Wednesday, April 24, 2019

Healing the Wounds through Forgiveness


Second Sunday of Easter Year C

I dislike wearing short khakis. To be honest, I find it embarrassing, not because I’m prudish but because I have ugly scars from a previous motorcycle accident stretching the entire length of the shin on both legs. I guess we all have scars, from the unstitched nicks of childhood to crooked or misshapen noses, to long gouges left on our chests from bypass surgery. Then there are the countless inner wounds; the grief that never quite heals, wrongs done to us or by us that can never be righted, memories that cannot be erased, hurtful words or betrayals that seem to have a direct line to our tear ducts or the recurrent knot in our stomach. Some scars are readily visible; others remain hidden, whether from embarrassment or reticence. A friend once told me that his “tears roll on the inside.” You can’t get through life without scars, inside or outside.

But where do our deepest hurts come from. The popular spiritual author, Henri Nouwen speaks of them emanating from our primary relationships, those persons we love most and who love us most; they too are the ones who hurt us most. Nouwen writes, “that is where we are most loved and most wounded… where our greatest joy and our greatest pain touch each other.” Yes, those who are closest to us are also those who cause us the deepest pain. It is our father, our mother, our brother, our sister, our spouse, our closest friend, our co-worker, our neighbour, a member of our community, our priest, who can hurt us most and be most hurt by us. Christians are not exempted from such hurting. In fact, truth be told, Christians offend and hurt each other with frightening regularity. And we know - far too many Catholics have had painful experiences in the Church, and many have simply opted to walk away.

No wonder, the first few words of the Risen Lord as He appeared to His disciples behind closed doors in the Upper Room, spoke not of freedom from trouble or conflict but rather of forgiveness. Our Lord begins a greeting of peace then quickly commissions His disciples to be messengers of God’s merciful love and forgiveness, saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit. For those who sins you forgive, they are forgiven; for those who sins you retain, they are retained.”

The gift of the Holy Spirit and the mandate and power to forgive cannot be understood apart from the wounds which our Lord exhibited on His Body. It’s fascinating, then, that when the fourth evangelist tells the story of the Lord’s appearance to His disciples after the resurrection, he tells how our Lord showed them His scars, His wounds. Not once, but twice. The wounds of Christ point us to our personal wounds, to the wounds of our communities, and to a wounded Church in need of peace, forgiveness and reconciliation. Particularly, Christ’s wounds remind us of the unhealed wounds that often weigh heavily on our hearts.

But it is not just individuals who suffer wounds. Because the Church is mystically “Christ’s Body,” how much greater are sins that injure the Church? Since its foundation, Mother Church, the Body of Christ, has been rocked, wounded, and splintered by the sins of its members – heresy, apostasy and schism. But today, toxic behaviour among members of the Body of Christ continue to cause further harm. Such behaviour do not merely injure the reputation or hurt the feelings of another, but often wounds the Church deeply and in fact hinders her from carrying out her mission as a sacrament of salvation to the world. Envy, gossip, back-biting, betrayal, division, factionalism, just to name a few. Instead of attracting others to the Lord, these forms of toxic behaviour are often off-putting as they drive off both potential enquirers, and as well as members of the community who are scandalised by the lack of charity.

Let’s return to the story of our gospel. Most of us have heard a homily about Thomas’ unbelief, and that our faith should not be merely confined to what is visible, “Happy are those who have not seen and yet believe.” Yes, it is about faith. But today I would like to look at this scene a little differently. I want to suggest to you that this story is not just about the faith of Thomas but about the Body of Christ, the Church. You see, many Catholics have no issue with their faith in the Risen Christ, it is their experience with the Church that often shakes their belief and calls into question what they fundamentally hold as true. Let’s face it, most people leave the Church, not because they found her teachings to be false or deficient, but because they had experienced some hurt, pain, or injury at the hand of another within the Body of Christ.

This is true for Thomas. When his brothers told him that they had seen the Risen Lord, his incredulity may have been directed at them. “Can I ever believe the testimony of these cowards, betrayers and deniers?”  He may be thinking that this was some sick April Fools’ Day joke being played on him. If Thomas had doubted, he may have doubted the words of his brothers rather than that of the Lord’s. Hear-say testimony was insufficient to convince him. He needed hard evidence, “Unless I see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe. 

But, our Lord showed Thomas and the other disciples a different kind of proof – proof of the power of forgiveness. He was that living proof. Here was a man who was not only wounded physically, but most grievously in His heart by the betrayal and denial of those who were dearest and closest to Him, but He forgave them, nevertheless. And this is what He wants of us. He knows how much we’re hurting. He knows and shares our woundedness. To do that, He presents Himself not as an unscathed physician, untouched by the wounds of His patients. But rather, shows Himself to be the wounded healer who heals all wounds and scars through His own wounds. This too must be our ministry and our mission: to forgive those who have hurt us.

Though many of us would wish for a perfectly pristine Church made up of perfect saccharine sweet members who do not hurt each other, this is mere wishful thinking, at least in the here and now. The fact that the Lord still bears His wounds after the Resurrection is a tremendous beacon of hope for the rest of us.  On the face of it, woundedness is not something that inspires hope.  We live in a culture that exalts perfectly shaped bodies and perfectly integrated personalities, and part of me wishes that someday I could get beyond my inner and outer wounds. But this appearance of our Lord to Thomas and the other apostles suggests to me that I’ll always carry my brokenness, or at least the signs of my brokenness, with me, during this life.  More importantly, though our Lord did not promise to give us a Church with perfect members, He offered us something better – the gift of the Holy Spirit and the power and mission to forgive each other’s sins.  There will be no need for forgiveness, if we never hurt or get hurt.

What our Lord asks is not easy. Sometimes we want to forgive, but we cannot seem to let go of our hurt. It can be easier to forgive the sin of a stranger or a non-Christian than a close friend, a relative, or a fellow Christian or your priest, for that matter. That’s because we can expect mistreatment from some strangers and foes. But we expect more from our brothers and sisters in Christ. In the Church, we expect to find honesty, love, and compassion. But instead, we do hurt one another repetitively—more than we like to admit.  We speak carelessly, we forget promises, we fail to offer help in their hour of need, and more. But we must learn to forgive. We need to forgive. We ought to forgive—for our own benefit, for the benefit of our brothers and sisters, and above all because we love and honour Jesus, who first forgave us and gave us this mission, mandate and commandment to forgive. And the Holy Spirit makes all this possible.

Friday, April 19, 2019

Tell us, Mary: say what thou didst see upon the way?


Easter Sunday

If you have been faithfully following and attending the masses of the Easter Triduum, you would realise that a liturgical hymn or two is weaved into each day’s liturgy, complementing the readings with beautiful lyrical poetry expounding profound theology. There is the Thomistic Eucharistic Hymn of Pange Lingua and the beautiful medieval Ubi Caritas on Maundy Thursday, the Stabat Mater for the Stations of the Cross and the Reproaches for the  Good Friday liturgy, and finally the extraordinary chant of the mother of all vigils, the Exultet, which you would have heard last night if you attended the Easter Vigil mass in the Holy Night.

But this morning’s liturgy would not be an anti-climax, in fact the hymn that we’ve just been treated to is to be sung during masses throughout the Octave of Easter, the next eight days of the week till next Sunday. Its Latin name is “Victimae paschali laudes”, which is the incipit (opening words) of the traditional Easter sequence, “Christians, to the Paschal victim”. This plainsong chant hymn provides a dramatic celebration of Christ's victory over death in the context of a dialogue between Mary Magdalene and a narrator.

The hymn or sequence is divided into two parts, the first part speaks of the invisible realities which only faith can perceive. But the second part is hinged on the personal eye-witness testimony of Mary Magdalene. The narrator would asked Mary this question, “Tell us, Mary: say what thou didst see upon the way?” The reason why this question is posed to Mary Magdalene was because she was the first witness of the resurrection. In fact, each of the gospels has Mary Magdalene as the very first to whom the risen Jesus appears, although each describes the circumstances quite differently. Here in the Gospel of St John, both St Peter and the Beloved Disciple having heard the initial report from Mary that the stone which blocked the entrance of the tomb had been rolled away, rushes over only to see an empty tomb, whereas Mary alone stayed around long enough to see the Risen Christ, the account of which is not included in today’s gospel reading but follows hereafter. Her testimony, like the testimonies of so many who saw our Risen Lord in the flesh, and the others confirm the central Christian truth that the resurrection was not a hoax, nor was it a purely spiritual reality. Our Lord did indeed physically rise from the dead – not just a resuscitation from a close encounter with death or feigned death.

But what is the true significance of our Lord’s resurrection? To answer this, we need to go to the first part of the Sequence. The second stanza of the hymn goes like this “Death with life contended; combat strangely ended! Life’s own Champion, slain, yet lives to reign.” What a terrific image! Most commonly if we speak about people defeating death, we mean that they came close to dying but did not, probably because they fought to stay alive. Christ, however, died. He really died! He did not feign death nor came to a near-death encounter. He truly, really died! But in death, He defeated death by dying and coming back to life by His own power.

So what does the resurrection mean for us today? The Lord’s resurrection proves that once and for all death has been defeated. The resurrection is therefore the story of the outcome of the greatest battle ever fought. Jesus Christ, Life’s own Champion, won the battle that day, and on the first Easter He emerged as victor with great glory. He defeated death’s despair, and transformed death itself: no longer hopeless, it was now, for those who long to see God, the doorway into His unveiled presence and the full realisation of His love and immense goodness. It was the greatest redemptive and restorative act of all history. According to St Melito of Sardis, Christ through His resurrection has “destroyed death, triumphed over the enemy, trampled hell underfoot, bound the strong one, and taken men up to the heights of heaven.”

It is true that a large part of society does not fear death anymore, not because of their belief in the resurrection. On the contrary, society often lives as if death were inexistent and the resurrection useless. We toy with the idea of immortality brought about by technological advancement, just like in the movie ‘Transcendence.’ We have sanitised death and have made it the butt of jokes and the stuff of comedies. And yet there is nothing as daunting as the mystery of death. We live as if death were inexistent precisely because the fear of death remains pervasive, particularly for those who are ill or elderly, despite our efforts to defeat it with various methods; it consumes our peace and fills our souls with an unjustifiable anguish, constant uncertainty making it intolerable. To cope with that perennial feeling of listlessness, we live in denial of death. When reality does set in, often too late, we come to realise that death is the one thing we have no power over, despite recent advances in technology.

But our Lord’s resurrection puts an end to our uncertainties.  Death no longer cripples us.  It is no longer the inevitable end of our existence.  The tomb stone no longer covers our existence in an eternal silence.  The massive rock that covered the entrance to Our Lord’s tomb has been removed and Christ has emerged triumphant, victorious over death.  For those who followed in His footsteps, the fear of death disappeared to be replaced with the infilling of joy and hope. Whilst we know that one day we will die, we also know that there is life beyond death.  Because of our Lord’s resurrection we can have the promise of forgiveness, and a fresh start with God. 

We live in the span of history between God’s convincing defeat of the powers of death, and their full and final destruction. The resurrection offers compelling proof that the powers of death are no match for God’s authority. Their weakness has been exposed, their ultimate threat disarmed. While the powers of death have been defeated they have not yet been destroyed. For a time they retain residual power and influence in this world. Indeed, death still stalks all of us and we will have to come to its doors one day. But our situation is no longer hopeless, because we know that death’s power has been diminished by its indisputable defeat at Easter.

Today, in the face of war, famine, dispossession, injustice, the darkness of sin, the loss and death of our loved ones, we cry out to God to act quickly and decisively to destroy what remains of death’s powers. But God waits patiently, offering every opportunity for the enemies of Christ to come to their senses and embrace the ways of God’s kingdom. And we must wait too; but not passively. By our words and actions we boldly announce God’s Easter victory over death – light has triumphed over darkness, truth over falsehood, love over hate, grace over sin. In God’s new order, distress, sickness, death, displacement, sin and violence will no longer hold sway. They will be replaced by joy, peace, hope, truth and love.

And so we ask Mary Magdalane once again, “Tell us, Mary: say what thou didst see upon the way. And she answers:
“The tomb the Living did enclose;
I saw Christ's glory as He rose!
The angels there attesting;
shroud with grave-clothes resting.
Christ, my hope, has risen:
He goes before you into Galilee.
That Christ is truly risen
from the dead we know.
Victorious King, Thy mercy show! Amen. Alleluia.”

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Why is this night different?


Easter Vigil

As Christians celebrate Easter, our Christian Passover, Jews throughout the world also commemorate this holy night with the seder or Passover Meal. A crucial and integral part of the Jewish ritual is what is called “the Four Questions”. Now, that’s actually a misnomer because the truth is that, it is just ONE question with four answers. The central question is posed by the youngest person in the room, “Why is this night different from all other nights?”

“Why is this night different from all other nights?” The Exultet (or the Easter Proclamation), sung at the beginning of this Vigil, provides us with the answer. Why is this night so different? Why is this night so special? “This is the night that with a pillar of fire, (God) banished the darkness of sin,” “This is the night when Christ broke the prison bars of death and rose victorious of the underworld,” “This is the night of which it is written: ‘The night shall be bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness’” and “O truly blessed night, when things of heaven are wed to those of Earth, the divine to the human.”

At the heart of this proclamation is this invitation to praise the invisible God and our Lord Jesus Christ for His work of redemption: “for our sake paid Adam’s debt to the eternal Father.” This is done by using biblical device of type and antitype. From the perspective of scriptures, a type was a model or symbol of something or someone that would exist at a future time. The later person or thing was called the antitype. For example, Moses is a type of Jesus, who is the antitype. The first three proclamations refer to the three types of night in the story of the Exodus: the night of the Passover in Egypt; the night of the passage through the Red Sea, and the night of the journey through the desert, which was illuminated by the pillar of fire.

But, the focus of this great song is certainly not on the story of Israel’s delivery from Egypt. These stories and the images they paint only serve as a prefiguration of what is to come. The delivery from slavery in Egypt is a type of delivery from the eternal death of sin, pointing to the antitype which is anticipated in the New Testament. First, the Old Passover points to the new Passover, where Christ passed from death to life (or as the song proclaims “this is the night when Christ broke the prison bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld”). As God in the story of the Exodus accepted the death of an innocent lamb in place of the death of the Israelites - they were saved vicariously, as we are by the death of Christ. The blood of this lamb marked out the Israelites as the object of God's special choice and love; and this is just what the blood of Christ does for the souls of the redeemed. That lamb, having been sacrificed, was eaten by the family; the true Lamb of God is shared with God's family in the Mass.

Secondly, the crossing of the Red Sea points to baptism and its effects: “The sanctifying power of this night dispels wickedness, washes faults away, restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners, drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty!” The waters of Baptism are also death-bringing and life-giving; they bring death to the ‘old man’, the Adam-man, but life to the ‘new man’, the Christ-man or Christian. “In our Baptism”, wrote St. Paul, “we have been buried with Christ, died like him, that so, just as Christ was raised up by his Father's power from the dead, we too might live and move in a new kind of existence”.

And finally, the journey through the desert illuminated by the pillar of fire points to the Paschal Candle described as a “pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God’s honour … to overcome the darkness of this night.” Just as the ancient fiery pillar led the men of old through the darkness of the desert to the waters of the Red Sea, so now the fiery pillar of the paschal candle leads the men of today through the darkness of the church to the waters of Baptism.  After the waters, the fiery pillar led God's Chosen People of the Old Testament in their march through the desert towards the Promised Land. In like manner, after Baptism he who is symbolised by the fiery pillar of the candle leads God's Chosen People, the Church, in their journey through this life towards the promised land of heaven. As you can already guess, the Paschal Candle is the symbol of Christ Himself, the Light of the World. That is why the Paschal Candle is treated as if it were a person. It is welcomed by the congregation at the church door; it is given the honours proper to a person of importance. It is introduced as “Lumen Christi” (the Light of Christ. Majestically it is borne ahead, hero of the occasion, shining focal point of every gaze, the sole light-giver - as was Christ whom it personifies.

In a way, our liturgy seems to imitate life. The looming darkness which enshrouds this night always threatens to overwhelm the dimming light emanating from our candles but with the first notes of the magnificent Easter Proclamation being sung, the darkness is dramatically dispelled by the lights which are turned on in the Church, as the darkness of sin is expelled by the Light of Christ. The forces of chaos that threatens to destroy our universe are subdued by the power and authority of God, and subverted into becoming the very raw material of both the old creation as well as the new one. God re-creates and redeems all life from dead and dry bones. We are released from the bonds of self-obsession, addiction and whatever that would steal away the radical freedom God has given us. From the waters of destruction, emerges new life. On this night, death itself is trampled upon.

We know only too well those situations where darkness covers our lives. Our present struggles, our addiction to sin, the scandals that have rocked the Church, the weight of world events and even the crisis we are experiencing in our communities, our families and our own personal lives, all obscure our hope. But the hope of the risen Christ can transform our darkness to light. This is what we celebrate tonight. So, why is this night different from all other nights? Here you have the answer: “This is the night that even now, throughout the world, sets Christian believers apart from worldly vices and from the gloom of sin, leading them to grace and joining them to his holy ones.”

Yes, this is the night when Christ, the Life arose from the dead. The seal of the grave is broken and the morning of the new creation breaks forth out of the night. This is the night when the Lord leads Adam and Eve, you and you and all of you out of the blackness of the tomb and into the brilliance of the 8th day sun. This is the night when we receive more from Jesus than what we lost in Adam; when we are clothed in the skin of the Lamb of God; when death’s dread angel sheathes his sword to beckon us with open arms back into the Garden of Heaven. “Our birth would have been no gain, had we not been redeemed.” This is the night where the wonder of the resurrection is upon us once more. Christ is risen, death is vanquished, humanity is restored to their rightful place with God. Yes, “this is the night of which it is written: The night shall be as bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness.”