A Time to Keep Silent, A Time to Speak Out

Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord

One of the most important pieces of advice someone would give us is “make your voice be heard.” Whether it is to express your opinion at a meeting, or speaking up in class, or starting a podcast to air your views or participating in a demonstration in support of some political cause, making your voice heard seems to be a reasonably good piece of advice.

On this first day of Holy Week, we Christians are reminded of our fundamental duty to make our voices heard, not in the sense of self-promotion or drawing attention to oneself, nor in seeking to influence others and win them over to our side, but that we may proclaim the wonders of God’s work.

In the first gospel reading we heard before the entrance procession, the Pharisees were complaining that the disciples and crowd who were welcoming our Lord to Jerusalem were making a ruckus by shouting and singing. They told the Lord: “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” In other words, they were asking our Lord to tell them: “be quiet.” This noisy behaviour, in their own estimation, was not the behaviour of pious disciples of a holy rabbi but sounded more like a gang of loud drunken sailors. Our Lord, instead of bending to pressure, doubles down and defends His disciples by commending them: “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

In the first reading, the prophet Isaiah declares that the Lord Himself had given him “a disciple’s tongue.” It is not a glib tongue that will earn him fans or popular support. In fact, what he says at the behest of God would prove so unpopular that he would be the subject of rejection, ridicule and persecution. The image of the Suffering Servant who remains faithful to his mission in the face of adversity becomes an apt figure for the future Messiah. Our Lord’s own passion would be the fulfilment of the words of Isaiah: “I offered my back to those who struck me, my cheeks to those who tore at my beard; I did not cover my face against insult and spittle.” Despite such taunting, torture and opposition, the servant remains steadfast in mission to “speak out” on behalf of the Lord because he knows that with the Lord’s help, no insult would hurt him.

The theme of speaking out is contrasted with its counterpart of remaining silent. St Paul in the second reading paints this beautiful picture of the One who is God humbling Himself to such an extent of assuming the lowly state of a slave. His humility would go so far as to accept the penalty of death even though He is the Deathless God. The Word of God whom chaos could not silence at the beginning of creation chooses to mute Himself out of love and obedience to the Father’s will. What should our response be in knowing this truth, the truth that God’s greatest act in history would be in becoming small? Our silence is not an option. St Paul tells us that “every tongue should acclaim Jesus Christ as Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” His decision to become human has not compromised His divinity. On the contrary, His humiliation in death is the very reason we acknowledge His glory as Lord and God.

In the lengthy passion gospel reading that we just heard, we notice our Lord’s response to those around Him. From the scene of the Last Supper to His lifeless body being taken down from the cross, we see a man who is very much in charge though others assume that they have taken charge of Him. Sometimes He speaks and sometimes He chooses to remain silent. As the narrative progresses, notice that our Lord eventually chooses to remain silent especially when He is accused, ridiculed and mocked. But our Lord does not cease speaking directly to His Heavenly Father. The Father, however, remains silent throughout this soliloquy. The one exception to our Lord’s silence is when He promises salvation to the good thief who was crucified with Him. As His life expired on the cross, His final words summed up His entire life and mission. Once again, addressed solely to the Heavenly Father: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” At the end, instead of ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ as we would hear in Mark’s Passion, Luke’s Jesus Himself tranquilly yields His life into the Father’s hands, obediently completing His Father’s will.

How different our Lord’s response at His trials and crucifixion is from ordinary human nature. Even when we have done something wrong and know we are wrong, still the first words that tend to form in our mouths are words of excuses and self-defence. And what about when we are right but are blamed for being wrong? Most of us would be quick to speak up and protest our innocence. It’s just human nature to want to speak up and justify ourselves. But our Lord met His accusers with silence, as had the prophet Isaiah written seven hundred years ago, “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he opens not his mouth” (Isaiah 53:7). He held back any words that would have relieved Him from the shame and blame of sin. He was not a sinner, but He took fully the sinner’s place. Thank God that Jesus was willing to be counted a sinner before men, that we might be counted as righteous before God! Thank God, He chose to speak up on our behalf, even though His own disciples chose to remain silent in His hour of need.

Our Lord reveals the truth behind this paradox first announced by the philosopher king: “A time to keep silence, And a time to speak” (Eccles 3:7-8). Our Lord provides us with a model to follow and imitate. There is a time to remain silent and a time to speak up. We need to seek wisdom from the Holy Spirit as to when it’s time for each response. When it comes to ourselves, do remember that we do not need to have the last word or pursue any argument to vindicate ourselves. God is our vindicator if indeed we were unfairly maligned. But when you are given the opportunity to testify to who Jesus is and your faith in Him, don’t hesitate to honour Him with your words and your testimony. Even if you’re treated in a similar manner to the treatment He endured, honour Him with your lips, your lifestyle, and the lasting impression you leave upon those you interact with in this world. 

Hosanna! “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Memory and Healing

Third Sunday of Easter Year C

It’s strange but also true, that the most painful memories are usually the ones that stick, no matter how much you try to forget them. It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scars to show for happiness.

In today’s Gospel passage, we see both the memory of St Peter and the memory of the reader being invoked. But it is not just mere sentimentality that is being stirred here. Such memory is needed to understand the progression in Peter’s spiritual journey. On the eve of his Master’s death, Peter descends a path that almost leads to his destruction, a cause of great shame and guilt, a memory that he would rather choose to forget. And yet, our Lord does not wish for him to forget. This is so because our Lord does not wish to give up on him. Through the use of memory, our Lord begins the slow process of rehabilitation and restoration.

Chapter twenty-one of the Fourth Gospel seems like a strange addendum since the evangelist appears to have signed off at the end of Chapter twenty. This chapter begins with Peter going out to fish with some of the other apostles. His motivation is uncertain. By going back to his pre-disciple profession and way of life, is he trying to erase the memory of the years he had followed the Lord? Whatever may be the reason for this decision, it ends in futility. They fish all night and catch nothing, and then our Lord appears in the early morning on the shore and tells them to cast the net on the other side, and they take in a miraculous catch. The entire scene could only be described as déjà vu, at least it should for Peter. The same scenario had happened before. All this hearkens back to Peter’s original call to follow Jesus in the Gospel of St Luke, when at first he had said “depart from me for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:8). But there is a difference on this second occasion. At the beginning of his vocation, Peter wanted to flee from the Lord out of fear, but now, he longs to be united with Christ out of love.

If the first part of the story is an invitation to recall his initial vocation, the second part of the story recalls and recapitulates Peter’s greatest failure and disillusionment. Right at the very centre of today’s lengthy gospel story is the poignant scene of Jesus sitting on the shore cooking and warming Himself beside a charcoal fire. Even if you are not a student of Biblical Greek, you may be interested to note that the word used for that charcoal fire, anthrakia, only appears here and in another place in John’s Gospel; John 18:18. This other scene takes place in the courtyard of the High Priest, precisely at the point where Peter denied Jesus.

The fire evokes once again the scene of denial, the scene where Peter once stood by the fire and said, “I am not his disciple.” The past comes rushing back. Perhaps we can even imagine hearing the cock crowing. On the one hand, we see a Peter who is courageous and bold - he wants to be near his Lord in His hour of need. But Peter is terrified, also. He is in danger and knows it. And as he sits near the fire, Peter's courage gives way to fear. Now, our Lord provides Peter with another opportunity. Three times Peter had denied Christ from fear near a charcoal fire; three times he must profess Him in love near a charcoal fire, and three times will our Lord confer a new pastoral ministry on Peter. All of this is untying the knots by which Peter had bound his own soul. Wounded memories are dug up in order to be healed.

So, this dramatic scene turns out to be a story of memory and restoration. Confronting the Risen Jesus is not easy, especially for those who have betrayed Him. Standing in the light of the charcoal fire, Peter must first remember his failure and then own it. For Peter to move forward, his past must be assimilated with the present, to prepare him for the future. Peter had to recall both life-defining joyful moments as well as painful ones of failure and defeat, to be reborn in the light and new fire of the resurrection faith. He had to recall, to be recalled for duty. There is no other way.

Our faith, our Sacramental celebrations, the call to holiness and perfection are built on the foundation of our ability to remember. That is why the greatest affront to our faith, is the assault on our ability to remember. Modernists, who only believe in the efficacy of modern ideas and innovation, will claim that our history and traditions are antiquated and that these need to be abandoned, if we are to make any progress. They wish to erase the past in order to rewrite the future. Today, the liturgy, the Church’s sacred doctrines and even Sacred Tradition itself, are under assault. If the Church and her members lose the ability to remember, we will lose sight of the fundamental essence of our faith and mission.

What many modern people fail to acknowledge is that our humanity is defined and enhanced by our capacity to form and then transmit personal memories. I've learned over the years that guilt is one of the hardest things to bear. That may be the reason why we deliberately choose to suppress memories. By forgetting, we attempt to banish the guilt that comes with that memory to the dark recesses of the mind. But guilt itself cannot help us conquer sin. Guilt is the burglar alarm of our conscience, and while it can ring incessantly, it cannot heal. We cannot be healed, if we are unable to remember. Notice, how mistakes are often repeated when we do not learn from our history. Only the love of Jesus for us and our love for Jesus, can heal us. And He can only heal us when we are prepared to remember. This is what St John meant when he said, “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear …” (1 John 4:18)

And so, we are invited to gaze deeply into the flames – we see in the flames not only a reflexion of our worst failures but also, the future path of our redemption. Though tempted to look away, we must return our gaze to the fire that burns brightly before us. The fire may reveal the dross hidden in our hearts, but the fire also dispels the darkness of the night. In the burning flames of God’s love, we recognise both the wounds caused by our sinfulness, and the healing offered by Christ. As we look into the flames, we see our Lord looking back at us. In the flames, in the memories of our past faults and failures, we see Him forgiving our offenses, taking our penalty, healing our wounded souls, and restoring us to communion with God. In the flames, we will discover our healing, at the hands of Jesus.

"Courage! It is I"

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

At some point or another, we all encounter things in life that cause us to be afraid. Whether it’s a sudden unemployment, making a life-altering choice, or a sudden illness, fear is a fact of life. But this current global pandemic has raised our fears to new heights: we read with alarm the uptick of new cases, the ominous warnings of further lockdowns and the economy crashing, we live with the constant anxiety of getting infected or infecting someone else. There’s panic in the air and anxiety in our bones. Staying indoors, hibernating for the rest of the year until we find a cure or vaccine, and getting ourselves tested do not seem to be viable options.

Although fear is a natural, healthy response to danger, how can we resist giving in to panic or allow fear to overwhelm us to the point of paralysis? The answer begins with an old-fashioned word that seems remarkably relevant today: courage. This is what the Lord says to His disciples as they cry out in fear, mistaking Him for a ghost, “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.”

The traditional name we Catholics use to speak of courage is “fortitude.” The Catechism of the Catholic Church (#1808) teaches that “Fortitude is the moral virtue that ensures firmness in difficulties and constancy in the pursuit of the good. It strengthens the resolve to resist temptations and to overcome obstacles in the moral life. The virtue of fortitude enables one to conquer fear, even fear of death, and to face trials and persecutions. It disposes one even to renounce and sacrifice his life in defence of a just cause.”

One of the greatest myths about courage or fortitude is that it means not feeling afraid. If ‘I were brave and courageous, I wouldn’t feel anxious, panicked or worried,’ we might think.  But fortitude isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the willingness to be present and respond in spite of fear.

It means we have the capacity to see clearly and act prudently during a crisis. It means we have enough wisdom so that we don’t freak out when things go haywire—or, perhaps even more importantly, so that we don’t shut off in denial and pretend everything is okay.

Fortitude or courage, however, is not a licence to be stupid or to act recklessly. For example, in the current pandemic, although there is still a polarising debate about the efficacy of wearing masks and observing social distancing, blatantly choosing to defy public health advisories, is no proof of your faith or even courage. It may actually be evidence of stupidity, pride and stubbornness.

The cardinal human virtue of fortitude flows naturally from the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity. When we believe the promises of God (faith), and have confidence not in ourselves but in the strength of Christ (hope), and we are motivated by love (charity), we will find ourselves filled naturally with the virtue of fortitude. This is what we see in St Peter’s initial response when he requested our Lord to grant him the ability to walk on water. But notice what happens when he is no longer anchored in faith to the Lord, when he gives in to despair, that is, he senses that the problem which he is facing is too big even for the Lord to resolve. Peter begins to sink. Like St Peter, cut off from the Lord, we too will sink.

I do not know about the rest of you, but these days I often feel as if we are in the same boat with the disciples and Peter. It seems as if we are in a middle of a storm, there is so much uncertainty, there is so much turbulence. Life seems to be spinning out of control and so many of us are worried about the future, our personal safety and that of our loved ones. It doesn’t help when our country is also in the middle of a political maelstrom. It practically feels like we are in the middle of chaos. Like the disciples, we find ourselves on very unstable grounds, filled with so much worry and uncertainty. Just like Peter, we experience good days and bad days: one moment we are confident and comfortable, and the next moment, we seem to lose our footing and feel like we are slipping and sinking into the deep.

But even in the midst of so much uncertainty and confusion, there is hope. Our Lord assures us, “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid!” As our world seems upended with one crisis followed by another, and we hear a cacophony of voices providing us with ominous predictions of the future, filling us with uncertainty and confusion, there is only one voice which matters. It is our Lord’s, “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid!”  Trust Him when He says this. Our Lord is there to catch us and raise us up when we fall. He is our hope. He is our salvation. He is the calm in the storm.

Yes, to have courage or fortitude does not mean that we will not experience fear. Yes, at one time or another we will be afraid of sinking, we will be afraid of failing, we will be afraid of dying. But we have courage because we know with certainty that Jesus is there to catch us when we fall, to forgive us when we fail, and He has conquered death by His own death and resurrection. With Him, we can face every storm with faith, with hope, with charity, and with fortitude. “The Lord is my strength and my shield. I trust Him with all my heart.” (Psalm 28:7)