Feast of St. Andrew, Apostle
The Belief that Makes Us Fishers of People

Readings: Romans 10:9-18; Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 11; Matthew 4:18-22

Yesterday, I returned from our long retreat to find a package waiting for me. In it was a gift with an accompanying note promising prayers for the retreat. I found one line particularly striking. It was the last. It said, with a smiley face at the end, God always turns up! Nothing really extraordinary about that statement. It’s a most appropriate thing to say. And everyone knows it to be true. Right? Or I should, at least, having made and given my own fair share of retreats in the past.

Yet, reading them only at retreat’s end, I found myself marveling at how well they described my experience. The past thirty days were indeed a demonstration of their truth. God kept turning up! And what was surprising and enlightening for me – even to the point of embarrassment – was how surprised I was that this should be so. I often found my director responding to what I had to say with, And you seem surprised at this… Yes, a crucially important observation. I was surprised: surprised that God should turn up, and even more surprised at my own surprise.

What has all this to do with the feast of St. Andrew the apostle?

No doubt we will have noticed that the readings speak to us about being saved. But salvation is a big word. What does it mean for us? Our readings offer us a deceptively simple description of the process. According to the letter to the Romans, salvation takes place in a cycle involving the following steps: someone preaches or confesses with the mouth, others listen to the message and then believe in it with the heart, which leads them, in their turn, to preach and confess to others. The gospel story puts it even more simply. Jesus tells Andrew and his companions: come after me, and I will make you fishers of men…

To be saved, then, is to listen to, to believe in, and to go after Jesus, and so to be transformed from people who fish into fishers of people.

I say that the process is only deceptively simple for at least two reasons. The first is strikingly illustrated in the experience of Andrew and his companions. In order to become fishers of men, they left not only their boat but also their father. And the radical nature of their willingness to let go of their possessions, their loved ones and, indeed, their own lives, is rooted in a second challenge, that of believing, truly believing with the heart, the message that we have heard and are called to confess. However we may wish to express it, this is the good news that God is on our side, that God loves us, that God always turns up!

As we celebrate the memory of St. Andrew the apostle, perhaps we might ask God to help us to ponder over the depth and efficacy of our own belief. In all that we do, are we truly fishers of people, or only people who fish? Are we saved?

PS: Many thanks for your prayers...

Break

Breaking the Word will be taking another break till the end of November for a short vacation and a long retreat. Your prayers will be much appreciated. Blessings!

Saturday in the 28th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
An Acquired Taste?

Readings: Romans 4:13, 1-18; Psalm 105:6-7, 8-9, 42-43; Luke 12:8-12

Probably few, if any, of those who read this blog (including its author) will have had the experience of actually being taken before synagogues and before rulers and authorities in order to speak in defence of the faith. Thankfully, most of us live in environments that are not explicitly hostile to Christianity. Even so, we cannot deny that to live truly Christian lives, to truly acknowledge Christ in our daily living, often requires that we think and act in ways that can best be described as counter-cultural. At work, for example, when everyone seems to be looking out for number one, do we not find ourselves invited to heed a different call, to run a different race? But how do we know how to run this alternative race? How do we learn to recognize this divine call? How do we know what is the Christian thing to do in any particular situation in which we find ourselves?

One common approach is to try to learn more about what the rules say. We try, for example, to read up and even to teach others what is the church’s current teaching on various issues, such as living wills, or homosexuality, divorce and remarriage... This emphasis on norms is, of course, important. But it’s not the whole story. I’m reminded of an experience of mine, some years ago, when I was asked to share a short reflection with some university students. Perhaps imprudently, I chose to illustrate my point by referring to a movie, and an R(A) movie at that. After I’d said my piece, a student, whom I later discovered was a member of a rather conservative religious group, questioned me thus: Do you mean to say that your religious superiors allow you to watch movies? Don’t you think movies are an occasion for sin? I was rather flabbergasted at the time, and was led to reflect further upon the experience. Can movies be the occasion for sin? Probably. Are all movies always an occasion for sin and so to be avoided by everyone, on every occasion, and at all costs? I wonder…

To overemphasize the adherence to norms over and above all else is to fail to see the whole picture. For, as Paul continues to remind us in the first reading, it was not through the law that the promise was made to Abraham and his descendants… but through the righteousness that comes from faith… What does this imply? What’s the difference between the law and faith? Jesus’ words in the gospel highlight for us one crucial difference. To live by the law is to always be concerned with having all the answers before hand. It is to think that we can respond adequately to life simply by clinging rigidly to certain norms of conduct. But notice what Jesus says in the gospel: Do not worry about how or what your defense will be or about what you are to say. For the Holy Spirit will teach you at that moment what you should say… The inspiration to do and say the right thing is given in the Spirit at the particular moment and in the particular situation of need.

Does this mean that norms are unimportant in living a truly Christian life? By no means. To quote Dean Brackley again:

Norms have a part in this, but not the most important part. Authentic freedom is about responding to reality under the guidance of the Spirit. There are three dimensions, or “poles,” of moral experience to which we must attend: ‘reality’ itself, the world outside us; ‘norms,’ which signal what is at stake in a given situation; and the action of the Spirit on our interior life. As we mature beyond moral minimums, we follow the Spirit more than we are guided by norms or abstract ideals in responding to the world. For Christians, Christ is the norm of norms and his Spirit guides them…

But all this implies that we Christians are continually learning to be more and more attuned to the voice of the Spirit, that we are gradually acquiring the taste for the Spirit's inspirations.

How might we continue to acquire this taste today?

Friday in the 28th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
Memorial of Ss. John de Brebeuf, Isaac Jogues, Priests and Martyrs, and Their Companions, Martyrs
Losing Our Grip

Readings: Romans 4:1-8; Psalm 32:1b-2, 5, 11; Luke 12:1-7

Once again, the third gospel tells us of a time when so many people were crowding together to see Jesus and hear what he had to say that they were trampling one another underfoot. Yet Jesus seems oblivious to the presence of all these hungry souls. Instead of immediately ministering to them, we’re told that he began to speak first to his disciples. He warns them about the leaven of the Pharisees. What’s so important about this teaching that it can’t wait till Jesus has seen to the needs of the crowds? What’s so dangerous about the leaven of the Pharisees? Is their hypocrisy really so deadly?

To appreciate the gravity of Jesus’ warning, we need to consider again what he is talking about. The problem seems to be not so much the isolated actions of the Pharisees, as their whole approach to life and to God, as well as the reason why they do the things they do. Why do they obsess over minute details of the Law? Why do they like to show off their good works while covering up their own shortcomings? Why do they tend to judge others so mercilessly? In doing all these things, are they not trying desperately to maintain a tight grip on life? And not just life on this earth, but even in the hereafter? And why do they feel the need to do all this? Jesus gets to the heart of their motivation when he speaks to his disciples about fear. The Pharisees, and all like them, are driven by a deep anxiety born of a lack of trust. They find it difficult to let go, to lose their grip on life, because they cannot be sure that there will be anyone to catch them if they do. They cling desperately to things that are within their control – the Law, their own pious observances – in the hope that these will justify them.

But, as Paul tells the Romans in the first reading, we are justified not on the basis of our works but through faith. Christianity is not a matter of clinging tightly to life, even eternal life, but of losing one’s grip in order to fall into God’s embrace. And we can only learn to do this when we take to heart what Jesus says about God in today’s gospel. We only learn to loosen our grip on life when we begin to realize that God is truly on our side, that even the hairs on our heads are counted… This realization comes to us not only through hearing what Jesus says, but also especially through witnessing what he does when he mounts the Cross on Calvary.

And in the martyrs whom we celebrate today, we see extreme illustrations of the awesome power of this trust in God that bears fruit in a willingness to let go. St. Isaac Jogues, for example, had returned from North America to his native France bearing the hideous marks of unbelievably cruel torture at the hands of the Indians with whom he had sought to share the Good News. His fingers were so mangled that he needed a dispensation to allow him to continue to celebrate Mass. Yet he volunteered to return to North America to continue working among the Indians there. And it was on his return trip that he won the crown of martyrdom. As Jesus did before him, St. Isaac trusted in the providence of God to the extent that he was willing to lose his grip on life.

Probably few of us will be called to the same degree of renunciation. Even so, whatever our situation, each of us is called to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, to let go of our anxieties, and to place our trust in God.

How are we being invited to do this today?

Wednesday in the 28th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
Memorial of St. Ignatius of Antioch, bishop and martyr
Painting Portraits

Readings: Romans 2:1-11; Psalm 62:2-3, 6-7, 9; Luke 11:42-46

Taken together, both our readings today paint for us a portrait of a particular type of person. Certain characteristics of this type are quite clearly spelt out. Such a person is judgmental. S/he expects a certain standard of behaviour or performance from others. And it would seem that most people tend to fall short of that standard. In Jesus’ words, this type of person imposes on people burdens too hard to carry… What’s more, this judgmental attitude seems to go hand in hand with a certain degree of hypocrisy. As Paul puts it: you… judge those who engage in such things and yet do them yourself… Clearly this type of person suffers from a certain blindness that hinders them from making accurate evaluations of self. This is because they are blissful unaware of the fact that they are focused on the wrong things. They obsess over the inconsequential things at the expense of the essentials. As Jesus says: you pay tithes of mint and of rue… but pay no attention to judgment and to love for God… This blindness allows them to enjoy a certain misplaced self-confidence or pride, which leads them to think that they are a cut above others, that they are members of an elite group.

In contrast, it may be useful for us to consider yet another portrait. What follows is taken from a book that I happen to be reading at the moment. It’s a book on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, written by Dean Brackley, and entitled The Call to Discernment in Troubled Times. Here we find a portrait, not of elitism, but of solidarity.

Solidarity is the social meaning of humility. Just as humility leads individuals to all other virtues, humility as solidarity is the foundation of a just society. In short, the standard of Christ today is “downward mobility.” That means entering the world of the poor, assuming their cause, and, to some degree, their condition. Solidarity shapes our lifestyle, which will depend on each one’s vocation. Solidarity does not necessarily mean destitution. It has nothing to do with denying our training or neglecting our talents. Special obligations, for example, to family and benefactors, carry weight in deliberating about lifestyle. We should beware of dogmatizing about having a car or a computer, about whether to save for old age or where to educate our children. These are legitimate matters for discernment, but not for one-sized-fits-all formulas. At the same time, the objective criterion of our “poverty” is solidarity with the poor. We will feel uncomfortable with superfluities when poor friends lack essentials. Attachment to them will detach us from luxuries, and even necessities. As the New Testament and Christian tradition tells us, possessions are resources entrusted to us, to be administered for the good of all, especially those in need. This logic extends to other resources. What about pursuing higher education in a world of hunger? If we have that opportunity, then studying means storing up cultural capital to be administered later on behalf of those who need us. How much should we have? Better to reframe the question: Do we feel at home among the poor? Do they feel comfortable in our homes? Or do our furnishings and possessions make them feel like unimportant people? Solidarity leads to sharing the obscurity, misunderstanding, and contempt experienced by the poor….

To combat world poverty and environmental decay, we need to make this the Century of Solidarity, especially international solidarity. As elites extend their power through globalized markets, finance, and communications, the response can only be to globalize the practice of love. We need to enlist the Internet, e-mail, and discount air fares in the cause. But more than anything else, we need “new human beings” who identify with the poor majority of the planet – including people in rich countries who know about trade, finance, and human rights law and can help address the complex causes of misery. Many such people are stepping forward, especially from colleges and universities and from the churches, with their unique potential to connect people across borders and a wealth of experience on the ground…

Today, if someone were to paint portraits of us, of our society, of our children, which would they resemble more closely, that of solidarity or that of elitism?