The Lost Sheep of Israel

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel.” These words are striking in their context because of the obvious persistence of the Gentile lady pleading with the Lord and the apparent perplexity of the disciples who were privy to the conversation. But it is striking also because it echoes directly what the Lord had already said to the disciples when He sent them out to preach the Gospel of the kingdom (Matthew 10:6). Two questions that arise in both instances are ‘Why did the Lord put this restriction on His mission, as shared with His disciples?’ and ‘What did he mean by “the lost sheep of Israel”?’ And, flowing from both, ‘What relevance, if any, does this have for the Church and her mission through the ages?’

A cursory reading of this passage may lead to an uncomfortable shallow interpretation. Our Lord Jesus seems to have been led by a pagan, a Canaanite woman, to revisit some of His prejudiced and preconceived notions of His mission - from a narrow vision which focused only on the “lost sheep of the House of Israel” to a broader vision which encompasses the Gentiles too. Based on such a humanistic interpretation, it would seem that the woman was more broad-minded than the Lord Himself and was responsible for leading Him to a personal epiphany and turning point in His ministry. By confining His mission to a particular group of people whilst excluding others seems very un-Jesus like. But was this a eureka moment for the Lord, the Word Incarnate, who came to reveal the Father’s loving will to the world? Or is the Lord the One who is trying to reveal something about His mission and that of the Church to us?

To get to the bottom of this mystery, let us consider the category of persons mentioned by the Lord - “the lost sheep of the House of Israel”. Who were they? This is not the first time the Lord made reference to this group of persons. Earlier in Chapter 10, as the Lord was sending out the Twelve, He specifically defined their mission as being confined to this same category of persons: “Do not go in the way of the Gentiles, and do not enter any city of the Samaritans; but rather go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matthew 10:6).

The reference to the House of Israel is strange. Israel no longer exists as a political entity during the time of Jesus. Its denizens are now living in the diaspora. The former kingdom of Israel had been divided, then conquered and now redistributed into various client states of the Roman Empire. These states look nothing like the Israel of old. In fact, Israel has been exiled from the land that was promised to them. Under the dominion of pagan empires, some Israelites have somewhat sort of returned to the land, but she is also scattered across the nations. While Jerusalem is still the centre of her identity, Israel does not rule the land or in possession of it, either. In a way, one could rightly describe the people of the House of Israel as “lost”, they had lost their homeland, yearning to return to it and see it being restored to her past glory.

But there is also a spiritual sense to the description of being “lost sheep.” These people once belonged to God, and He to them. But now the nation that is supposed to be a shining beacon to all the others, showing to the nations of the earth what it looks like to be a new creation of people serving the God who made the heavens and the earth, had become just like everyone else. God’s treasured possession had been lost. The image of the common people of Israel as “lost sheep” is a big part of the Old Testament prophetic indictment. The image is especially common in Jeremiah, reaching a fever pitch in Jeremiah 23.

In a sense, all of us are lost. “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way.” (Isaiah 53:6). Yet in another sense, there were also lost sheep that were abused and neglected by their spiritual shepherds, the scribes, priests, and Pharisees. This is the sense of Jeremiah: 50:6 “My people have been lost sheep. Their shepherds have led them astray”. In the third book of the prophet Isaiah, which we had just heard in the first reading, the hope and desire of every “lost sheep” is that God would come in search of them and bring them home. But God will not only confine His action of restoration and reunification to the House of Israel. Even in the Old Testament, we see a fervent expectation that He will lead all nations to His Holy Mountain so that they can offer worship to Him in His “house of prayer” which is to be a “house of prayer for all the peoples” and not just for the Israelites.

So, the words of our Lord to the Canaanite woman is not meant to limit His mission to a particular group nor are they intended to exclude her and others. Rather, our Lord is actually telling her that He is fulfilling the prophecies of Isaiah and Jeremiah and that this Canaanite woman is going to be one of the first beneficiaries of His mission because she fits the criteria set out by Isaiah in the first reading: “Foreigners who have attached themselves to the Lord to serve him and to love his name and be his servants – all who observe the sabbath, not profaning it, and cling to my covenant – these I will bring to my holy mountain.” Her reverence for the Lord is expressed by her action - she alone is recorded as “kneeling at His feet.”

Instead of seeing Jesus’ messianic mindset in terms of either or, one ought to see His mission as to Israel on behalf of the nations. In other words, in narrowing His focus to Israel, our Lord Jesus does the work necessary for the entire world to be blessed. That is why He specifically called twelve disciples to be with Him and to share in His mission. The number twelve is not accidental. It is deliberate. Our Lord is reconstituting Israel in the form of the Church built on the foundation of these twelve men as how God had made Israel a nation through the foundation of the twelve tribes. But then our Lord is reminding His Church, the new Israel, as well as the old, that they have been constituted not for some exclusive self-serving purpose. Israel is meant to draw all nations to God and to lead them to worship Him on His Holy Mountain.

The mission to the Gentiles was not at the expense of the mission to Israel, nor was it merely an extension. Instead, Israel was to be the catalyst through which God would accomplish His promises to the world. Mission to the nations depends upon Jesus’ accomplishment of His mission to Israel. This was the conviction of St Paul which we heard in the second reading. He tells the Romans that He is an apostle to the pagans so that the Jews may grow envious of this mission and be the catalyst of bringing some of them to embrace this new faith. The faith of the nations will in time convince Israel that the God of all peoples has been revealed in Jesus Christ. The mission inaugurated by Christ will then come full circle.

Not everything which looks good is good

First Sunday of Lent Year A

The first reading and the gospel provides us with two paradigms of dealing with temptation - we can either surrender or resist at all cost. In the first reading, Eve surrendered to the serpent’s temptation of rationalising disobedience to God’s will. But in case one is tempted to blame her for man’s fall, we need to commend her for at least putting up a fight in initially resisting the serpent’s temptation by quoting God’s commandments. We can’t say the same for Adam. He gave in to his wife’s offer without any argument. No resistance, no fight, no struggle.

The serpent’s temptation is insidiously cunning. It provides an end that seems most desirable - becoming “like gods” who would autonomously know what is right and wrong. This ambition to be god-like has been man’s perennial temptation - hoping to achieve it through knowledge, through technological advancement, through medical discoveries which seek to prolong one’s life and perhaps one day, guarantee immortality. The irony in the story of the Fall, is that in desiring to be immortal gods, both Adam and Eve surrendered their natural gift of immortality (symbolised by the tree of life and its fruits which were available to them) and exchanged it for mortality - death, which was not part of God’s original plan for them, but because they chose to disobey God’s warning, death became their lot and that of their descendants.

In today’s gospel, the devil tempts Jesus three times. He tempts Jesus to prove that He is the Son of God by turning stones into bread. He tempts Jesus to test God and see if God will really save Him, and he deceitfully promises Jesus all the kingdoms of the earth if He will worship him. Unlike the first human beings, Jesus does not succumb to the devil’s temptations. Unlike Adam and Eve, Jesus chooses to resist the devil, reject his lies and took a stand for God. Rather than challenge and disobey God, He obeys God and trusts in God’s power to save Him. Jesus is the New Human Being, the pattern for what we must become.

Let’s look at the nature of both sets of temptations, the one we find in the first reading and the second set in the gospel. Although, both the tempted, Adam-Eve and Jesus, responded differently, there seems to be a discernible pattern that threads through the temptations offered by both the primordial serpent and Satan. Both sets of temptations were in principle good suggestions in themselves. Can it be bad to want to be holy like gods, feed the hungry, or have the power to make significant changes in the world or even convert your enemies and make them your friends or fans? And the answer would be ‘no.’ What Satan is suggesting here is apparently good and the result would be guaranteed success for humanity’s future and our Lord’s mission, with much ease and little cost and pain on His or our part. It is “salvation” or what passes as “salvation” without sacrifice, without the cross. Wouldn’t that be great? The devil’s logic is simple, “It doesn’t matter how you get what you want as long as you get it.” But then again, the end doesn’t justify the means!

And this is how “evil” often looks like – it does not wear the face of a monster, but a benign one. It’s not like you have to wake up one morning, and decide to plot some monstrous plan to commit evil. You don’t. Evil often takes the path of a slippery slope, each decision, often innocent looking, taken one after another, until you’re swimming eyeball deep in the moral mud. As St Ignatius used to remind his retreatants, the devil tempts bad people with bad things but good people with seemingly good things. He doesn’t waste subtlety on the wicked but for the good, he will always try to sugar coat the bad by making it look good. The subtlety of the devil is to make us believe that we don’t really need God if we can find a solution of our own. Ultimately, in wanting to do it “our way,” it overlooks “God’s way.”

Returning to the story of the temptations of Christ, what is apparently missing from the “good” suggestions of Satan is God and His plans for us. We just need to take a quick look at each of the temptations to expose the cunning casuistry of the tempter.

In the first temptation, the devil tells our Lord, “If you are the Son of God, tell this stone to turn into a loaf.” Of course, the Church recognises that there is a fundamental option for the poor and should work towards the alleviation and even where possible, the eradication of destitution. This is where we see the devil ingeniously subverting this good and then reducing the entire gospel to a socio-economic solution. Resolving social problems becomes the primary yardstick of redemption. Make sure the world has bread, other things, including God, comes later. But then the Lord reminds us, “man does not live on bread alone.” Rather, it is Christ, who is the Life-giving Bread from Heaven, who is the real answer to our hunger.

In the second temptation, the devil transports the Lord to the pinnacle of the temple in Jerusalem, and challenges Him to perform a spectacular miracle. Imagine the instant influence and adulation Jesus could have acquired, if the crowds had witnessed Jesus literally being carried down by the angels or levitating in mid-air. But our Lord wisely responds that we “must not put the Lord your God to the test.” Authentic faith does not grow in the midst of a “circus” performance but often in low-key seemingly ordinary situations, in the silence of the heart.

In the third and final temptation, the devil shows the Lord the kingdoms of the world and promises power over them if only Jesus should worship him. The tempter is not so crude as to suggest directly that we should worship him. He merely suggests that we opt for the reasonable decision, that we choose to give priority to our machinations and thoroughly organised world, where God is exiled to the private sphere. Faith and religion are now directed toward political goals. The Lord challenges this falsehood by reiterating the fundamental commandment, “You must worship the Lord your God, and serve Him alone.”

This is what we face in many temptations: We want victory with limited commitment. We want heaven without sacrifice. We want a crown without the cross. As we begin this penitential season of grace, let us not just merely rely on our meagre strength and resources. In our eagerness to perform Lenten practices of self-denial, let us not forget that the end of all these acts is to expand the space in our hearts for God. They are not performed as if they are goals or achievements in themselves. Conversion is impossible without the grace of God. As we contend with our usual list of habitual sins, we often fail to recognise that one of our greatest temptations is to begin to rely on ourselves rather than on the power of God. To be a Christian is to be dependent upon God for everything, in battling temptations and growing in virtue. So does the end justify the means? Not if that end does not end in God and the means lead us nowhere closer to Him, for as St Thomas Aquinas reminds us, “the ultimate end of each thing (including man) is God.”

Let your light shine

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

One of the most condescending put-downs is when you tell someone, “Don’t try to be so holy!” I guess it would be far too generous to accord any value to these words. But in all fairness, what the person may have wanted to say is that we shouldn’t be flaunting our piety in public. Did not the Lord Himself caution us to not parade our good deeds among men? Although, the ‘good deed’ may always be a good thing, showing off or virtue signalling, is always a bad thing. The former springs from charity, the second is a form of boasting which springs from pride. Nonetheless, the danger is that the advice risked reinforcing modern culture’s penchant for relegating faith to the private sphere. In a world, where the “coming out” of the closet of every sordid lifestyle is celebrated, it is ironic that many would insist that faith should remain locked up in the darkest dungeons.

Detrich Bonheoffer in The Cost of Discipleship writes about this idea of the privatisation of faith when he says that flight into the invisible is a denial of the call. In other words, when Christians think they can conceal their faith and just sort of fade into the background, when the Church ceases to be a prophetic sign confronting the evils of every era with her life-giving message, when we buy into the idea that conforming to the values of the mainstream will ensure our survival or at least buy us more time, we have literally denied what it means to be followers of Christ. Pope Francis, in his first encyclical, Lumen Fidei, reminds us that our Christian faith is unabashedly and unapologetically public. To privatise faith or to hide it is to make a travesty of it. The Church is no secret society. We are meant to be the “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world.”

These metaphors are meant to stir things up. We are meant to make a difference in the world around us rather than simply conform to the values of the culture that surrounds us. Jesus tells us, “Your light must shine in the sight of men, so that, seeing your good works, they may give praise to your Father in heaven.” To paraphrase, “Christians must come out of their closets!”

In the gospel of St John, Jesus tells us, that “He” is the light of the world. It’s good to remember this. You cannot make yourself the light of the world. You are the light of the world only because of your relationship with Him. It is the light of Christ that shines in us, not some self-created light. To shine the light of Christ is Christian witnessing. To shine our own light is narcissism.

If we are of the light, why would so many choose to remain in the darkness? The answer lies in the effect the light has on us. Many choose to remain in the shadows and in the darkness because the light can be repulsive – it exposes filth and scars. It was this very quality of light that our Lord so vividly described in John 3:19-20, “Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed.” Yet, this very light can affect us in a different manner. Light reveals truth, the beauty of truth. It reveals truth about ourselves. We never see ourselves truly until we see ourselves in the context of Christ. In His light, we come to recognise that we are sinners in need of a Saviour. He is “the lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,”; He is “the Way, the Truth and the Life.”

But today, so many Catholics have the tendency to dull the light. Instead of standing out, we choose to blend in, to hide our distinctiveness, to be discretely Christian. Eventually, we confine our faith to the private and personal sphere. I believe many Catholics today suffer from a certain moral bi-polarity. We behave ‘churchy’ in the church setting and ‘worldly’ when we are out there in the world. We don't seek to demonstrate the contrast between the light of our faith and the world’s darkness because we don’t see the necessity. We simply resign ourselves to an amphibious existence. We eventually learn to blend in with the surrounding darkness rather than shine as we should.

This, of course, is the exact opposite of the truth. The truth is that we let our light shine the brightest when the contrast is the greatest. In order for light to be noticed, it must shine in darkness. Remember the caution of our Lord, “No one lights a lamp to put it under a tub; they put it on the lampstand where it shines for everyone in the house.” None of you may have the opportunity to preach a stirring sermon from the pulpit, but, you get to do it every day in the ordinary circumstances of life. The marketplace, your workplace, your school or college, on social media, your neighbourhood, and every social or public engagement provide you the greatest opportunities to shine, that is, to demonstrate the difference it makes in having Christ in your lives.

Being “salt of the earth” and “light of the world” is not easy. It’s not meant for wussies. In fact, you would have to face derision, rejection, humiliation and sometimes even death. But to die for Christ is always worth it. Pandering to a lie for the sake of mere survival and social acceptance, is not.

Being “salt of the earth” and “light of the world” can happen in so many simple and varied ways.
When we respond in kindness to our enemies, our salt gives taste and light shines.
When we give a person who has erred another chance when the world wouldn't, our salt gives taste and our light shines.
When we tell others that the most important thing in our lives is Jesus Christ and not success, and then live so they can see that it’s true, our salt gives taste and our light shines.
When we risk looking the fool for Christ where others dare not, our salt gives taste and light shines.
When we stand up for the Truth even though deception and silence seem so much more profitable, our salt gives taste and our light shines.

Our contemporary world continues to work towards dulling the taste and dimming the lights of religious expression. Our Holy Father Pope Francis is convinced that “there is an urgent need, then, to see once again that faith is a light, for once the flame of faith dies out, all other lights begin to dim.” (Lumen Fidei No. 4) So we live like Jesus, we fight the battles with darkness. We bring truth to the blind and ignorant. We bring hope to those burdened by sin. We bring acceptance to the forgotten and unloved. To those confused about life, we bring God’s word. To the sad, we bring joy. To the impatient, we bring a reason to be calm. To the morally confused, we bring the certainty of revelation. Bring taste to a morally bland world! Let your light shine! Not that you enjoy the spotlight. No, shine so that Christ may be better known. When we imitate Christ’s love, mercy and generosity, the world will be a brighter place and seeing our good works, all peoples will glorify our Heavenly Father.

Made of Sturdier Stuff

Thirty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

“Snowflake,” according to the ever-reliable Wikipedia, is a “derogatory slang term for a person, implying that they have an inflated sense of uniqueness, an unwarranted sense of entitlement, or are overly-emotional, easily offended, and unable to deal with opposing opinions.” A snowflake listening to today’s ominous warnings and prophecies in the gospel will have a royal meltdown. To a snowflake the slightest perceived offence would sound like a cataclysmic end of the world scenario, an Armageddon of disproportionate size.

But before you react to the words of our Lord, especially the part listing down the various sets of trials, tribulations and calamities, it is good to fast forward to the end of the passage to see the point of His message: “Your endurance will win you your lives.”

Catholics are not to waste time calculating when the end will come. They are not to allow themselves to be misled by false prophets and false messiahs. Nor are they expected to behave like headless chickens running around in circles panicking. Above all, they are to trust in the provident care of God, who will give them eloquence and wisdom to defend themselves and preach the truth. ‘Your endurance will win you your lives.’

As simple and as powerful as this message is, it doesn’t always feel that way. Our penchant for giving up and flying the white flag is so strong, especially when tragedy hits. As you all know, any exposure to the mildest sunlight, even for a few minutes, will cause snowflakes to dissolve into the ground with no resistance. It sometimes feels that every crisis is so catastrophic like it’s the End of the World. This is how the Jews would have felt when their beloved Temple was destroyed by the Romans in the year 70 AD in retaliation for their revolt.

Apparently, the great first century Temple in Jerusalem was a tremendous structure, a suitable tribute to God's greatness and glory, as well as the central symbol of the Jewish nation and their faith. The veil that separated the most sacred inner sanctum from the rest of the Temple complex was adorned with symbols of the cosmos, suggesting that the Temple was literally the centre of the universe. To say that it was worthy of admiration was an understatement. But when our Lord noticed His disciples admiring its grandeur, He had to speak this hard truth: “not a single stone will be left on another: everything will be destroyed.” Despite being sturdily built with reinforced foundations to last centuries if not for eternity, Our Lord knew it would one day fall and its fall would be a cataclysmic event, like the end of the world itself.

However, the Lord also knew that the Temple's destruction would not mean the end of God's creation nor the end of salvation history. So He urged His disciples to bear suffering with hope and patience. His lesson was that all of us suffer, and all of us go through destruction and tearing down. All of us even go through death, but that is not the end. He died Himself, but it was not the end. He was resurrected, and God's creative power began again and the first creation was surpassed by the greater act of redemption.

There may be some signs toward the end. Our Lord famously mentions some of them here and in the other gospels. Signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, wars and insurrections, earthquakes and the economy. At one level, He could have been speaking of the veil in the Temple with its embroidered cosmic and planetary symbols, the same veil torn into two at His death on the cross. But these signs could also point to something new emerging – the old creation has to be destroyed in order for the new to arise. These signs could indicate cycles of life. Stages of our life inevitably end before another begins. We think it is the end of the world, but it isn’t. Just the end of that particular stage of our world. With the ending of a phase, we enter into a new one. This too was true of the Temple. Its destruction did not mark the end of Judaism but initiated a new phase of belief rooted in faith.

The transition is often painful. Changes hurt. But they are signs that the kingdom of God is near, is very near. When you are encountering the anxiety of any change in your life, be assured that you are not far from God in that experience; He may feel distant and uninvolved in our crisis, but the truth is that He is closer to you than you can ever imagine.

The Church does not stand aloof and far removed from the changes which take place in our lives. The sacraments of Christ administered by the Church have always been associated with changes in our human lives-inevitable changes that most of us go through: birth, illness, marriage, death. In direct association with those changes, the Church provides baptism, anointing with oil, the sacrament of marriage, a funeral. The Church pronounces blessing and grace during those moments of change, painful as well as joyous. At its best, the Church teaches us how to change gracefully. Even the changes in the Church itself can be occasions for our learning grace.

“Everything will be destroyed,” the Lord ominously predicts. And sometimes we can see the signs of that tumult all too quickly. But that will not be the end. God will be in the change. A new beginning can emerge from destruction. And all things will be made new.

Finally, it is in all the changes of our lives, that our very character is formed. Thus, the way we endure change is the way we shape our character, our identity, our very soul. That's why the Lord said what He said about endurance. When we endure change, when we bear change, we gain our identity. In fact, we gain our souls. By your endurance, the Lord said, “will win you your lives”.

Trials "try" us, and tests "test" us. Most of the time, the purpose of trials is to show us who we really are, to reveal character in us. The measure of a man is not how he acts when things go smoothly, but how he acts when he is challenged. We can think all kinds of good thoughts about ourselves, but until we are put to the test, we don't know whether those things have become realities in us or not. We may consider ourselves generous, honest, or deeply committed to a particular truth or ideal, but the depth of these dynamics only reveals itself when we're under pressure. When we go through trials, we learn whether or not we really have the character and commitment we think we have. Test will prove to us whether we are snowflakes or made of sturdier material - hard solid rock that can withstand the heat of pressure and the cold of rejection. Remember, the hardest of diamonds are the product of the greatest pressures. That’s what you are meant to be. That’s who you are.

Seeing beyond the veil

Twenty Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

All three readings, if read separately, would have had their own respective appeal and would have seemed reasonable had each been judged by their own internal logic. The problem is when we juxtapose them, as the lectionary does this week, and attempt to reconcile the seemingly divergent messages, we may end up having to do theological acrobatic somersaults. Or at least it would seem to be so.

In the first reading, the prophet Amos condemns both the political and religious leaders for the crime of social injustice and their part in oppressing the poor and the powerless. In the second reading, St Paul writes to Timothy and tells him to pray for civil authorities, including those who are corrupt and who are oppressing Christians, for as he reminds Timothy, God “wants everyone to be saved and reach full knowledge of the truth.” So far, so good. There is a recognition of mutuality and the need for checks-and-balances between the two spheres of religion and civil society. On the one hand, we are called to play a prophetic role with regards to civil authorities and call them out for their misdeeds whenever it is necessary. On the other hand, we should also not neglect our duty in praying for them, for it is the will of God that all be saved.

But the gospel seems to cross the line by providing us with the strangest advice on how we should interact and relate with civil society. In this pericope, a steward appears to be commended for dishonest behaviour and made an example for Jesus' disciples. Does it sound like the Lord is asking us to emulate the values of secular society, including buying friends with money and favours? If this was true, then a former Prime Minister of a certain county should not have been tried and sentenced to imprisonment. He should have been celebrated for his astuteness. Of course, none of us would come to this conclusion. This certainly takes the cake when it comes to the ludicrous. It is no wonder that many Christians find this parable a source of embarrassment. How do we reconcile this with the rest of the Bible and our readings for today?

In this fairly simple, if somewhat unorthodox, parable, there is a major reversal of sorts. In most of the Lord’s parables, the main protagonist is either a representative of God, Christ, or some other positive character. In this parable, the characters are all wicked – the steward and the man whose possessions he manages are both unsavoury characters. This should alert us to the fact that Jesus is not exhorting us to emulate the behaviour of the characters, but is trying to expound on a larger principle. Certainly, the Lord wants His followers to be just, righteous, magnanimous, and generous, unlike the main protagonist in the parable. But what does this dishonest steward have to offer us as a point of learning? The gospel notes that the Lord commends him for his “astuteness”.

The dishonest steward is commended not for mishandling his master's wealth, but for his shrewd provision in averting personal disaster and in securing his future livelihood. The original meaning of "astuteness" is "foresight" – the ability to see ahead and anticipate what’s in store in the future. An astute person, therefore, is one who grasps a critical situation with resolution, foresight, and the determination to avoid serious loss or disaster.

If foresight is the true measure of intelligence, a Christian must be ‘super’ intelligent since his foresight extends beyond this temporal plane, it penetrates the veil of death and catches a glimpse of the eternal vision of glory. As the dishonest steward responded decisively to the crisis of his dismissal due to his worldly foresight, so Christians are to respond decisively in the face of their own analogous crisis with heavenly foresight. The crisis may come in the form of the brevity and uncertainty of life or the ever-present prospect of death; for others it is the eschatological crisis occasioned by the coming of the Kingdom of God in the person and ministry of Jesus. It follows that people who are just wholly invested in their present lives, seeking to make themselves rich, famous and popular, but giving little to no thought about the future, about what happens in the afterlife, will be shown to have been the most foolish.

Our Lord is concerned that we avert spiritual crisis and personal disaster through the exercise of faith, foresight and compassion. If Christians would only expend as much foresight and energy to spiritual matters which have eternal consequences as much as they do to earthly matters which have temporal consequences, then they would be truly better off, both in this life and in the age to come. St Ambrose provides us with a spiritual wisdom that can only be perceived through the use of heavenly foresight: “The bosoms of the poor, the houses of widows, the mouths of children are the barns which last forever.” In other words, true wealth consists not in what we keep but in what we give away. Wholesomeness is measured by the extent of how we live our lives for the glory of God, and not for ourselves or for things.

Today, many modern persons see no need for us to pray for them and neither do they believe that we are in any position to judge them. In fact, they often view the Church as anachronistic and Christians as unintelligent, superstitious and irrational dimwits. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Although no empirical research will be able to show this, but the personal experiences of many will testify to the fact that the most intelligent thing an intelligent human being can do is to turn to God, not away from Him. The faith and lives of the heroes and heroines in both scriptures and the history of our Church testify to this. We may have found ways and means of averting or resolving various medical, economic and social crises, but only God is capable of helping us avert the greatest crisis of all - the loss of Eternal Life. It is rightly said that wise men still seek Him, wiser men find Him, and the wisest come to worship Him. Anyone who ignores this truth would be a fool.

Choose a Side

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

There are two parts to today’s Gospel and if we are not careful, we may casually conflate the two and imagine that our Lord is some kind of a sick arsonist wannabe who is announcing his proposed terrorist act of burning everything to cinder and ashes. The first part which sounds more incendiary (forgive the pun) is actually the more innocent of the two.

When our Lord speaks of bringing fire to earth, it is spoken in the light of a more benign Promethean mission that will benefit earthly mortals, rather than how the prophet Elijah called down fire from heaven to incinerate his enemies. This fire which our Lord is referring to is used in a metaphorical sense, and we immediately see its connexion with baptism which our Lord mentions in the next line. St John the Baptist had earlier prophesied regarding the One who is coming, who would “baptise… with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Luke 3:16). The combination of fire and baptism looks forward to the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, when the disciples will be baptised and filled with the Holy Spirit. So, there is nothing insidious about our Lord’s announcement here. He has not come to end the world but inaugurate a new epoch. His mission is not to destroy but to invigorate, to literally set the world and His disciples on fire, with zeal for the Kingdom. Our Lord then makes another connexion between the baptism He must receive with His passion and death.

After this announcement, our Lord starts to announce how His mission and gospel will necessarily bring about division, even among household relationships which are the bedrock of society. The reason for this is because the Lord Jesus has come as a sign of contradiction. Remember the prophecy of Simeon to the parents of the infant Jesus: “Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted…” (Luke 2:34).

The list of household relationships which will be split by their changing alliances with Jesus and the gospel is a fulfilment of Micah 7:6, the last line of which is directly reproduced and paraphrased in today’s Gospel: "For the son dishonours the father; the daughter rises up against her mother, the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. A man's enemies are the men of his own household." (Micah 7:6) Rabbis would later interpret Micah 7:6 as the fulfilment of the Messianic age. This means that one of the signs by which we will know that the Messianic age has begun, would be the emergence of cracks and divisions within families and society.

The effect of the Messiah’s coming would be to cause division, as some chose to believe and follow, while others did not, even splitting families in their allegiance. The truth of the Gospel has the power to deeply unite us to God when we fully accept it as the Word of Truth. But another effect is that it divides us from those who refuse to be united to God in the Truth. People are, therefore, forced to make a choice between loyalty to God and towards family. A person who decides to follow Christ must come to terms that he/she will face persecution for his/her faith. At best they will be ridiculed, and at worst, they may be martyred.

Our culture today wants to preach what we call “relativism.” This ideology is very appealing because it argues that if we are to get along with each other, we must go along with the mainstream culture. This is an idea that, what is good and true for me may not be good and true for you, but that in spite of us all having different “truths,” we can still all be one happy family. But how can something be objectively true for some but not for others. Something is true because it has always been true and will always be true. To deny this is a lie, and any unity which is built on a lie, is also a lie. Our Lord was rejected because He did not subscribe to this lie and we should not be surprised if that happens to us, too.

We often assume that peace making is peacekeeping, but they are not the same thing. We prefer peacekeeping to avoid arguments because we assume conflict is undesirable, unpredictable, and uncomfortable—something shameful or even sinful. But peacekeeping is actually founded on a lie. Peacekeeping is when we keep our feelings suppressed, we keep our thoughts repressed, and we keep our tongues stuck to the roof of our mouths because we might say the wrong thing and end up in an unwanted conflict.

It is important to note that conflict in itself is not a sin, anger as an emotion is not evil, and making right judgments is not bad judgment. Such judgment is often the pathway to making peace. Truth is not painless, honesty is not easy, and facing reality does not come naturally. Therefore, peace is made; sometimes by going through conflict, not by sidestepping it. Conflict rises from differences in what persons value. Naturally, there will be conflict between those who subscribe to gospel values and those who don’t. To avoid conflict at all cost means that one must ultimately compromise our deepest values. That would be fine if we discover that these values are wrong or misplaced. But compromising values whilst knowing that they are right, is the greatest betrayal to truth. That is why peacekeeping is the safe choice but it is not the wise one. Peacekeeping is sacrificing truth at the altar of a false and tenuous peace. Many had stood by silently while atrocities have been committed.

It is inevitable that there will be conflict between good and evil, the Christ and the antichrist, light and darkness, truth and falsehood, the children of God and the children of the devil. In this conflict, we cannot remain neutral. We must choose sides. The stakes are exceedingly high if you choose to side with the Lord and with the Truth. It will entail rejection by family and friends, humiliation and persecution by the world. It will entail the cross.

The Shepherd who is a Lamb

Fourth Sunday of Easter Year C (Good Shepherd Sunday)

Frandishek Gasovnachek may not be a name which rings a bell for most people. He was one of the few lucky Jews who survived the infamous death camp of the Nazis in Auschwitz, Poland. The surviving inmates of those gruesome camps were finally liberated by the Allied forces in 1941. Every day Gasovnachek lived after 1941, he lived with the knowledge, "I live because someone died for me." Every year on August 14, he travelled to Auschwitz in memory of the man who took his place. We know that man as the Franciscan priest, St Maximilian Kolbe. This holy priest, a shepherd of souls, gave up his life to save Gasovnachek.

Similarly, this is what we must affirm every day of our lives: “I live because someone died for me.” It is Jesus the Good Shepherd who died for me. He is the Shepherd who sacrifices His life so that His sheep may live. Ordinarily, the shepherd’s calling was not to die for the sheep but to live for the sheep. In fact, when his own life was threatened, the shepherd may even be prepared to sacrifice one of his wards to escape the jaws of death. The life of the sheep was dispensable but not that of the shepherd. But our Lord Jesus’ charge was different and unique. He is the One who “lays down His life for the sheep” (John 10:11). His blood is spilt for the forgiveness of our sins. He sacrificed His own life so that His sheep may live.

The secret of this Shepherd’s willingness to die for His sheep is to be found in the second reading. The Book of the Apocalypse tells us that this Shepherd is also a lamb that has been sacrificed. We often fail to recognise the theological profundity of this switch. The Shepherd becomes one of the sheep whom He leads, the Creator chooses to become one of His creatures, God becomes man. And it is in this form which He chooses to save humanity.

And this is no ordinary lamb or cute cuddly pet which He becomes. This is a special type of lamb which is meant to be offered at the Temple as a sin offering. It is interesting that this discourse on the Good Shepherd takes place within the Temple where animal holocausts were offered to atone for the sins of the petitioners. The mystery of the atonement is that Jesus uses the sacrificial system to defeat the sacrificial system. He lets Himself be a victim but He goes willingly, thereby showing humanity that the sacrifice system is powerless. Thus, we are saved through the one sacrifice which alone can atone for our sins, the sacrifice of the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world; the Lamb who is also a Shepherd.

This incredible transformation takes place on the cross. It would appear that on the cross, life is taken, victory is defeated, God is crucified. But our Lord did not stay on the cross. God died, but He rose again. The devil did not have the final say. Loss was thwarted. Victory reigned. The Lamb that was slain became the Shepherd again. The Book of the Apocalypse provides us with this amazing vision that the slain Lamb rules again, arrayed in glory and surrounded by His subjects who had also followed His path of sacrificing their lives, washing themselves in His blood, and now share in His glory. That's the message of Easter.

We also see how this beautiful title which we accord to Jesus has two sides to it. It does not only acknowledge with the Psalmist in Psalm 23 that “the Lord is my shepherd,” but also acknowledges as in today’s Psalm 99, that “we are His people, the sheep of His flock.” Notice the symbiotic relationship between the sheep and their shepherd. The shepherd lived and died for his sheep, likewise the sheep must do so for the shepherd. This relationship is marked by certain essential characteristics.

Our Lord makes it very clear that the first identifying mark of His sheep is that, they hear His voice. “Hearing” is not merely auditory perception in scriptures but a spiritual understanding that responds in faith. “The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life; they will never be lost and no one will ever steal them from me..” On the other hand, those who are not His sheep do not believe, they do not listen to His voice. One cannot claim to be a sheep that belongs to the Lord if one refuses to obey and submit to His authority.

But, it is not enough that the Lord’s sheep should “listen” to His voice. He also calls them to follow, wherever He lovingly leads them. The mark of true disciples is that they follow their shepherd. This theme is sounded in the call of the very first Apostles. He said to them, “Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matt. 4:19). Our Lord also emphasised that “if anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me” (Luke 9:23). We begin to see that the cross is not just something which the Good Shepherd embraced for the sake of His sheep but also something which the sheep must be willing to accept, if they truly wish to belong to Him. Where the Shepherd goes, the sheep must follow.

It is here that we come to realise that being a sheep of the Good Shepherd is no benign image exuding cuteness and cuddliness. Rather, it carries a highly subversive connotation which may end in rejection, alienation and persecution from those who oppose the Shepherd. Some have the privilege of being called to die, as testimony of their faith or love for others, as in the case of St Maximilian Kolbe, while others are called to take the unpopular path of swimming against the mainstream current which is anti-Christian. St John Vianney once said, “Do not try to please everybody. Try to please God, the angels, and the saints—they are your public.” And often when we choose to please God, we end up displeasing others. But Christians are not called to be popular. We are called to be faithful.

Easter is about life that died to live again. It's about victory succumbing to defeat, only to be victorious again. It's about a God who left heaven to live on earth, to return to heaven again. It's about the Shepherd, who became a Lamb who became a Shepherd again. So, this is what we celebrate today, not just a Shepherd who guides and cares for His sheep, or gazes softly at us as if we were little teddy bears and cuddly lambs, but the One who became the sacrificial Lamb that took away our sins by dying for us in our place. He becomes the victim for all of us. And if we profess to be His sheep, then we must listen only to His voice in the midst of the confusion caused by a cacophony of worldly voices, and follow Him alone who can give us Eternal Life.

“Eternal Shepherd, thou art wont
To cleanse Thy sheep within the font,
That mystic bath, that grave of sin,
Where ransomed souls new life begin.”
(5th century Hymn used at Vespers, Eastertide)

To know that He is Lord

Solemnity of Christ the King 2021

As we come to the end of a second year of this pandemic, two years marked by lockdowns, social-economic upheaval, rising unemployment, businesses closed, disruption of our sacramental lives and all our plans, deaths of friends and loved ones, we look back and come to realise how fragile our lives have really been. These disruptions have cascaded in ways that seem novel and imaginatively overwhelming. All of a sudden, we see before us something we have perhaps talked about before, but never really faced personally. Suddenly we must “stay home,” keep a safe distance from others, turn to ourselves. And we are, surprisingly, afraid!

One reason why this has been a major crisis in so many lives is because we have been living in a bubble, believing that everything is under our control. Both medical and technological advancements have given us a false sense of security - we are enveloped by a delusional sense of impregnability and immortality. We are so cut off from our past that we have forgotten that our experience is not unique. Many in previous generations took for granted—in ways that are unthinkable to us—that life was not predictable, diseases, the inability to travel, death at an early age or in infancy—were a part of life. We have largely forgotten this until this pandemic hit us with a harsh reality check.

Many believe that this crisis has shaken our faith in God because it has disturbed our assumptions about God’s benign supervision and His ability to control suffering. But I choose to see it differently. I believe that it is this false faith we have in ourselves and in the infallibility of science which has been shaken. If this crisis has done anything, it has drawn us back to acknowledge once again, the utmost sovereignty of God over the universe. He alone is God, not man.

COVID-19 calls us to learn again from our forbearers, who looked to Scripture’s descriptions of God’s agency in times of disaster as a compass for their own times. Modern man only attempts to demythologise these stories and provide them with a plausible rational explanation devoid of God’s agency. One obvious place to turn, is to the story of the plagues visited upon Pharaoh and Egypt, at the time of the Hebrews’ deliverance from slavery. One can note a key difference between Moses and Pharaoh. Moses recognises God in extraordinary events. Pharaoh does not. Despite experiencing one remarkable plague after another, Pharaoh refuses to believe. His failure to do so because he thought of himself as the true ruler, the true king of his empire. God describes the purpose of the ten plagues clearly: they are not punishment. They are an invitation to know God: “The Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord, when I stretch out my hand against Egypt and bring the Israelites out from among them” (Exodus 9:15-16).

Likewise, this pandemic has also provided us with an opportunity to know and acknowledge the sovereignty of God. Though, it often doesn’t feel this way, this pandemic has been a reminder that we are first and foremost recipients—and not the creators—of all that is good in our lives. We are not in control and there is some sense of relief in knowing that. Could you imagine the total mess we are capable of making if we were really in-charge of the universe and all that happens therein? Many dictators have attempted to assert this, only to leave millions of people dead and a trail of destruction in their path, in seeking to create a utopia of their own design. As we work for the Kingdom, we are not building a utopia here on earth. Our duty is not to bring the Kingdom into existence, nor is the Kingdom something we build ourselves. The Kingdom is brought and built by the King – our duty is to serve the King.

Who is that King that we serve? I believe you know the answer. Our Lord Jesus Christ is our King and yet, He tells Pontius Pilate in today’s gospel: “Mine is not a kingdom of this world.” Why is our Lord’s Kingdom different?  Our Lord is not just highlighting the difference between His kingship and that of worldly models, but also suggesting that His kingship will appear differently in this world and in the age to come.

We must distinguish between the Kingdom of Christ on this earth and that which He exercises in eternity. In Heaven, His reign is one of glory and sovereignty. Here, in time, it is mysterious, humble and hidden. Although appearances may seem misleading, Jesus, is in fact, the Supreme Lord of every single thing in the universe, including the sub microscopic virus. This is what the Second Vatican Council declared, “here on earth the kingdom is mysteriously present; when the Lord comes, it will enter into its perfection” (Gaudium et Spes 39). This is what He meant when He said that His Kingdom is not of this world.

Times like this remind us that we are still fragile mortals living in a fallen world, under the ancient curse upon creation and that the Kingdom of God in its fullness is still the future. When the city of Rome burned from foreign invasion in 410 AD, St Augustine penned the City of God from his diocese in North Africa to assure that, while earthly hopes are being shaken and shattered, the eternal promises of God's Kingdom for the future, remain certain.

Times like this are also opportunities for the Church on earth to show what she truly believes, by exhibiting an unshakable faith and hope in her Sovereign King, while continuing to do good in love toward one another. In dark times, especially, be on the lookout and watch for extraordinary rays of light, faith, hope, and love. We might not all be called to the frontlines of caring for the sick, but there are other ways we can show loving concern and compassion toward others during this time of crisis, and certainly, our response through this disruption will reflect where we place our hopes, and the strength of our faith, before a watching world. The Church will come through this, as it has in times past, though not without scars, but then that too was how our Lord appeared to His disciples after His resurrection – scars, wounds and all. Likewise, the scars of the Church are not proof of her defeat, but evidence of her Divine Spouse’s victory over sin and death.

Provision for the Journey

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

The first reading gives us this poignant story of an angel of the Lord providing strength and encouragement in the form of a meal to the prophet Elijah, who is languishing in despair and on the verge of suicide. Think of it as a spiritual “Happy Meal.” This physical sustenance, which is also spiritual in nature, prefigures the Eucharist. The story of Elijah’s bread is also reminiscent of one of the wondrous items found in the fantabulous stories of J.R. Tolkien. Fans of Tolkien may know that he was a devout Catholic and that his writings made no secret of his Catholic faith. Of all the Catholic parallels in his writings, lembas, the Elven way bread, is perhaps the strongest as it bears a striking resemblance to the Eucharist.

The attributes of this Elvish bread and instructions on how to eat it are described in Tolkien’s book, “Eat a little at a time, and only at need. For these things are given to serve you when all else fails… One will keep a traveler on his feet for a day of long labour.” Yes, this bread is strength for the weary and food for the journey!

This is how we describe Holy Communion for someone near to, or in danger of dying - Viaticum, a Latin word which literally means “provision (or food) for the journey”. Just as the characters of Tolkien’s universe received renewed strength and purpose to complete their mission, the Eucharist received as Viaticum, gives renewed strength in body and spirit to those who are sick and dying, and in fact to all of us who trod through the “shadow of the valley of death.” Tolkien was most certainly aware of this connexion when he wrote to his son with these words, “"The only cure for sagging or fainting faith is Communion.”

The allusion to food for the journey is similarly found in today’s gospel - the second instalment to the Bread of Life Discourse. The gospel begins with a controversy: the crowds found it disturbing that our Lord should describe Himself as the Bread that comes down from heaven. They were scandalised not because of His use of this metaphor nor because they thought that He was speaking literally instead of figuratively. He had yet to associate that bread with His flesh. The real reason is that they found it arrogant on His part to even claim that He was on par with both Moses and the manna, which Moses made to fall from heaven.

Last Sunday’s passage gives us the context for today. The crowds had asked the Lord for a sign as proof that He had come from God, and they cited the manna as an example of the kind of sign they’re looking for. In response, our Lord tells them that the manna foreshadowed the “true bread from heaven” that God would give His people, and then He unabashedly announces that He Himself (and ultimately his body and blood in the Eucharist) is the “bread which came down from heaven”. If you understand that the Exodus is the defining event of their identity and covenantal relationship with God, you would understand His audience’s outrage. No one would dare to claim that there is something greater than the event of the Exodus and its hero, Moses. But here comes our Lord Jesus claiming exactly that.

When our Lord says that His flesh is given “for the life of the world”, He means that His flesh is the new manna, the “true bread from heaven” that is intended to sustain all of us on our journey to our heavenly homeland, just as the manna in the Old Testament fed the Israelites on their journey to the Promised Land. But this is no mere equivalence. Our Lord makes this stark distinction: “Your fathers ate the manna in the desert and they are dead; but this is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that a man may eat it and not die.” Although the manna sustained the Israelites on their journey to the Promised Land just as lembas did for the hobbits, neither form of sustenance could guarantee them immortality. Where these foods failed, the Eucharist succeeds in providing us with the antidote to death and the elixir immortality.

The Eucharist quite literally sustains our spiritual lives. Without it, as the Lord says, we “have no life” in us. In other words, it helps to sustain the life of grace within us, the grace that we receive at baptism and that we believe will flower into the life of heaven once we die, just as earthly food sustains our physical lives. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church explains, the Eucharist “preserves, increases, and renews the life of grace,” “separates us from sin,” and “preserves us from future mortal sins” (CCC 1392-1393, 1395). The Eucharist is food for our journey home, food that helps us to survive the hostile desert of this world and to arrive safely at our heavenly homeland.

As we witness how this pandemic continues to claim new victims despite severe lockdown measures and without any hint of an end to this suffering, I can assure you of this, just when you feel like giving up and resigning yourself to despair, our Lord will send help from heaven, as Elijah discovered in the first reading.  Like Elijah’s bread, which took him from black despair to strength of purpose and clarity of mission, the Eucharist can take us from the darkness of the moment and empower us for the voyage ahead. For now, you cannot receive our Lord in Holy Communion in a physical way, but only do so spiritually. But do not lose sight of your purpose and God’s sovereignty over our situation. He will not let us be tested beyond our endurance but will continue to feed us with the spiritual food of His invisible grace until He can feed us with the true bread from heaven, the Eucharist, when you return to church.

In a letter to his son, Michael, Tolkien gives the following advice, an advice which is most certainly meant for us all, especially today,

“Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament… There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste—or foretaste—of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man’s heart desires.”

God is Love not Love is God

 Sixth Sunday of Easter Year B

Love must certainly be the most used, and yet most misunderstood and abused word in our vocabulary. The word 'love' is so sentimentalised in pop culture and flippantly used to apply to a myriad of things from the most trivial (like “I love ice cream”) to the most profound (“I love God”), that it has devolved into something that sounds bland or fuzzy. It doesn’t help when we attempt to unpack the word in the context of today’s readings. It would almost be like teaching a foreign language to explain what Saint John meant in his gospel and epistle. And this is precisely what we must do.

The word that Saint John uses is the Greek 'agapè': a word that has never been anglicised and from which no English word is derived. In Latin, it has been translated as “caritas” which has created its own set of problems, especially when we attempt to translate that into English - “charity” - a word which in common parlance suggests acts of mercy towards the poor. Although our English word “love” seems to encapsulate the concept of “agape,” it fails to distinguish the nuanced differences conveyed by other Greek words which could similarly be translated as “love” - eros (erotic love), philia (friendship) and storge (affection).

As much as you would have heard it explained from the pulpit that “agape” refers to the lofty selfless and sacrificial love of God, in the secular Greek of the day, the verb “agape” was used in a quite unimpressive and banal fashion: it simply meant 'to like'; almost like the clicks you get on your social media postings. The New Testament writers, Saint Paul as well as Saint John, seem to have deliberately adopted this rather neutral word. It is used, as they presumably knew, in the Greek version of the Old Testament, for the kind of love which cares for others, to the extent of being ready to make sacrifices for their sake. Paul and John take the word up to designate the new way of loving which our Lord inaugurated.

How do we make this impossible leap? How can we connect the act of liking something so banal as ice cream to loving others as God has loved us? Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI in his encyclical Deus caritas est, beautifully helps us to see the link between the natural loves which mark our daily human experiences and the unique self-less love which our Lord speaks of. The Pope warns that we should not be setting the different kinds of love (towards family, a lover, things, God etc) against each other. 'Were this antithesis to be taken to extremes', the Pope writes, 'the essence of Christianity would be detached from the vital relations fundamental to human existence, and would become a world apart, admirable perhaps, but decisively cut off from the complex fabric of human life'. In other words, such detachment could make Christian love untenable and impossible, our Christian way of life would be totally cut off from everything which makes us human. The Pope insists that there is an 'intrinsic link' between 'the reality of human love' and 'the love which God mysteriously and gratuitously offers to us'.

The Pope invites us to take a more positive view of human love, even erotic love. He acknowledges that though there is nothing intrinsically wrong about erotic love or friendship, they are susceptible to distortions. And so, the only way in which these human expressions of love can be perfected and purified is to unite these human experiences of love with the higher calling, to love as our Lord did. And how did He love us - by laying down His life for us. In the words of our Lord, “A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends.” We see how our Lord marries two very different concepts of love - the love between friends with the selfless love of one who is willing to sacrifice everything, including one’s life, for the other.

In other words, in obeying our Lord’s commandments to remain in His love and to take up the new standard of loving as He did, we do not need to abandon all other forms of loving - whether it be affection for another, or love between spouses and lovers, or that of friendship. A Christian does not cease to love his or her family, lover, friends, pets, and even hobbies because he chooses to love as Christ did. To love my spouse, my children, my parents, my friend or even my pet, need not be something which is in opposition to loving God, unless loving any of these persons and objects detracts from the latter. Likewise loving God would not prevent us or lessen our ability to love our spouse, our children, our parents, our friends but in fact, purifies our love and brings it to perfection. In fact, the goal of all these different expressions of human love is to find their perfection in the standard which our Lord sets: “love one another, as I have loved you.” Christ’s new standard of love does not extinguish all other forms of love, but perfects them.

Saint John not only has our Lord set out a new standard of love in the gospel, he also provides love with a new definition: “God is Love.” But it is important that we do not confuse two axioms: “God is love” and “love is God.” They are not identical nor interchangeable. To claim that “love is God” is to reduce God to some impersonal principle and in fact, sees no need for God. People who say that “love is God,” are saying that as long as I am loving, caring and compassionate to others, there is no need for God, no need for a religion, because my personal love suffices. But this is precisely what St John rejects in the second reading: “God’s love for us was revealed when God sent into the world his only Son so that we could have life through him; this is the love I mean: not our love for God, but God’s love for us when he sent his Son to be the sacrifice that takes our sins away.” God is not measured by our love. It is the reverse; our love is to be measured by God. God’s love is the gold standard for loving, “love one another, as I have loved you.” He loved us to the end. He loved us to the extent of laying down His life for us. He loved us to the point of pouring out His entire life for us and for our salvation, holding nothing back.

The phrase “God is love” is used one more time in 1 John 4. It puts to rest the false notion that God loves no one because He is only an impersonal concept but is the love in everyone. But Saint John asserts: “We have come to know and have believed the love which God has for us. God is love, and the one who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this, love is perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment….” (vv. 16–17). Modern folks tend to use the empty slogan “love wins” to argue that their inclusive, non-judgmental ways are superior to the moral standards of traditional religion. But the truth is that, love can never win when that love seeks to exclude God, seeks to exclude His commandments, seeks to exclude His standards, because the moment we choose to exclude God, we exclude love because God is Love. A Godless life ultimately descends into a loveless life.

Stat crux dum volvitur orbis

 Good Friday

At the height of last year’s pandemic and on the eve of Holy Week, our Holy Father, Pope Francis drew the world’s attention as he gave a special Urbi et Orbi blessing to the world. The scene was surreal. In the darkened and empty plaza in front of the Basilica of St Peter, the solitary figure of this pope walking up the steps leading to the basilica and pausing to pray before the miraculous crucifix of the Church of St Marcellus that had been specially brought there for this occasion. Many were moved and touched by the words of the Pope as he addressed his flock and the world, with words of faith and hope in a time of unprecedented turbulence. But perhaps what spoke loudest was the powerful image of the Holy Father standing before the crucifix. As the entire world seem to spin in the maelstrom of this pandemic, with no remedy or solution in sight, our Pope holds on to the one thing that remains steady, unmoving and firmly grounded – the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. One commentator noted this scene with this penetrating and insightful phrase, “the cross stands while the world turns.”

‘Stat crux dum volvitur orbis,’ ‘The cross stands while the world turns’, is the English translation to the Latin motto of one of the strictest religious orders in the Church - the Carthusians. It is often said that the Carthusians are the only religious order in the Catholic Church that can boast of having never been reformed because it has never been deformed. Perhaps, this is the clearest testimony to the veracity of their motto: “the cross stands while the world turns and revolves.” The world changes but the Carthusians remain steadfast to their original spirit and vision.

Yes, the cross stands, unmovable, strong, solid, firmly grounded like a peg that holds the tent from being blown away by the wind or an anchor that keeps the ship from going adrift. Everyone understands the need for stability, even in a world that promotes rapid change. If nothing remains constant in the midst of change, everything descends into chaos. The cross is like a single coordinate point in the map of life, while other things are moving, shifting and changing, this point remains fixed, providing us with the needed reference point to guide our orientation and chart our direction. The cross stands erect, unshaken even in the midst of the tumultuous storms of life and the crisis which trails every moment of transition and change.

Rather than seeing the cross as an object to be feared or to be avoided at all cost, the cross is perhaps the most consoling symbol of our Christian faith. Of course, the cross alone provides us with little to no consolation. In fact, it should invoke horror and derision. But because of what our Lord did today, Good Friday, we will never be able to look at the cross in the same way again. As the priest unveils and shows the cross, he intones the chant: “behold the wood of the cross, on which hung the salvation of the world.” We are asked to behold not an empty cross. Our gaze and attention is drawn to the One who hangs on the cross, the One who is the “Salvation of the World”! Christ is our Rock, Christ is our Anchor, Christ is the axis of the World, He stands steady and unmoving even as the world revolves and turns.

In one of the most poignant scenes in the movie Captain America- Civil War, where our hero is at the funeral of his old beau, sitting beside him in the church is the niece of his former girlfriend. The niece reminisces and shares a quote from her auntie Maggie, a quote that would help our hero come to the enormously difficult decision that would end in alienating his friends and setting the whole world against him:

“Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move'.”

That is what our Lord did, and that is what Christians are called to do. Good Friday is the day when our Lord took a stand and when we too are asked to take a stand with Him by the cross. If you want everyone in the world to like you, then you can’t take a stand. You will be shifting and swaying with every changing fad or fashion, you will be moving with the crowd. But the moment you take a stand, the moment you have principles and are prepared to defend them, be ready to be hated. That is the cost to pay for standing up for the truth and for what is good.

But we know that we are not alone. We have an anchor that holds us firm and solid through any storm. It doesn’t mean that the storm will pass quickly, or that we won’t suffer from it. What it means is that we have a firm and sure foundation, and the One to whom we hold tight has gone before us and prepares a place for those who trust in Him. We know that though the wind is raging all around and even though the waves may rise to the point of sinking our ship, there’s a place of stillness in the storm. And you can find it in the One who hangs from the cross. Yes, the cross stands steady, while the world spins and shifts and revolves.

On the cross, it appeared that God had been vanquished. As ever so often, humanity and goodness appeared to have been crushed. Our Lord was killed, and yet the cross endures. It stands because it is sustained by what does not change.

‘The cross stands while the world turns’. The world may revolve. Fashions come and go, and public opinion rushes from one event to another. Sometimes Christianity itself falls out of favour. But we are assured that when we stand on the side of right, God stands with us. The cross is the sign of a divine fidelity to us that can never be destroyed. And that is why in the midst of suffering, confusion and turmoil, the cross is to be embraced and not avoided. This is because the cross is the necessary doorway to eternal glory – there is no other way in. There is no shortcut, there is no happy ending, in any ordinary sense. Death precedes glory, and the cross before the crown.

There is a second part to the Carthusian motto which is often omitted in popular quotes and lengthy discussions, “et mundo inconcussa supersto”, which translates “and steadfast/unshaken I stand on top of the world”. So, here’s the full saying:

 

Stat crux dum volvitur orbis

et mundo inconcussa supersto

The cross stands while the world turns

and steadfast/unshaken I stand on top of the world

Let us hold firmly to the cross, the only thing which stands steady in a changing world, in the midst of chaos, death and destruction, and we can proudly declare with our Lord, “steadfast unshaken I stand on top of the world.”

King, Shepherd and Judge

Solemnity of Christ the King

Acknowledging Christ as King of the Universe seems easy enough. But how is He a king? The readings today provide us with two additional concomitant images: this King of ours is also a Shepherd as well as a Judge.

Out of these three images, King, Shepherd and Judge, the one which least sits well with a modern audience would definitely be that of Christ as Judge. We have no issues acknowledging that Christ is Lord and King of our lives, nor would any reasonable person reject the image of a kind and loving shepherd who tenderly cares for his flock. But the notion of Christ being the Supreme Judge flies against our modern sensibilities which frowns on any attempt by individuals or institutions to pass moral judgment on others.

But there is a great deal of hypocrisy at work here. Notice that those who profess and say that they strive to make our society more open, inclusive and tolerant have no qualms coming up with an array of insults and labels for their perceived ideological enemies. It’s quite rich to profess that one is striving to be non-judgmental whilst labelling others as Pharisees, sexists, misogynists, homophobes, xenophobes, fascists etc. Seems like “rules for thee but not for me.” This is the very definition of unfairness and also the very reason why we need a fair, just and objective Judge who can defend the truth and expose the lies. Our society, no matter how enlightened it may claim to be, cannot be trusted to make that final judgment.

The parable of the sheep and the goats is wonderfully simple: there will be judgment for all; all of us will end up in one of two destinations: eternal life or eternal punishment. Here, we are presented with the Catholic teaching of the Last Things: death, judgment, heaven and hell. But the parable is not about what heaven or hell are like. What the parable seeks to set out are the grounds by which the determination of each person’s destination is achieved. So, the parable is about who gets to go there and on what basis. The criteria is determined by Christ our Judge.

It is vital to understand that in first century Palestine, sheep and goats were basically regarded as the same animal, and were not distinguishable, as they are now. In the account of the first Passover, the Passover lamb, could have actually been a goat. ‘Take a lamb from the sheep or the goats’, they are told. Sheep and goats would graze together, only to be separated at the end of their lives. This tells us that ultimately God makes distinctions that we do not, and when those distinctions are made, there will be an element of surprise. Likewise, in the parable, no-one knows whether they are a sheep or a goat, and only God can tell the difference and He will sort us out in the end, like a divine Hogwarts sorting hat.

Even more important in this parable is the rationale behind the Day of Judgement. The parable makes it clear: where you go when you die depends on how you have lived. And the good guys are those who have shown compassion and care for the weak and vulnerable. It doesn’t require knowledge in rocket science to understand the basis of judgment: if you cared for them you will be saved, if you didn’t, woe betide you.

So, this parable is meant to provide us with an important lesson that the Last Things are certain – death is certain, judgment is certain, both heaven and hell are certain – and we should orientate our lives and make the correct choices in line with the intended final outcome. The Church views this as a serious obligation on her part to teach this. The importance of this lesson is demonstrated best during the period of the mediaeval Western Church, when the emphasis at funerals was that of judgment. Hell and purgatory were very much in evidence in the liturgy. Funerals became a public event at which the Church attempted to instruct the people about the Last Things, and artists depicted the torments of the damned and the rewards of the faithful. Similarly, ‘mystery plays’ portrayed the souls of the damned being dragged into hell, or purgatory, and Dante emphasised this in his Divine Comedy, which actually, isn’t that funny.

Over the centuries, as human society claims to have become more enlightened, we have witnessed a movement away from this traditional image of the End Times. For example, our funerals have come to look more like extended eulogies, celebrating the life of the person, canonising the virtues of the deceased, rather than an occasion to intercede on behalf of a sinner, pleading with God to pardon his sins. By obscuring the judgment of the soul at his death, we have done so to our detriment and his. For when the spectre of a final judgment is obscured from our vision, the consequences are dire.

First, immorality and sin are normalised with no accountability to God.

Secondly, we attempt to find perfect solutions to every problem in this life because we have stopped believing that Christ is the Final Solution and His solution would only be made manifest at the Last Judgment.

Thirdly, we eventually grow desperate and fall into despair when we recognise the folly of our solutions and the continued prevalence of injustices in this world.

Finally, we neglect our duty to pray for the dead. We forget that the dead do not need our praises. They need our prayers.

As you can see, contemplating the Last Judgment is not all just dark and dreary and feeds on some morbid Catholic preoccupation with death and destruction. Contemplating the Last Things gives us a renewed ability to rely on the hope that there is a Final Solution and only in Christ will we find it. He offers us the hope of the resurrection.

For those who wonder whether it makes any difference to be good in this life or if our wicked deeds will have any consequences, be certain of this truth: the wicked “will go away to eternal punishment, and the virtuous to eternal life.” Ultimately the road of human life divides into two, one half splitting off towards a punishment that never ceases and the other towards an undying life and an unquenchable love with the Lord in His kingdom. This is no empty promise nor toothless warning. Let us not treat these words lightly because they were spoken by the One who is King of the Universe, the Shepherd who pastures His sheep, seeks out the lost, bandage the wounded, the Judge who will separate the sheep from the goats. If we are prepared to take His words seriously, we should therefore live accordingly.