Love demands judgement

Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Fr Bonaventure and I take frequent jibes at each other, with criticisms ranging from external appearances to annoying personal quirks. I guess it’s the price we pay for staying together and it keeps Brother Jonathan entertained with our daily Laurel-and-Hardy antics. Married couples would know what I am talking about. At close proximity, every wrinkle would look like a ridge of the Grand Canyon, a blemish like a black wormhole in deep space and a mole like the planet Jupiter. Of course, this is all hyperbole.

We often protest at how others are being judgmental. We hate being judged. But the truth is that, everyone expresses some form of judgmentalism. Accusing someone else of being judgmental merely exposes our own judgmentalism. Aren’t we judging the other when we accuse them of being judgmental? Of course, many of us are fond of excusing ourselves. It’s always “Rules for Thee, but not for me!” But the bigger question should be: “Can we judge without being judgmental?” And the answer is “we most certainly can and we should”.

Firstly, we make judgments all the time. It’s part of being human. If I see water falling from the sky, I make a judgment, “It’s raining.” If I see an attractive girl, I make a judgment, “Wow! She’s really beautiful!” When we choose which outfit to wear for the day, we are making a judgment. All this is stating the obvious, of course. But we also make judgments with regards to what we consider “good” or “bad” for us or even for others. I don’t smoke because I know it’s bad for my health. That’s a judgment. When you see your young child run into the street, you will stop her for fear that she may get run over by a car. That’s making a judgment. But let’s take this a step further. If I see my friend’s husband sleeping around with other women (provided that I have clear proof and not just making a conjecture), can I make a judgment that this is not good for his marriage and family, and that it is not morally good for him too? Can adultery ever be a good thing or is it neutral? And if it is always a bad thing, wouldn’t that be making a judgment?

It is clear from these few examples, that making a judgment is something necessary and is essentially what makes us human. However, though we may make judgments about things, situations and a person’s actions and words, we are in no position to judge their motive or the interior of a person, the heart. Only God can make that judgment. Our Holy Father, Pope Francis gives us an important reminder, “Each person’s situation before God and their life in grace are mysteries which no one can fully know from without.”

Today, we live in a culture that promotes and preaches non-judgmentalism, by which they mean one can never impose one’s own set of morality on another. We would agree that we should not be judgmental, if this means not judging someone’s intention or soul, as we were privy to this. But to choose to suspend all judgment is simply wrong. Judgment is necessary especially when love demands it. And this is love: to will the good of another. Being free of sin and on the road to salvation is the ultimate “good” for the other. Sitting back and saying nothing, however, is not the loving thing to do. Indifference does not equal love. We can be nice and polite to people who make bad choices. We may even tolerate their decisions. But do we really “love” them? In the end, such a mentality of “tolerance” encourages us to be unconcerned about the people around us and neglect our responsibilities toward them.

But that’s not how our Lord lived. Our Lord was anything but indifferent to others. He didn’t say, “who am I to judge? … whatever works for them … different strokes for different folks!” Saying that our Lord never came to judge is one of the most grievous but popular false caricatures of Him. In a way, we are choosing to make Jesus in our image and likeness so that we may justify our actions and make ourselves feel better about our behaviour and lifestyle.

On the contrary, our Lord shows us the two essential sides of love, a soft side of mercy, compassion, and acceptance, and a firm side that constantly calls us to conversion. Truth is not the antithesis of Love or vice versa. Charity seeks truth and truth serves charity. On the one hand, our Lord loved everyone, even in their weaknesses – He came for sinners. On the other hand, our Lord persistently challenged people to repent from evil. And He did this because He loved them and knew they would be happiest when they live according to God’s plan. And that is why admonishing the sinner is a spiritual act of mercy, and not meanness.

At the end of last week’s Gospel, our Lord challenged us: “Be compassionate as your Father in Heaven is compassionate!” True compassion must always be at the heart of judging. That is why it is so important that we recognise and address the plank in our own eye before taking issue with the splinter in our brother’s eye. Our Lord is not asking us to disqualify ourselves from making any judgment, since no one is perfect. Our Lord is setting out a vision of the integrity between what we are and what we say. Being judgmental is actually being inconsistent. We claim the right to judge others but we refuse to be judged. If we face the truth about ourselves (the so-called “plank” in the eye) and acknowledge our own daily struggles with sin, we are less likely to set ourselves up in judgment over others in a “judgmental” sort of a way. If we recognise how much we need God’s mercy, then our hearts will be much more compassionate when we encounter other people’s faults. St Bernard tells us that, “if you have eyes for the shortcomings of your neighbour and not for your own, no feeling of mercy will arise in you but rather indignation. You will be more ready to judge than to help, to crush in the spirit of anger than to instruct in the spirit of gentleness.”

We are called to be judges, but all too often we are unfit to judge. But nevertheless, we must judge between good and evil; we cannot shirk our duties to correct error and to rebuke sin in others. In fact, our Lord gave us an important cue with regards to making judgments – “every tree can be told by its own fruit” which repeats a theme found in the first reading. We can and we should judge, but if we are to judge, we do so based on the actions and words of the other rather than presume that we can read minds and hearts. If we are to judge, let us first judge ourselves. And just as we are called to correct, we must also be open to correction ourselves. Above all, if we are to judge, let us do so with compassion and love, “in the spirit of gentleness”, knowing that all of us would have to meet our Lord on the Last Day, who sits in judgment over both the living and the dead, and He will judge us by using the same measure which we have applied to others.

Love them anyway

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

One of the most life-changing quotes that I have carried with me in my arsenal of pithy sayings, something I’ve treasured all these years as a priest is this personal piece of advice I received from the late Fr Phillips Muthu: “Mike, there are no troublemakers in this world. Only people needing to be loved.” What a refreshing new lens? Such an important reminder especially when I’m confronted with someone annoying, insolent, rude and incorrigible. Just at the very moment I’m tempted to blow my top and lash out, this quote brings me back from falling off the precipice of cool-headed sanity: “Mike, there are no troublemakers in this world. Only people needing to be loved.”

Today, our Lord provides us with the new benchmark of how we should treat others, even to those who seem to be undeserving of civility because they have shown none, even to those who appear to have mistreated us. “Be compassionate as your Father is compassionate.”

The formulation of this statement shows us that compassion is not dependent on reciprocity. It has nothing to do with a kind of quid pro quo - be nice to people who are nice to you. Rather, we are held to a higher standard, which is that of God’s. This is why the acid test of being a Christian is not found in how well we treat our friends or how well we repay those who have been good to us, but is to be found in this simple and yet tremendously challenging act which our Lord sets out at the start of today’s teaching: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who treat you badly.”

But this still begs the question - what does it mean to be compassionate? Most people think that being compassionate means being kind and showing sympathy, but there is something deeper, something even more profoundly powerful, in its meaning. The origin of the word helps us grasp the true breadth and significance of compassion. In Latin, ‘compati’ means “suffer with.” Compassion means someone else’s heartbreak becomes your heartbreak. Another’s suffering becomes your suffering. It was the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer who wrote: “We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.” True compassion changes the way we live.

But it is not just any compassion which we must exhibit. Our Lord pegs the standard at a divine level - our compassion must be in imitation of the Heavenly Father. Our scriptures are filled with references to a God who is loving and compassionate. In fact, compassion seems to be another synonym for God. The Psalmist sings of God’s compassion: “The Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion” (Psalm 116:5).

But most of you would protest that expecting us to behave like God is asking the impossible from us - an impossibly high and unreasonable standard, which no one can ever hope to achieve. Once someone complained to me that it is so hard to forgive those who have wronged her, and I immediately pointed out that Jesus forgave His enemies whilst hanging from the cross. She retorted: “But Jesus is God! I’m not!” She has a point there.

And so, our Lord, after having laid down the divine standard of compassion, continues to list out several practical examples of the Golden Rule. The Golden Rule is a simple principle of reciprocity that is found in almost all world religions, philosophies and cultures - “do unto others what you want others to do unto you” or its inverse, “do not do unto others what you do not want others to do unto you.” The connexion between our Lord’s saying on compassion and that of the Golden Rule is easy to understand because compassion asks us to look into our own hearts, discover what gives us pain, and then refuse, under any circumstances whatsoever, to inflict that pain on anybody else.

But notice that the few instances of the Golden Rule which our Lord cites is different from that general principle: “Do not judge, and you will not be judged yourselves; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned yourselves; grant pardon, and you will be pardoned. Give, and there will be gifts for you.” It is obvious that the Lord is not promising nor asking us to expect that our actions will be reciprocated by others. We have no guarantee of this. The reward which our Lord promises will come from God rather than from man. This frees us to show compassion, love, kindness, mercy and generosity to others without expecting any payment in return from those who are our beneficiaries because we are confident that God is holding the credit note which He will honour one day. And therefore, St Peter’s advice should be the normative way we should behave as Christians: “finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble” (1 Peter 3:8).

It is good to revisit the words inscribed on the wall of one of the homes established by the saint of the slums, Mother Teresa:

“People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centred;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway,

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.”

So, the next time you encounter a difficult, rude and cantankerous person, "love them anyway." 

How happy are you who are poor

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

We are finally reaching the end of the Chinese New Year festive season with the famous Chap Goh Mei (or simply, the 15th day) celebration on Tuesday. I believe many of you have broken new records of the number of yee sang tosses for the current year, number of ang pows you’ve received and for the adults, a record deficit in your personal account. One of the festive greetings that you will hear most frequently to the point of ad nauseum, is Gong Xi Fa Chai or its many dialectical equivalents. Most non-Chinese speakers would mistake this as simply meaning “Happy New Year”, only to be surprised and shocked by its actual literal translation: “May you have increased wealth/ prosperity!” The greeting seems to reaffirm the unflattering stereotyping of the Chinese as people who are obsessed with money and wealth. Well, I can assure that for many, even the non-Chinese, happiness is often tied to how much money you possess. So, for the last time this year: “Gong Xi Fa Chai”.

A good friend of mine once asked why we Catholic priests can’t preach like famous televangelists, the likes of Joel Osteen. She was referring to the message which is commonly known as the gospel of prosperity. Joel Osteen once told Time Magazine: “I preach that anybody can improve their lives. I think God wants us to be prosperous. I think he wants us to be happy.” And so, my friend’s contention is that instead of making Catholics feel guilty for being rich, can riches be justified and even promoted in our preaching? Can this simple formula be expounded more frequently and more assertively from the pulpit: “the more you give the more you get”? Can every homily sound like a Chinese New Year greeting?

The answer which I will give is going to disappoint my friend and anyone else who would expect to hear us preach about God’s blessings in the form of wealth, good health and endless happiness. But disappointment is too mild a term. St Luke’s Gospel uses the harshest language toward the rich and also treats the poor in the most flattering way. For example, in Luke’s version of the Beatitudes which we heard today, Our Lord not only pronounces a blessing on the poor, He also pronounces curses on the rich. Instead of wishing you a prosperous life, our Lord issues this strange blessing: “How happy are you who are poor: yours is the kingdom of God.” On the other hand, He addresses the rich in this way: “But alas for you who are rich: you are having your consolation now.”

What seems most disturbing about the Lukan beatitude, especially the first, is the inexplicable canonisation of poverty and the ensuing situations which normally spell tragedy. It has none of the spiritual dimension that is found in St Matthew’s version - “poor in spirit” - a term which could equally include the rich as well as the poor, because spiritual poverty can afflict anyone regardless of their economic status.

What is it about poverty that is so “blessed” or “happy” or even authentically “human”? We must first make a critical distinction between poverty and destitution. All human beings are entitled to have their basic needs met. The fact that millions are living in our world in the state of destitution, where hunger and disease ravage entire nations, is a great sin against humanity. There is certainly no blessing in this, neither should it ever be a cause of happiness. Every time we withhold our cloak from the naked or our food from the hungry, we sin, not only against the human person, but also against the Lord Himself. But poverty, or at least evangelical poverty, is not identical with destitution. The destitute may think of themselves as forsaken, but the poor are definitely not forsaken by God. Poverty is the state of simplicity, that is the state of having only what one needs. God is the supreme wealth of the poor.

To advance in the life of virtue, poverty must come first. This is due to the chasm that lies between God and the world, the Creator and His creatures. This world and all its riches are God’s gift to us to be used as a means for our return to Him. Simply put: God is the end; things are means to this end. On the other hand, the possession of material goods beyond that of basic necessity, brings with it the risk of using goods as ends in themselves. Things therefore become our ‘idols.’ The outcome would be the proliferation of vices like greed, envy and possessiveness. It is interesting that, while Christ cured the sick, made the blind see, made the deaf hear, but He never once made a poor man rich. Illness, blindness, and deafness are deprivations; poverty is not. Likewise, when one is deprived of the basic needs of life, this physical state of destitution necessarily brings with it the challenge of spiritual destitution. This is why we must work to eliminate destitution in the world, not primarily because of the physical suffering it brings, but because we wish to allow God’s people the freedom to worship Him in health of body, mind, and soul.

Christ, in this first beatitude, does not say, “To those who are impoverished, I say to you, the day will come when I will relieve you of this poverty and make you rich.” That’s the gospel of prosperity. Instead, our Lord says, “happy are you who are poor.” Poverty itself brings with it a blessing, or rather, sanctity. The poor understand their need for God. The poor’s security and wealth lie with God. The more we possess, the further we find ourselves from pursuing our proper end: God. We cannot serve both God and mammon. The further we are from our proper end, the less human we find ourselves. This explains the unique theme of reversal, present in St Luke’s beatitudes, the so-called four ‘woes’, as opposed to the four ‘blessings’. Wealth, full stomachs, contentment and human respect, though good in themselves, can also risk becoming dangerous. They can lead us to believe only in ourselves and our resources, and forget our true end which is God and His Kingdom.

Despite what my good friend claims, the Catholic Church has not canonised material poverty as the ladder to heaven. The state of poverty cannot just be purely material; material poverty alone does not bring salvation. St Basil warns us, “for many are poor in their possessions, yet most covetous in their disposition; these poverty does not save, but their affections condemn.” Material poverty, in order to be humanising and divinising, must be accompanied by spiritual poverty – being “poor in spirit.” On the other hand, neither is the state of poverty purely spiritual. There are those who want to reduce Christ’s call to poverty, to the mere spiritual detachment from goods, and continue to live scandalously lavish lives at the expense of the poor. This too is a distortion of the Gospel message. This beatitude should certainly not excuse us from our responsibility to assist those who are in a state of destitution.

Evangelical poverty can never mean a rejection of all material goods, which are good in themselves. But it is an invitation to see that these things are better when they are shared with those who have-not. As we launch into this new year and encounter Christ in different people and situations, let us give true glory and worship to God in all that we do, in whatever we say, and in all that we possess, for He became poor so that we may become rich in His graces.

Leave me Lord! I am a sinful man

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

“Leave me Lord! I am a sinful man.” Part of Peter’s response, the part where he declares himself to be the sinner, would seem anachronistic to modern man, although they would both share a similar repulsion. In the case of Peter, the repulsion arose from self-loathing, fully aware of his own depravity. But modern man’s loathing of the sacred arises from his self-sufficiency. In a world where the individual believes himself to be close to divine, immortal, invincible, God and the realm of the sacred will both appear intrusive and be regarded as threats to man’s autonomy and dominance.

What is the fundamental position which separates the two? Modern man acts from a position of hubris, whereas Peter begins from a disposition of humility. The former behaves as if he is God, the latter recognises that he isn’t. In fact, there's a common theme running through all of today's readings – it is the sense of unworthiness. The unworthiness felt by Isaiah in the presence of the Lord; the unworthiness of St Paul even to be called an "apostle" and the unworthiness of St Peter - who is so acutely aware of his own weakness, that he asked the Lord to go away: "Leave me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." This unworthiness does not arise from a neurotically defective poor self-esteem but an attitude of humble honesty. And such humility and honesty predisposes Peter to encounter and experience the sense of the sacred.

The call of St Peter in Luke’s gospel provides us with a close-up view of the process of conversion. St Peter’s conversion moves through various phases - from the world of the profane to the realm of the sacred, from indifference to commitment, from aloofness to immersion, from moral ambivalence to repentance, and finally, from curiosity to genuine enquiry leading to enlightenment. But this story is only the beginning of Peter’s journey of discovery and transformation. From a man who prides himself in being able to set the course for his own life, to a disciple who will allow himself to be led by the One who transforms his life.

Notice how the story begins. Peter remains anonymous and indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd at the opening of the passage. We will only discover later that he is one of the fishermen who were washing their nets on the shore. He stands at a distance from the crowds who had gathered to listen to the Lord. Unlike those potential disciples who were swarming around the Lord, Peter remains aloof - perhaps indifferent to Jesus and His teachings; perhaps a little curious about the reason for the commotion; but he kept a safe distance from the Lord, at a time when social distancing wasn’t yet in vogue. There were enough things, more pressing things, to worry about in life, would he wish to complicate matters further by listening to an itinerant preacher.

If Peter was unwilling to take the first step to draw nearer to the Lord, the Lord would not miss this opportunity to take the initiative, to seek out Peter. This must have come as a shock to Peter but it would be too early and too blatantly rude for him to utter those immortal words: “Leave me Lord!” or “Leave me alone.” Now that they were literally in “the same boat,” Peter had no choice but to listen to our Lord teach the crowds. From being an indifferent bystander, Peter now graduates and becomes an unwilling audience. We are not told how the Lord’s words would have impacted him but we can speculate that it would have had some effect on him as shown in his willingness to heed the Lord’s instruction to put out into the deep and pay out the nets despite his better judgment and experience.

Our Lord does not foist His will upon Peter but awaits his response. The reward of Peter’s surprising obedience and docility would be the big catch of fish, which happened against all odds. He immediately recognised that this phenomenon was supernatural in nature. And the man who had little interest in the teachings of a religious teacher is overwhelmed by a sense of the sacred and makes this confession: “Leave me Lord! I am a sinful man.”

A scholar in comparative religion, Rudolf Otto, wrote a seminal work on this topic of what constitutes the holy or the sacred. He summed it up with a Latin maxim: “mysterium tremendum et fascinans.” His definition attempts to capture two distinct poles or movements. The first is Mysterium tremendum: a sense of something mysterious, overwhelming, and daunting which elicits from us a sense of diminution, humility, submission, and creatureliness. This is what Peter experienced as he felt repelled by his own sense of unworthiness. But there is also another aspect of the sacred – one which attracts, instead of repels. Mysterium fascinans: a sense of something fascinating, desirable, good, caring, and comforting which invites us into its fullness, fulfils us, and in so doing, produces a unique kind of spiritual bliss. For this reason, Peter was also drawn to the person of Jesus, willing to give up everything, including the security of his profession and even family, to follow the Lord on the path of discipleship.

Peter’s story is our story too. In order to be true disciples of Christ, we too must make that journey - from the world of the profane to the realm of the sacred, from indifference to commitment, from aloofness to immersion, from moral ambivalence to repentance, and finally, from curiosity to genuine enquiry leading to enlightenment. The more we grow in our understanding of God’s revelation in Christ, the more we become aware of our own sinfulness and shortcomings. And hence, the more we realise our dependence upon His forgiving grace.

Today, when the Lord looks into our hearts, He sees things we can't even begin to imagine, things which we would rather not want to see. He sees our weakness, He sees our unworthiness, He knows we will let him down - time and time again. But He's not interested in any of that, because He sees something more. He sees the possibilities. And though we can only see our own limitations and faults and be repelled by them, our Lord invites us to shift our gaze and look upon His beautiful countenance, where we can only see mercy, forgiveness, and love. Our sins may repel us from Him but His love draws us to Him, and His love is far stronger than our self-disgust, if we only allow Him the space to do what He must do. But He will not do it without our consent, for St Augustine rightly states: “He who created us without our help will not save us without our consent.”

Our Lord is waiting for your consent. Would you put out into the deep, to go where you have not gone before, to trust in His words rather than in your own experiences and resources? Often, it's when we are at our lowest, when we have failed, when we are most acutely aware of our weakness, that our Lord comes to us and works His miracles. And it's then we have to trust in Him, to launch out into deep water, knowing that it's not our strength or our talents that matter, but His. As we hear His words of invitation, let us tell Him: "Lord, I am not worthy, I am a sinful man/ woman. But do not leave me. Instead, only say the word, and I shall be healed."