of our minds?

And even before we set off for the desert, have you asked yourself why you’re here in Beijing, China? Of course, there are more creature comforts here than at Turpan. Here we have air-conditioners and refrigerators and KFC. But still, isn’t coming to China somewhat like entering the desert? We come to a strange and unfamiliar place and meet new people of a culture different from ours. The air is different. The roads are different. And the bathrooms are… well, also different. More likely than not, exciting as it may be, for most of us, just being here in China poses a challenge that we will do well to acknowledge. Once again, we might ask ourselves: Why are we here? What are we hoping to find?

Could we be hoping to find what Elijah found? Just as he is ready to lie down and give himself up for dead, Elijah finds nourishment. Incredible as it may seem, Elijah finds food and drink where one would least expect. But even more significant than the food and drink is their effect on Elijah. He walks for forty days and nights to the mountain of God. What Elijah finds in the desert is nothing less than a highway to God.

Could it be that here in our desert, whether it is Turpan or Xian, Xiahe or Beijing, in the dorm or in the street, in class or on excursions, whether we are conscious of it or not, we are also hoping to find, as Elijah did, some nourishment for our souls, food for our own respective journeys? If so, the good news is that there is food and drink in the desert. God is awaiting us there.

But to enjoy this nourishment, we must be like Elijah. We must get up and eat. Yet, we don’t always wish to do so. Consider the people in the gospel. Here is Jesus, the Bread of Life come down from heaven, offering himself to them. And they reject him because he is too familiar: Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph? Do we not know his father and mother?

It’s not only the familiar that invites rejection. We also reject the different and the strange as well, don’t we? And more likely than not, in the days ahead, there’ll be times when we’ll find ourselves tempted to reject the nourishment set before us, in whichever form it may take: people or places, ideas or experiences. It is at times like these that we will need to recall the message in the second reading today: Be kind… compassionate, forgiving… In particular, we will need to remind ourselves to seek first to observe and listen, to know a little more, and to understand a little more, before we criticize. Because it is only by doing this that we can begin to taste and see the goodness of the Lord. It is only by doing this that we can find, in the desert, the nourishment that we seek.