Charism of Choice

Solemnity of St Ignatius of Loyola

Priest & Founder of the Society of Jesus

Readings: Jeremiah 20:7-9; Psalm 34; 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Luke 14:25-33

Picture: cc Bryce Bradford

My dear friends, if I were to tell you that you are very important to me, how would you know whether or not I’m telling you the truth? I’m not sure, but I believe Covid-19 has actually helped some of us discover the answer to this question. For example, when a young couple is forced by safe-distancing regulations to choose no more than twenty people to invite to their wedding, their friends and relatives discover rather quickly, don’t they, just how important they are. Isn’t this a more reliable indicator of the things we consider more important, the people we hold more dear? Not so much what we say, but how we choose, especially when we are forced by circumstances to do so.

Perhaps this is what Jesus is getting at in the gospel, when he says that, to be a true follower of his, one must go so far as to hate not just the closest members of one’s family, but even life itself. The point is not that I must detest the very people I’m supposed to love. After all, the scriptures tell us that God is love (1 Jn 4:8). But rather, in the event that I have to choose between the Lord and anyone or anything else, my choice must be the Lord. The Lord must be the single most important reality in my life. More important than life itself.

Isn’t this the experience of Jeremiah, in the first reading? Called by God to preach an unpopular message to the people, the prophet remains faithful to his mission, even though it results in him being laughed at and persecuted and thrown into prison. By choosing in this way –  by choosing God over his own popularity and wellbeing – Jeremiah gives us a reliable indicator that he lives his life just as the second reading says we should. He does everything for the glory of God. Or, in other words, he truly worships God alone.

And it’s no surprise that these readings are chosen for this feast. For it was St Ignatius’ particular gift, not just to live in this way, but also to help others do the same. To choose God above all else. Truly to worship God alone.

I’m reminded of these lines by novelist, David Foster Wallace: There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship…. If you worship money and things… then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough…. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you…. Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out…

Sisters and brothers, if our choices do indeed indicate what’s truly important to us, then what or who is most important to you? What or whom do you worship, today?

Meaning in the Mess

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Wisdom 12:13,16-19; Psalm 85(86):5-6,9-10,15-16; Romans 8:26-27; Matthew 13:24-30

Picture: cc Jason Wun

My dear friends, imagine for a moment that you’re visiting someone’s house for the first time, and you find that the whole place is in a big mess. How do you feel? What do you think? Speaking for myself, I think even though I may try very hard not to judge, it’s quite likely that I’ll find it difficult to resist drawing certain not so charitable conclusions about those who live in that house, or about its owner. Maybe these people are untidy, or careless, or just plain lazy…

But what if it’s not just any single family’s house that is messy, but the whole wide world? How do I feel, for example, over these days and months, as people everywhere continue to suffer the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic? The poor much more than the well-off. What crosses my mind when I hear about some global leaders squabbling for political gain, instead of working together for the common good? What conclusions do I draw, not just about my world, but also about the One whom we Christians believe created it? Is our common earthly home hopelessly lost? Is God simply too callous or cruel, too vindictive or incompetent, to do anything?

My dear friends, if you’ve ever struggled to find meaning amid the madness of our world, if the messiness of life ever upsets your peace of mind, then perhaps you’ll be happy to know that today’s Mass readings offer us some guidance. For what do we find in the parable of the weeds and the wheat if not a very messy situation? And notice how this situation is intended to be a description not just of any untidy home, not even of the secular world. The distasteful sight of a wheat field overgrown with weeds is meant to signify nothing less than the current condition of the Kingdom of heaven itself.

In presenting us with this surprising image, what the Lord is perhaps teaching us is how to look at the often heartbreaking condition of our world, and to recognise there the workings of God. The subtle activity of the same powerful yet gentle and merciful God described in the first reading. A God who cares for every thing, who governs us with great lenience, teaching us how we too must be kindly to others.

Nor is the extent of God’s power limited to simply tolerating the weeds of sinfulness, in order to allow time for the seeds of virtue to sprout and to grow. For, as the gospel of John reminds us (12:24), in the person of Jesus, God actually enters into the field of our world, actually becomes a grain of wheat, which falls into the earth and dies, so as to bear the precious fruit of our salvation.

Even more, the second reading tells us that, in the person of the Spirit, God enters also into the chaotic and contradictory desires of our own often divided hearts, helping us to pray honestly and effectively, in a way that truly expresses the very mind of God.

Sisters and brothers, when you gaze at the messy sight of our troubled world, what do you see, how do you feel, what will you do today?

The Power to Be Ugly

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Isaiah 55:10-11; Psalm 64(65):10-14; Romans 8:18-23; Matthew 13:1-23

Picture: cc marco

My dear friends, do you know what it’s like to be an ugly duckling? To feel as though there’s something wrong with you, simply because you don’t look like those around you, or because you have different attitudes and values, different  hopes and priorities than they do? It’s not easy. Even if you may have been told that someday, in the distant future, you will grow up into a beautiful swan, it’s still not easy to accept your apparent ugliness now, in the present. Indeed, the temptation can be very great for someone in this position to do whatever it takes simply to fit in. Even to submit to plastic surgery of some kind. To deny, disguise, or deform oneself.

I wonder if this kind of experience is something like what we find in the second reading today… From the beginning till now, St Paul writes, the entire creation… has been groaning in one great act of giving birth; and not only creation, but all of us who possess the first-fruits of the Spirit, we too groan inwardly as we wait for our bodies to be set free. To groan together with the rest of creation, because we have not yet reached our true destiny. Have not yet become the beautiful swan that God intends us to become. Have not yet attained the full measure of justice and peace and joy that characterises the Kingdom of God.

To embrace the role of an ugly duckling. Feeling painfully out of place in a world that values superficial pleasures and passing comforts, often at the expense of human dignity and solidarity, of mercy and compassion. To groan for the coming of God’s Kingdom in all its fullness, and to do so not just with one’s voice, but also in one’s actions. Through the choices we make everyday, as individuals and families, as a society and as a church. Choices about what we watch or read, or buy or eat. Choices about whom we choose to interact with, or allow our hearts to be moved by… Yes, and also the choice of which candidate to support in an election…

It is not easy to groan in this way. The temptation is great to be silent and simply to blend in. And yet, the willingness to be different, perhaps even detested – the ability to groan – is also what distinguishes the two groups of people to whom Jesus speaks in the gospel today. On one side, there are the crowds, who flock enthusiastically to the Lord, but ultimately neither understand nor heed his urgent call to conversion. On the other side, are the disciples who, for all their shortcomings, persevere in following Jesus. And from him they receive the power that is described so beautifully in the first reading. The power of the rain and the snow, which come down from the heavens and do not return without watering the earth, making it yield and giving growth…

The power to groan and to grow towards the glory of God. This is what sets apart the true disciples of Christ. They are the ones who receive the seed of God’s Word in rich soil, and yield a harvest through their suffering, their willingness to embrace the difficult role of a baby swan in a world of ducks.

What shall we do to welcome and to wield this gentle yet insistent power in our world today?

From Analgesic to Antidote

3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

(Sunday of the Word of God)

Readings: Isaiah 8:23-9:3; Psalm 27:1, 4, 13-14; 1 Corinthians 1:10-13, 17; Matthew 4:12-13 or 12-17

Picture: cc Basheer Tome

My dear friends, given a choice, which do you think a sick person would prefer to receive, an analgesic or an antidote? As you know, an analgesic, such as Panadol, relieves pain, while an antidote counteracts the effects of poison. The first helps only to treat a symptom. The second actually provides a cure. So which do you think a sick person would choose, an analgesic or an antidote?

You may have heard the story of the man who complains to his doctor saying, Doctor, doctor, every time I drink coffee, I experience a sharp pain in my eye. Please help me! In response, the wise doctor leads the patient to a pantry, where she asks him to make himself a cup of coffee and drink it. Sure enough, as soon as he does so, the patient again reports experiencing a sharp pain in his eye. The doctor then smiles at him reassuringly, and says, I know the cause of your ailment. The next time you make coffee, remember to do one thing before you drink it. What is it? Asks the patient. Be sure to first remove the spoon from the cup.

In this story, if we were to think of the spoon as the poison, then the doctor’s advice is the antidote. But what if the patient stubbornly refuses to follow the doctor’s advice? What if he asks for Panadol instead? Then we could say that the patient is choosing an analgesic over the antidote. Which may not be such an unreasonable thing to do, since it’s probably much easier to pop a couple of pills into one’s mouth than to change one’s habitual behaviour.

I’m not sure, my dear friends, but I believe we find something like this difference between an analgesic and an antidote in our Mass readings today. The gospel describes Jesus’ decision to settle in the town of Capernaum as the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy in the first reading. The people that lived in darkness has seen a great light… So if we were to think of darkness as a poison, then the light of Christ is the antidote. But what is this darkness? What is this poison? And in what way is Jesus the antidote?

At first glance, the answer seems clear enough. For at the end of the reading, we’re told that Jesus went round the whole of Galilee… curing all kinds of diseases and sickness among the people. So it would seem that disease is the darkness to which Jesus is the light. Sickness is the poison for which Christ is the antidote. Which is great news for us. For then, every time we are sick, we have only to bring our illnesses to Jesus in prayer, and we can expect to be made well again.

And yet, perhaps it’s important to notice that the curing of diseases is only one of several things that Jesus does in the gospel. Along with healing the sick, the Lord also proclaims good news. Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand. And, along with healing and preaching, Jesus also calls disciples. Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.

Of course, it’s possible for me to think of all these activities of Jesus – the preaching, the calling, and the healing – as having no connection with one another. Such that I can be cured of my sickness without hearing the Lord’s message of repentance, or heeding his call to discipleship. That may be possible. But what happens then? Could it be that, even if I were cured of my bodily ailments, even if I were in the pink of health, I could still remain very much in the dark? I could still suffer the effects of a different kind of poisoning?

We find a useful illustration of this in the second reading. As we will see further on in this letter, in St Paul’s day, the Corinthian community was blessed with many gifts and charisms, perhaps including even the power to heal. And yet, here at the beginning of the letter, Paul is quick to point out an area of darkness in which the Corinthians remain trapped. (I)t is clear, Paul writes, that there are serious differences among you… Abundantly gifted though they may be, the Corinthians are severely divided among themselves.

It is upon this darkness of conflict, that Paul shines the light of the gospel. Like that doctor in the story we shared earlier, Paul advises the Corinthians to remove the spoon of their divisive attitudes and behaviours, and to be united again in… belief and practice. But repenting of such habitual behaviour is, of course, much easier said than done. To help his patients to follow his advice, Paul reminds them of Christ’s crucifixion, into which they have all been baptised. Implicitly, Paul invites them to allow themselves to listen again to the voice of Jesus, who calls them to discipleship. So that, like Peter and Andrew, James and John, they too might leave everything and follow the Lord… To counteract the poison of division, Paul prescribes the Good News of Christ as the antidote.

What does this show us, my dear friends, if not that the Lord’s proclamation of the Good News, his calling of disciples, and his curing of the sick are all part of a single ministry of reconciliation, a single work of deeper healing, by which Christ offers himself – his own life and death and resurrection – as the only effective cure for my selfishness and sin.

But, to be honest, it’s not always easy for me to see this. It’s not easy to recognise the deeper connections between the Lord’s words and actions, as they are recorded in the scriptures, and the challenges of my daily life. And even when I do see the connections, it’s not always easy to put them into practice. To do so, I need to dedicate time and space to meditate on God’s Word. To allow the message I hear with my ears to penetrate more deeply into my mind and heart. So that it can eventually find its way to my hands.

Isn’t this one good reason why I need something like this newly instituted Sunday of the Word of God? For even though every Sunday is dedicated to the Word of God, it’s still helpful to have a special day on which to be reminded that, for us Christians, the Word we receive, is not just a dead letter to be read off a dusty page, but God’s only Begotten Son. The One who continues to live among us in the flesh. And who keeps calling me to embrace a fuller life, by leaving everything to follow him.

Sisters and brothers, isn’t it true that, even if a doctor’s advice may be effective for curing our illness, it’s still not always easy for us to follow it? Is there perhaps a spoon that you need to remove from your coffee-cup today?

Moving To Be Still

2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Isaiah 49:3,5-6; Psalm 39(40):2,4,7-10; 1 Corinthians 1:1-3; John 1:29-34

Video: YouTube G5AppleMac

My dear friends, which do you think is more difficult to do, which takes more effort, more energy? To keep moving about, or to be still? To shift continually from one location to another, or to remain in the same place? What do you think?

At first glance, the answer seems obvious, doesn’t it? Surely moving about takes more energy than staying still. And yet, have you ever tried to remain in one spot, while standing up in a jerky bus or a speeding MRT train? Not so simple then, right? Easy enough to keep still when my surroundings are stationery. But far more difficult when everything around me is in rapid motion. For then, I need to know how to continually make just the right adjustments to my body, in order to stay in one place. Too much movement in one direction, or too little in another, and I end up losing my balance. I get dis-placed.

When everything around me is in motion, I too need to keep moving in order just to be still. This is a useful thing to remember, given what we find in the second reading, taken from the beginning of St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. Here, Paul greets the Christians at Corinth in a very particular way. He tells them that they, together with Christians everywhere else, are called to be saints, called to be holy. The translation we are using, taken from the Jerusalem Bible, expresses this sentiment in an interesting turn of phrase. Paul says the Corinthians are called to take their place among all the saints. So the second reading presents holiness as a place, a location, at which we, the followers of Christ, are called to remain, to be still.

But what does this spiritual place look like? And how does one remain there? The other readings offer some indications. In the first reading, the Servant of God also receives a call to remain engaged in a mission. To be the light of the nations. What does this entail? How does one take and remain in this place, the place of a light?

John the Baptist gives us a helpful illustration in the gospel. For what is John doing, if not acting as a light to those around him? And notice that he does this by engaging in a series of significant actions. We may say that he remains in one place by making certain distinctive movements. Perhaps the most obvious of these movements is how John points others to the presence of Jesus among them. Look, he says, there is the lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world.

And even if the reading doesn’t mention it explicitly, we can sense the excitement in John’s words and actions. He points Jesus out not just in a mechanical, matter-of-fact kind of way. Not just how some of us may sometimes drag ourselves to work on a weekday, or to church on a Sunday. Not as a burdensome duty. But rather, in a way that plainly shows his own enthusiasm and joy. His gratitude at being given the privilege to serve in this way. So that we can easily imagine John uttering these words from the responsorial psalm: He put a new song in my mouth, praise of our God.

Pointing and praising. This is perhaps the most obvious movement that John makes as a light. But it is by no means the only one. For I can point someone out only to the extent that I am first able to recognise that person. This is also what happens to John. This is how the gospel passage begins. Seeing Jesus coming towards him, John said… Out of the crowds of people flocking to him, John is somehow able to identify Jesus as the lamb of God, as the Salvation that God is offering to the world. Before the pointing and praising, there is a perceiving and knowing.

But, even so, it’s important for us also to notice that John did not always recognise Jesus. Not just once but twice, John openly confesses that I did not know him myself. So how did John come to recognise the One whom he initially did not know. Again John himself makes it clear that he was able to do so only through a revelation from God. God taught him the distinguishing characteristic of the Lord’s coming. The one on whom you see the Spirit come down and rest is the one…

Which suggests to us that even before perceiving and knowing Jesus, John was already in constant communication with God. John was making the same movement that the psalmist claims to have been making in the opening verses of the responsorial psalm. I waited, I waited for the Lord and he stooped down to me; he heard my cry… Before the pointing and praising, before the perceiving and knowing, there is first a pleading and waiting. A yearning and a begging to see the Lord’s face, to hear the Lord’s voice, to discover God’s true location. The better to keep moving and remaining there.

My dear friends, could it be that, if we were to imagine holiness as a spiritual place we are all called to occupy, then we remain in this place only by moving in the same ways that John the Baptist does in the gospel? By pleading and waiting. By perceiving and knowing. By pointing and praising. Could it be that progress in the spiritual life actually requires constant movement, in order to remain in exactly the same place?

Which should not surprise us. We who live in such a fast-paced society, where things keep changing so rapidly that it’s often difficult to keep up. How do we cope? How do we strive for holiness? Perhaps the lesson in our readings today is that we need to avoid two opposite extremes. First, the tendency to allow ourselves to be swept along by the tide. To move simply because that’s what everyone else is doing. And, second, the contrary tendency to refuse to move. To cling stubbornly to familiar and comfortable ways for their own sake. Even when it may become clear that they are no longer helpful for keeping us close to God.

Instead, we are called to move, to adjust ourselves, but only as much as is necessary for us to remain where God wants us to be. I’m reminded of these words from a hymn that we sometimes sing…

Be still for the power of the Lord is moving in this place.

He comes to cleanse and heal, to minister His grace.

No work too hard for Him. In faith receive from Him.

Be still for the power of the Lord is moving in this place.

Sisters and brothers, if life is really like a speeding train, then what must we do to keep moving in order to be still today?