I can see clearly now

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

One of my favourite feel-good go-to songs when I need an emotional uplift is that classic 70s song by Johnny Nash, “I can see clearly now.” For those of you millennials, Gen Z’s and Alphas who do not know what I’m talking about, here are the lyrics: “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. It’s gonna’ be a bright (bright), bright (bright), sunshiny day”.

I love the lyrics. Here is a person who has known the wet rainy days of life, when the sun is obscured by the dark clouds of pain, misery and loss. When the “hard rain” is pouring down all around, it’s easy to miss the beauty around you, the opportunities open to you. But everything changes when the rain stops. And there is a certainty that the rain will stop no matter how long we may have to endure it. We have arrived at a moment of clarity. Now that the rain is gone, the fog has dissipated, we can finally see the obstacles preventing us from the goals and dreams we have been pursuing without success.

This is what the faithful men and women of the Bible experienced, and the testimony of their faith is what we heard in the second reading taken from the letter to the Hebrews. It is through the piercing vision of faith that they were able to hope beyond hope, to keep on moving despite all the obstacles and setbacks, to persevere in spite of failure, and to reach their goals and beyond. What set them apart from other men and women were their faith in God. They did not rely on their own strengths or resources or human ingenuity. Rather, their motivation was rooted in a deep trust in a God that they believed would always keep His promises, and He did, even going beyond their expectations. Unsurprisingly the story of Abraham whom we call “our father in faith” has a prominent place. Abraham is proposed as a powerful model of Christian faith because his whole life was lived as a pilgrimage. Even when he was in the Promised Land of Canaan, he recognised that this was not his true homeland, but only a sign of it. It points beyond itself – as all signs do.

What would have made them give up their familiar surroundings, the security of family and kin or even their wealth? The answer can be found in the gospel. These heroes of the Old Testament saw a glimpse of what our Lord clearly promises in the gospel: “Sell your possessions and give alms. Get yourselves purses that do not wear out, treasure that will not fail you, in heaven where no thief can reach it and no moth destroy it. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” They were able to give up what most people would prize and treasure because there was something better awaiting them. Heaven is our ultimate destination and true home. Life may be filled with dark dreary and wet days, but the Lord promises that what is to come is only a never ending “bright sunshiny day.” The dark clouds in our life will disappear. This is not just wishful thinking or false optimism. Faith informs us that things can and will work out in the end. This is what the Book of the Apocalypse (21:23) assures us: “And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb.”

Having such a vision of the future does not mean that we should just sit on our hands and do nothing. Our Lord tells us that we should be like faithful servants who are constantly at work while remaining vigilant: “See that you are dressed for action and have your lamps lit. Be like men waiting for their master to return from the wedding feast, ready to open the door as soon as he comes and knocks.” This sounds like our Lord is imposing a dress code, perhaps the one thing that is most unpopular in any Catholic parish, as I noticed many of you flinch at the mere mention of it. But the reality is that the dress code imposed by the church merely reflects in a sacramental way the proper inner disposition of a disciple. To be “dressed for action” translates to have our “loins girded,” to be dressed for a journey, a new exodus as we follow Christ on the path of discipleship that leads to the cross. You do not have the luxury of dressing down or be in your most comfortable pyjamas. Christian discipleship is a call to action, not a license to loiter on your sofa and wait for others to do the work.

The second metaphor used by the Lord, which is having our lamps lit, makes a perfect segue into the parable of the servants who await their master’s return from a wedding feast. The parable clarifies the meaning of the metaphor. The lamps refer to the constant state of watchfulness and vigilance. No Christian, no disciple of Christ can be caught off guard. I’ve constantly repeated this ad nauseam: there is no sabbatical or ‘day-offs’ for Christians because the Son of Man is already at the wedding feast. When He returns at the unexpected hour, He will introduce the disciples into His banquet, provided that they are awake and ready. As an incentive and motivation for vigilance, the parable promises a reward for the faithful servants: the Master himself will be at their service. But for the steward who has decided to fall asleep on the job and take additional liberties especially in mistreating others, “his master will come on a day he does not expect and at an hour he does not know. The master will cut him off and send him to the same fate as the unfaithful.” Don’t feign ignorance. You’ve been warned!

So, if we find ourselves in this present life, unsettled, uncomfortable, sorrowful and suffering, then we have the assurance that this hardship is part of our journey into joy. We are all on our journey, an exodus from the slavery to sin, to the freedom of becoming heirs of the Kingdom. Of course, it is indeed the task of the whole Church, and of every Christian – to make that hope believable, to make the pilgrimage to God sustainable, to bring into the lives of the sorrowful the authentic joy of Christ’s victory over sin and death.

Christians are called to be pilgrims of hope, more so as we are reminded this year being a Jubilee Year with the above theme. We must be in a constant state of departing. We are people “on the Way.” Thus, our every action and existence in the here and now becomes more urgent when we do not lose sight of the fact that God may call us to account at any moment. Every moment, every deed, every decision ceases to be trivial when our lives are lived and shaped directly in and toward the light of eternity. If we forget this immediacy, we end up abusing our stewardship of this earth; and injustice and oppression becomes staple activities.

Our gospel tells us that the Son of Man will come when we do not expect – He will break into history not when it seems to be finished, nor indeed when all seems hopeless, but at a time that makes sense to Him. The rain will stop, the clouds will disperse, the obstacles will be removed, and the sun will shine brightly once more with no fear of night. But when He does come, He expects to find us working for that Kingdom which He alone can bring to completion. So, with our lamps lit, let’s get working, let’s be dressed for action, so that we can indeed face the future, and the present, with courage and joy.

Every night, as we conclude with Compline, the night prayer, we sing this beautiful hymn, Abide with Me, written by H. F. Lyte. What Johnny Nash merely suggested in his popular song is made apparent in the lyrics of the final stanza of Lyte’s hymn:

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

We dare to say

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

The prayer of Abraham in the first reading stands in contrast to that of our Lord’s in the gospel. If Abraham struggled to find the words to intercede on behalf of the depraved inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah and even attempts to haggle and bargain with God in making a deal, our Lord provides us with the blue print of prayer in the gospel. There is no longer any need on our part to haggle with God or broker a deal like an astute lawyer, businessman or politician. God, the party on the other end of the transaction (if you see prayer as transactional), is already disclosing to us all His cards and the key to winning His favour and acquiescence.

Although what we’ve just read and heard is a different and shorter version of the Lord’s Prayer which we pray at every Mass and in our devotions, it doesn’t tamper the radical demands which we make of God. In fact, the prayer has the audacity of making the following demands of God: we demand intimacy and familiarity with God’s person and name that borders on the contemptuous and blasphemous, we demand the coming of the kingdom, we demand the terra-forming of our trouble ridden earth so that it may become more like a trouble free heaven, we demand daily sustenance from on high, we demand that our sins be forgiven, and finally we demand shelter from temptation and deliverance from evil. If the school of hard knocks has taught us anything, it would be this: never make unreasonable demands, don’t expect the impossible. Well, for man all these may seem impossible; but for God, everything’s possible! We shouldn’t, therefore, feel uncomfortable or embarrassed to recite this prayer, as it is the Lord Himself who teaches us to do so!

This point is recognised in the introduction spoken by the priest at every Mass before the community recites in unison the Lord’s Prayer, "At the Saviour's command and formed by divine teaching, we dare to say..." The phrase ‘we dare to say’ inherently recognises our insignificance before the Father. We are humbly admitting that it has nothing to do with us, in fact, it admits that it is not even something which we can ever hope to accomplish. The words convey a profound sense of unworthiness; we are in no position to make any claims or demands.

The whole phrase places the Lord’s Prayer in a different light – it is no longer to be seen as a cry of entitlement, a demand made on God to fulfill our petitions and wishes. But rather, it is a prayer of humility by someone truly unworthy to even stand before the august presence of God and yet dare to address Him with the familiar “daddy” and make a series of demands of Him. The catechism tells us that “Our awareness of our status as slaves would make us sink into the ground and our earthly condition would dissolve into dust, if the authority of our Father Himself and the Spirit of his Son had not impelled us to this cry . . . ‘Abba, Father!’ . . . When would a mortal dare call God ‘Father,’ if man’s innermost being were not animated by power from on high?” It is by placing ourselves into the position of a child, calling God our Father, that we open ourselves to the grace by which we approach God with the humble boldness of a little child.

This is how we should approach prayer. It should neither be some arcane magical formula that forces the hand of God nor just a mechanical and superficial repetition of words just to appease Him. Prayer should always be rooted in a father-child relationship where the child trusts that the father will always have his best interest in mind even if he doesn’t always get want he wants. The supplicant who comes before God doesn’t need to approach Him as a lawyer who comes before the judge, hoping to outwit and win an argument with the latter. He already knows that the Supreme Judge will always stand with Him and even stand in His place to take the punishment which he deserves.

There is a Latin maxim that addresses the centrality and priority of prayer in the life, identity and mission of the Church; “Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi, Lex Vivendi”, the law of prayer reflects the law of faith which determines the law of life. Too often it is the other way around. Our lifestyle choices force our beliefs to conform to them and thereafter affect the way we pray. But when it comes to us Christians, everything begins with prayer. Our lives must be conformed to prayer and not the other way. How we worship and pray not only reveals and guards what we believe but guides us in how we live our Christian faith and fulfill our Christian mission in the world. As much as we are sometimes taken up with the spontaneity of the praying style of our Protestant brethren, and many of us too are tempted to venture into some innovative and creative explorations on our own, we must always remember that the best prayer, or as St Thomas Aquinas reminds us, the most Perfect Prayer, is still the prayer not formulated by any human poet or creative genius but by Christ, the Son of God Himself. In a way, God provides us the words to speak to Him.

Thus, our ability to pray in this way can only come to us by the grace of God - it is only because our Saviour has commanded it and because we have been formed by divine teaching, that ‘we dare to say.’ There is no arrogant audacity in the tone of our voice or the content of our prayer. We take no credit for this prayer. All glory goes to God and to His Christ, Jesus our Lord. We are not the natural sons and daughters of the Heavenly Father. We have no right to address Him by this familiar name. All our words seem banal and fall empty in the light of the pre-existent Word. But because of Jesus through baptism, I have become an adopted child. The Father is revealed to us by His Son and we can approach Him only through the Son. Because of Jesus, my prayer now derives an amazing and miraculous efficacy. For that reason, we dare to call God “Our Father.” Through this prayer, the unapproachable God becomes approachable. The unknown God is made known. The strange and unfamiliar God becomes familiar and a friend. The prayer unspoken is already answered!

Soul Quenching Spirit

Pentecost Vigil

Last week, the indigenous communities of Sabah and Sarawak celebrated their respective harvest festivals. This week the Jews do so with the Festival of Weeks or Pentecost, which is its Greek name. The words of our Lord in today’s gospel were not spoken on Pentecost. In fact, the Feast of Pentecost, which is a harvest festival and one of the great pilgrimage festivals of the Jews, is never once mentioned in any of the gospels. The first time we hear of it in the New Testament is found in the Acts of the Apostles, in the scene which is identified with today - the descent of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the Church.

The words of our Lord in today’s passage is spoken on another Jewish festival - the Feast of Booths or Tabernacles. This feast, Sukkoth, is most well-known for the little huts or “booths” (from which the feast derives its name) that the Jewish people would construct and live in throughout the week of the Feast. The feast, like all the other major festivals, was a throwback to the time of the Exodus. It was a celebration of God’s gracious provision for the Israelites in the wilderness before they could even plant or harvest crops. But when they had arrived in the Promised Land, the feast took on an additional significance – it marked the completion of the year’s harvest, for Sukkoth was the last of the three great pilgrimage festivals (the other two being Passover and Pentecost) for the year.

Sukkoth was observed over a week, seven days. On these seven days, the priest will undertake a water drawing ceremony - he would go to the pool of Siloam, fill up golden pitchers with water from the pool and make a grand processional back to the Temple, trumpets would resound, there would be great rejoicing, and singing praises from Scripture like Isaiah 12, “Let us draw water from the wells of salvation,” and along with the singing of Psalms. Thousands and thousands of people from all over Israel would throng the streets of Jerusalem waving palm branches, much like what happened when our Lord entered Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives at the start of Holy Week.

Excitement and jubilation filled the air, as the priest would pour out the water beside the altar. And then they would all fall silent as the priest poured water over the altar. This takes place on the last day of the Feast (described by John as “the last and greatest day of the Festival”), and it’s at the end of all this ceremonial pomp and circumstance that Jesus stood up and shouted, “If any man is thirsty, let him come to me! Let the man come and drink who believes in me.” Can you imagine the shock and utter annoyance of the priestly caste and religious leaders at these words? While all eyes were focused on the golden pitcher of water being poured out over the altar, the Lord Himself is declaring – “Look at me! I am the true source of that water!”

The water poured out by the priest on the altar symbolised the blessings that would come with the future Messiah, and his spiritual life-giving water would stream out over all the earth, just as the water flowed from the rock in the wilderness. Amid this great liturgical ceremony, rich with Biblical allusions and symbolism, the Lord Jesus points people to Himself and says, “the Promised one is here!” The offer of salvation goes out to all people because it’s only through Jesus Christ that your soul’s thirstiness can be quenched. “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” But what exactly is this “water” which the Lord is offering?

Should anyone misunderstand the words of the Lord, St John the Evangelist then segues into giving a definitive interpretation to the nature of that water which flows from the Lord: “He was speaking of the Spirit which those who believed in him were to receive; for there was no Spirit as yet because Jesus had not yet been glorified”. He provides this interpretation by citing a quotation from scripture: “From his breast shall flow fountains of living water.” Here’s the problem - there is no exact quotation from the Old Testament which can be found in the Old Testament. There are, however, two references to living, flowing water: Ezekiel 47:1ff and Zechariah 14:8. Both references are speaking of the future temple in the Millennial kingdom and pictures water flowing from the temple. However, neither of these references show that the source of that water comes from “the breast” of the Messiah nor do they point to the Holy Spirit in the way that John does in his gospel.

In Hebrew, the word used to speak of the spirit is “ruah,” which could also translate as wind or breathe. The wind represents the Holy Spirit’s share in the creation of the world (Gen 1:2), and the breath or wind of God represents the Holy Spirit’s participation in the creation of human beings (Gen 2:7). On the day of Pentecost, before the appearance of tongues of fire, there was the sound of a powerful wind which filled the entire room.

But water is also another symbol of the Holy Spirit and this is why when our Lord invites His listeners to come to Him and drink, He is inviting them to partake of the gift of the Holy Spirit. Water cleanses, quenches, refreshes, and gives life. Wherever the rivers flow and rain falls, there is life. Water represents the Holy Spirit’s ability to refresh us, quench our spiritual thirst, cleanse us, and bring forth life wherever He flows. He is the rain of Heaven, and He is the living river that flows from within.

The message which the Spirit inspires us to proclaim is a message of hope. It is a message the world needs especially at this moment. Hope at a time when divisions between peoples are being actively promoted. Hope at this time when our prayers may seem fruitless. Hope at a time when our spiritual lives seem tired and drained. The demands of living, paired with a waning prayer life, can produce a dryness of the soul. In this spiritual desert, you become tired, frustrated, weak, and apathetic. Responsibilities and needs, like the intense heat from the beaming sun, drain you of vitality. Life can sometimes be like a desert, but the Holy Spirit is that ever-flowing living water that quenches the thirst of our souls.

Be assured of this, the Spirit is at work even when we may not see it, when we may be tempted to be discouraged. Tonight, as we begin the celebration of Pentecost, we ask the Holy Spirit to come on us anew as He came on the disciples. To come on us to enable us to be that source of hope for the world, to work in us so we can play our part in bringing creation to its fulfilment, to work in us so that we can share the message that all people are united in Christ, to refresh our dry and withered souls, to work in us so that we can offer people the hope of the new life Christ brings. Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and they shall be created. And You shall renew the face of the earth.

 

Faith, Hope and Love

Fifth Sunday of Easter Year C

One of the greatest malaise of our times and our present generation is that we seem to be totally demotivated. In fact, our generation has been described as Generation D - the generation which is highly demotivated, disillusioned and most easily disappointed. Most people have lost fervour, direction or purpose in doing anything. From the student to the worker, from the person serving in a church ministry to the priest himself. We seem to have run out of fuel or new ways. And so, we have motivational speakers raking up millions just to give us shallow talking points to make us feel sufficiently good enough to carry on another day without having to drag our feet through the mud or just sit down and wallow in it.

Many of you may be hoping that a homily you hear from the priest on a Sunday would serve the same purpose, with perhaps less hype and without much injury to your wallet. Looking at our Sunday collections, I honestly wonder whether we priests have met up with even your lowest expectations.

But guess what? Today’s readings provide you with a treat. Scripture, the Church, offers you not just one but three essential points on how to reignite the fire in your life and keep you going. Nothing novel here but sometimes the best piece of advice would be the perennial truths we have forgotten but need the most. The three readings provide us with the remedy to our triple D problems - they are the three theological virtues - faith, hope and charity.

What is a virtue? The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that “a virtue is a habitual and firm disposition to do the good. It allows the person not only to perform good acts but to give the best of himself.” As you can see, virtue is not just a lack of doing what is evil. To refrain from looting, burning, and name-calling does not make us virtuous. The CCC (1804) says “The virtuous man is he who freely practices the good.” Personal virtue is the key to improving the world, finding happiness, and helping other people to be good and happy too; yet the ultimate end of virtue is even greater than these great goals: “the goal of a virtuous life is to become like God”. (CCC 1803)

Virtues can be categorised into basically two large categories. The Cardinal human virtues are four: temperance, fortitude, justice, and prudence. They are acquired through human effort, like how one builds up one’s muscles to regular and appropriate exercise. But today, we wish to focus on three theological virtues which are infused in each person at baptism: faith, hope and charity. According to the CCC (1813), “They inform and give life to all the moral virtues. They are infused by God into the souls of the faithful to make them capable of acting as his children and of meriting eternal life.” All these three theological virtues relate directly to God and are necessary for a relationship with Him. With faith, we believe in God and all He has revealed to us. With hope, we recognise that God is our fulfillment. We trust in the promises of God and desire His kingdom and eternal life with Him. Through charity “we love God above all things for his own sake and our neighbor as ourselves for the love of God” (CCC 1822).

In the first reading taken from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear of the exploits of St Paul and St Barnabas, the earliest missionaries of the Church. Their mission was to strengthen faith for those who already believed but were now facing hardships in the form of opposition and persecution, and also to plant the seeds of faith among those who had not heard the gospel of Christ. To ensure that faith continued to flourish, it was essential that they established stable community of Christians under the leadership of persons whom they have appointed. Though faith is a theological virtue that is given by God, it must be planted with preaching and witnessing of the gospel, and then nourished, tended and strengthened. This is an important reminder to us that we too are called to share in Christ’s mission to witness the gospel and thereafter to mentor and accompany others as we grow together in faith.

In the second reading, we have a powerful glimpse at the New Jerusalem which awaits the faithful after their long and arduous sojourn on this earth. “Here God lives among men. He will make His home among them … He will wipe away all tears from their eyes; there will be no more death, and no more mourning or sadness.” Such a spectacular vision is necessary because the gift of eternal life promised by Christ can be so easily obscured and forgotten in the midst of the troubles, suffering and hardships we have to endure on earth. When faced with obstacles which drag us down, where do we find the energy to press on, the second wind to finish the race? The answer lies in the virtue of hope. Hope is the strongest source of courage and strength. If you trust God’s promises of the incomparable happiness of Heaven, you can give up any earthly good or endure any earthly trial for that.

In the Gospel, we hear our Lord present to us His disciples the new commandment of love, to love one another as Christ loved us. Since the world brandishes the word love indiscriminately, we often get confused with the concept of love in its many expressions and incarnations. It is clear that the love which our Lord references here is more than just “being nice”, or “tolerant”, or “affectionate. Now there’s nothing wrong with tolerance, or affection or basic decency. But these, in themselves, are not the love that our Lord taught, the love He lived. His love transcends mere feelings of affection, and it’s exponentially harder than simple kindness or even basic tolerance. People don’t get crucified for being nice.

So, what is this love that the Lord says is the be-all and end-all of human living? This is a kind of love, in the words of Pope Benedict, that “seeks the good of the beloved…ready, and even willing, for sacrifice.” Love is giving one’s very self freely to and for the other, even when it hurts the giver. This is the love the Lord taught. This is the love He lived, all the way to the cross. Make no mistake: there’s nothing wishy-washy or mushy about this love.

What the world believes in today is not a faith in God but in science and in man’s resources. What the world promotes today is optimism, a false substitute for hope. What the world calls love today, is a counterfeit of love - it is self-preservation rather than self-giving. What passes as faith, hope and love today, is another excuse for sin. But the truth is that sin has nothing to do with faith, hope and love. In fact, sin is the exact opposite of authentic faith, hope and love. Sin obscures faith, drags us into despair and distorts and destroys love.

So, we must be like the missionaries St Paul and St Barnabas in the first reading – we must never tire of putting “fresh heart into the disciples, encouraging them to persevere in the faith.” If the road seems long and the work seems dreary, keep your eyes on the finishing line - the new heavens and the new earth, where every tear will be wiped away, death and mourning will be no more. But until that day, let us do everything with love. Love compels us Christians to preach the Good News in and out of season, even when it is unpopular to do so. Seems simple enough but you and I know how challenging it is to live out the demands of love, which call us to not only pay lip service but sacrifice for one whom we profess to love. Faith, hope and love are what motivate us to move forward even when the odds are against us, when the challenges seem impossible and when all seems lost and hopeless.

Hope will not disappoint

Second Sunday of Lent Year C

The word “hope” is thrown around a lot. “I hope I win the lottery!” “I hope that I do well in my exams!” “I hope that I get a raise.” “I hope Father’s homily will be short!” As you know from experience, most of the time you don’t get what you “hope” for. So, keep hoping!

For most people, optimism and hope are interchangeable, but are they really? The objects of both concepts are worlds apart. Optimism focuses on making this life and this world a better place. Nothing wrong with that, unfortunately the future and the outcomes of our actions are never truly within our control. We want things to be better. We want our problems to be resolved. We want crises to end. We want the best possible future for ourselves and our loved ones. But the best we can accomplish is to have strong aspirations. We can never guarantee their final outcome. The truth is that life is not a genie released from a bottle who can guarantee the fulfilment of all or any of our wishes.

On the other hand, Christian hope is different. It’s not wishing for good things with this life as our goal. The ultimate object of Hope like the other theological virtues of faith and charity, is God. As St Paul assures us in his letter to the Romans, “Hope will not disappoint” (Rom 5:5), precisely because God will not disappoint. Hope does not spring from a person’s mind; it is not snatched out of mid-air. It results from the promises of God. It is grounded in God, the God who does not break His promises, the God who remains faithful to His covenants, the God who surprises us with something greater than we can ever conceive or perceive, the God who will certainly and irrefutably never disappoint. This is what we see in the readings we have heard this week.

In the first reading, we have God promising to give Abram something which seemed humanly impossible to this old and childless man. God uses the stars to birth faith in Abram. Throughout Abram (who was later renamed Abraham) and his wife Sarah’s lives, God brought them into situations that stretched their faith and required the continued exercise of hope and trust in God. Abram had left everything he knew—his extended family, an assurance of wealth and stability in a well-established homeland —to follow a voice that called him by name into the unknown. Like a blindfolded trust-walk, Abram took step by step in the wilderness, moving forward in God’s plan for his life. When he started to question the journey, he simply needed to glance up to the stars to remember the One who showed him the expanse of the heavens and all the stars therein and then promised to make Abram’s descendants into a great nation as numerous as those incalculable stars. St Paul reflecting on this act of faith and hope wrote: “Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations” (Rom 4:18).

Abraham’s faith and hope did not require a denial of reality, nor would such a denial have been healthy. False optimism, on the other hand, does that. How many of us have been miserably disappointed because we have held on to some false optimism that eventually turned out to be a lie or a delusion? But here Abraham acknowledged his own personal and natural limitations (old age and barrenness) without weakening in faith. In some circles, the power of positive thinking and speech receives such an emphasis that people feel they cannot speak honestly about their circumstances. Positive thinking merely denies reality, it cannot reshape it nor create it. That isn’t walking in hope. Hope acknowledges the facts and then looks beyond them to the truth of what Scripture reveals about God, His power, and His ability to fulfill His word.

In the second reading, St Paul reminds us that our true homeland is heaven. Many have forgotten this. Too often today when people talk about “heaven” they mean a purely spiritual destination where spirits float around with God in the clouds. That’s a non-Christian hope. That “heaven” is not what we look forward to. In place of a heaven which means perfect communion with God, man has tried to replace it with surrogates, always looking for the elusive utopia, the earthly paradise of our own making. But any “earthly paradise” which excludes God from its definition, is a false paradise, and eventually would turn out to be a living hell. We need only look towards the “paradise” which both the Nazis and communist regimes attempted to create on earth. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches: “Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ's promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit” (CCC 1817).

Finally, we have the gospel passage which is St Luke’s account of the Transfiguration. This story appears in all the synoptic gospels and each version is always read on the Second Sunday of Lent. This event takes place as our Lord is proceeding to Jerusalem with His disciples to meet His fate - His atoning death on the cross which will lead to His saving resurrection. The Lord was transfigured so that “the scandal of the Cross might be removed from the hearts of his disciples” (Roman Missal, Preface for the Feast of the Transfiguration), to help them bear the dark moments of His Passion. The Cross and glory are closely united.

The transfiguration was meant to instil hope and strengthen their faith in the face of the Lord’s impending suffering and death. Even witnessing Jesus' tragic death, they were not to lose faith, knowing that suffering and death do not have the final say. That is why the message of the Lord’s transfiguration is so important. It offers us a glimpse into a different world - eternal life, the life of the resurrection, heaven itself. In the presence of suffering, we see our Lord’s glory, we see Moses and Elijah who were deemed dead or at least removed from our human existence, alive in God and we hope that one day we will be with them. This vision offers us hope as we journey through life, knowing that something beautiful awaits us after the trials of this world.

As the ups and downs of life continue, hope remains an important virtue for all of us. Hope can sustain us amidst the difficulties of life. There are times when the enormity of our pains and trials leads us to despair, questioning whether God sees our suffering and what His purpose is in it. But imagine someone showing you a glimpse of your future life beyond this world – a life in the presence of God, reunited with loved ones, free from suffering. Such a vision, however fleeting, can make a profound difference in how you view your earthly life and the manner in which you choose to live it. When our eyes are fixed on the light at the end of the long dark tunnel, even though that light may seem faint and tiny at times, the going gets easier and our strength to press on is renewed. As the Catechism says, hope keeps us from discouragement, sustains us when abandoned, and opens our hearts in expectation of heaven (CCC 1818).

The Light which enlightens

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

Although today’s feast is clearly not part of the Christmas season, it does complete the Christmas cycle. I like to call it “the icing on the cake.” It is considered a Christmas feast because we are still contemplating the Lord Jesus as an infant rather than as an adolescent or an adult. Today’s feast usurps the Sunday liturgy, which is a rare thing in the first place but prescribed by the rubrics. Usually, other feasts have to give way to the Sunday liturgy which ranks much higher, but not today. In other years, where this feast is celebrated ideally early in the morning or in the evening for obvious aesthetic reasons, the Mass begins with the blessing of candles followed by a candlelight procession into the Church. Apart from the evening anticipated Mass, we have been deprived of the benefit of witnessing the most apparent feature of this liturgy, which you can deduce from the old name for today’s feast - Candlemas – or the Mass of the candles. Today is the Church’s Festival of Lights.

If you had not come for the service in the evening, you would have missed out on one of the major highlights of today’s feast – the candlelight procession, as the priest and the congregation enters the Church. This procession takes on a greater significance when we understand the history of this feast. According to the erudite Pope Benedict XVI, today’s feast supplanted an early rowdy pagan celebration which also featured a procession: “the pagan world’s wild cry for purification, liberation, deliverance from dark powers, meets the “light to enlighten the Gentiles,” the mild and humble light of Jesus Christ. The failing (and yet still active) aeon of a foul, chaotic enslaved and enslaving world encounters the purifying power of the Christian message.”

But in order to appreciate the wonder of the light, our story begins in darkness. Even though it is hard to appreciate the interplay of shadow and light in broad daylight, we can understand why it is important to have darkness in order to discern the importance of light. Light makes no sense without the darkness. In fact, shadow and light are the reality of our lives and our world.

As promised, our reflexion must begin with a meditation of darkness. Darkness is not just the absence of light. It has come to be synonymous with all that seems “negative” and “bad.” We recognise the darkness of the world around us – death, violence, selfishness, injustice and sin. We fear both the darkness and yet seem attracted to it. Sometimes we hide in the darkness avoiding the light because of our shame or guilt. There is also the darkness of uncertainty, especially about our future. There is a sense of powerlessness and life seems out of control. Sometimes we experience the darkness of ignorance and confusion.

But as Simeon would discover, there is a light which no darkness can keep out, there is a light which the darkness cannot defeat, there is a light which persist to shine in the darkness. No matter how large the shadows or how dark the night, the light is still present.

Something happens when we encounter the light. There is power in this light. It is a light which conquers the darkness. Wherever there is the least bit of light, darkness is forced to flee. You can be in the darkest place imaginable and just a tiny match, when lit, has the power to drive away all that black, oppressive darkness. Without light, our world would be dark and it would be drab. There would be no colour. But with light, a dreary world becomes brighter, and even the coldest chill will thaw. The light also gives life and thus is the enemy of death. God uses the light of our witness and testimony to warm the dead sinner’s heart and to draw them to Jesus for salvation. And then there is the Light which brings order to chaos – a Light which sets everything right, in its proper place and order.

But that Light, that Illumination, also reveals. It reveals hope, especially in this Jubilee Year of Hope – the hope that the night of darkness will not last for ever. Hope is sure to come with the dawning light. It reveals mercy and forgiveness in the shadows of guilt and shame, presence and courage in the night of fear, compassion and hope in the black holes of sorrow and loss, a way forward in the blindness of ignorance and confusion, and life in the darkness of death. The flame of God’s love consumes the darkness, fills us, and frees us to go in peace, just as God promised.

But every revelation is also a bittersweet reality. Truth can be painful. God’s salvation will be costly, not only for Jesus, but also for those who love Him. So, instead of offering Mary congratulations on her fine Son, Simeon prophesies that a “sword shall pierce” Mary’s heart. This prophecy does not only reveal the suffering which the mother must endure but also provides a glimpse of what is to become of the Son. In the Light which enlightens, we see the silhouette of the cross. But it is in the cross, that Christians will behold their brightest light – the light of the resurrection, God’s final victory over death, sin and darkness! And that is God’s promise to us on Candlemas Day: that whatever we’re going through, light and hope will win out in the end.

The Future is uncertain but the End is always near

First Sunday of Advent Year C

What would your response be if I were to tell you that we are at the cusp of the End Times, especially in view of the escalation of conflict between Ukraine and Russia, threatening to drag Europe, the United States and the whole world into a possible nuclear war?

Firstly, many of you would respond with incredulity and scoff at my announcement, thinking that I am either kidding, overreacting or out of my mind, and then proceed to live your lives business-as-usual.

Secondly, some would take advantage of the limited time still available to fulfil your life-time’s bucket list - eat, drink and be merry. Why waste the final hours, days and months of your life in idle living or useless worrying?

Thirdly, some of you would redouble your effort in putting your life and your household in order. Time to put in more effort in prayer, Mass attendance, and seek to make peace with those who have become estranged in past years.

Before proceeding any further, I would like to assure that I am deadly serious when I say that we are living in the end times. This is no bogey-man created by the Church to scare the unchurched and the nominal Catholics to return to the pews every Sunday. Neither, is this some symbolic event and its content require some form of de-mythologising. The world really will end! As the rock star lead of the Doors, Jim Morrison, assures us: “The future is uncertain but the end is always near.” The “End” did not begin today or in recent times or even in the past century. It began two thousand years ago with the first coming of our Lord. Our Lord’s death and resurrection was the beginning of the end, the sudden unveiling of God’s final purpose for His creation. We have been living in the end times since then.

The problem which many people face is that we tend to lose the momentum and urgency when the climatic conclusion of the end times seems to have been postponed. We start believing that it’s all a hoax, that the Church got it wrong, that Christ didn’t mean this when He spoke of it to His disciples. But the greater problem is that when we lose sight of the end times, we also lose sight of our ultimate purpose and destination in life. A society who has no vision of an eschatology where God would be victorious at the end, where the wicked would be punished and the innocent vindicated, where wrongs would be made right, where present sufferings would be justified, would be a society wrapped in despair and living without hope.

An incorrect eschatology can also lead to incorrect behaviour in the present times. The early Christian community, as evidenced by the writings of St Paul had similar experiences and responses to the end times announcement which they thought to be imminent - something that would take place in their own lifetime. So, some surrendered to an unbridled hedonistic lifestyle filled with “debauchery and drunkenness”, while others pursued an ascetic style of living, abandoning spouses and families whilst quitting their jobs. Both extremes were far from the ideal of Christian living which St Paul desired to instil in them.

St Paul does not suggest that Christians head for the hills, hunker down, adopt a “fortress mentality,” and start stockpiling food and weapons. As Paul sees it, end-time Christians are called to practice holiness and do good to others wherever and whenever they can. They are supposed to work the works of God “while it is day” (John 9:4). And his instructions have not grown obsolete and we would be wise to follow.

Firstly, news of the end times should not coarsen our hearts and lead us to become some stoic loveless persons. Rather, it should motivate us to increase our love for others. “May the Lord be generous in increasing your love and make you love one another and the whole human race as much as we love you.”

Secondly, our contemplation of the end times should also deepen our relationship with God as we strive to grow in holiness. St Paul prays that God may “so confirm your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless in the sight of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus Christ comes with all his saints.”

Thirdly, knowledge of the end times should not lead us to spiritual or intellectual idleness but actually motivate us to make progress in every aspect of our lives. We should always strive to improve ourselves and not settle for mediocrity, “to make more and more progress in the kind of life that you are meant to live: the life that God wants, as you learnt from us, and as you are already living it.”

As for our Lord, He speaks to His disciples about the need for vigilance and prayer as they wait for the coming of the Son of Man in glory. Though our Lord predicts a time of destruction and fear, and He acknowledges that many will be frightened by what they will be witnessing; His disciples are not to fear, but are to stand tall. Note that our Lord does not promise deliverance from anxiety or tribulations. He, however, encourages His disciples to pray for strength.

There are many reasons why it would be easy to feel overcome by the darkness of our present historical moment. At the threshold of global nuclear annihilation, with so many overwhelming unknowns, it is tempting for our waiting to turn to the apathy of despair, which waits because there is nothing else to do, nowhere to go—a kind of resignation that has stopped looking for new possibilities. What should we do and what can we do? Just as the early Christian communities did not find consolation in the promise of a utopia, nor escape through some other-worldly asceticism or hedonistic lifestyle, nor should we. Instead, we find in our Christian faith the means by which we witness to God's unfailing love for us in all circumstances. With His abundant grace, we should keep on loving, keep on living and keep on growing in holiness.

And so, we begin this holy season of Advent on a high note of hope, rather than despair. Our Lord’s predictions about the end times may sound dire, but in His person and in His message, we who hear Him can find strength and consolation. Like the first Christians, we may encounter events and circumstances that could lead us to despair. Through prayer, however, we find strength and consolation in the Lord’s words in today’s gospel: “Stay awake, praying at all times for the strength to survive all that is going to happen, and to stand with confidence before the Son of Man.”

And Now the End is Near

Thirty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

There are too many things happening simultaneously and coincidentally which may lead us to believe that we are living in the end times. We seem to be beset by one earth-shattering, history-setting crisis after another - a worldwide pandemic that brought the entire world to its knees, an economic crisis on an accelerated downward spiral, regional conflicts threatening to become another world war, hurricanes and natural calamities on an unprecedented scale and a polarised Church which seems to have as many enemies on the inside as she has on the outside. For some, the re-election of Donald Trump was the final straw – we are on the threshold of Armageddon.

Whenever some big catastrophe happens, you can be sure that someone will start talking about the “end times.” Both Catholics and Protestants do this. The difference mainly seems to be that Protestants start trying to chart out the apocalypse according to the Books of Daniel and Revelation, whereas Catholics try to chart it out based on various private revelations of the more dramatic and eschatological kind.

But what Christians today often forget is that the Church has been talking about the “end times” since the very first century, when humanity crucified the Son of God which was followed in a few decades by the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem. Our Lord’s death and resurrection was the beginning of the end, the sudden unveiling of God’s final purpose for His creation. The destruction of the Temple merely confirmed their worst fears as the Temple was regarded by the Jews as the microcosm of the universe. This catastrophe coupled with civil wars fought within the Roman Empire, cataclysmic natural disasters led many to believe that this was indeed the Last Days. But the world did not disintegrate into space dust despite all signs and omens and personal speculations pointing to this.

So, are we overreacting? Have our ancestors been overreacting? Are the end times even real or have we been suffering from some eschatological post-traumatic stress disorder for decades and centuries? I wish to reassure you - Yes, the end times are real! The last things are real: death, judgment, heaven, hell. From a biblical point of view, we have been living in the end times for the last 2,000 years.

We are living in the end times but there is nothing new about this. So yes, the drama is real, but so is the salvation. We should never forget this truth: Evil is real, but so is good. In fact, the good is more real because evil is always destructive, always negative, always corrupting. Whereas the good creates, builds, grows, nurtures, comforts, enhances, heals. That is why we should never be hiding in a bunker, cowering in fear under some rock or burying our head in the sand. The good news of Jesus Christ is that evil does not triumph, cannot triumph, and so we do not have to fear. We can look in the face of evil—as so many Christian martyrs have done and do even today—and persevere in loving the good.

What our Lord tells us in today’s gospel passage is not just an ominous warning of destruction on a global and cosmic scale. Many would be so caught up with the frightening imagery that appears in the first half of our Lord’s prophecy but fail to pay attention to the second half that follows. What comes after the end of the world and the universe, is not defeat but victory. Our Lord assures us that for those who remain resilient and faithful to the end, will get to witness the “Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory; then too he will send the angels to gather his chosen from the four winds, from the ends of the world to the ends of heaven.”

As Christians, we should not be paralysed and stuck in the past, the past of failures, of blunders, of sentimental memories. If there is anything the past can teach us is the lessons which we must take into the present. Remembering the past should lead us to a profound sense of gratitude, to wisdom, to humility and to repentance. We must remember that we can never change the past and therefore, can never choose to live in a time capsule, shielding us from the troubles of the present.

The same could be said of the future. We have limited influence on the future, which in any case doesn’t yet exist. Many feel crippled and immobilised by fear and the uncertainties of the future. But we have a lot of influence on the choices we make and the actions we take, here and now. “Now” matters. It matters because all the “nows” in a lifetime add up to the kind of people we become, and the kind of world we help to heal or degrade. Our power as individuals lies in what we do now; in our willingness to speak and live the truth today, now, whatever the cost. It lies in our refusal to cooperate with a culture of distortion and deceit.

Ultimately, Christians belong to the Church Militant; a Church engaged in a nonviolent struggle for the soul of the world. Our weapons are faith, hope and charity; justice, mercy, and courage. But all those virtues are useless without the men and women to live and witness them and to soldier on . . . because people, not things, are decisive. And it is how we live our lives in the present which will determine the final outcome, with “some (going) to everlasting life, some to shame and everlasting disgrace.”

The Catholic approach may not be the stuff of movies or bestsellers, but it is one filled with hope instead of instilling dread in us. While we may not know exactly what the Second Coming will look like, or when it would happen or how our current world will be reshaped or changed, we have the promises of scripture: “The learned will shine as brightly as the vault of heaven, and those who have instructed many in virtue, as bright as stars for all eternity.” That is what we should hold onto as we live our earthly lives as well as we can in love with hope for the work that is being done in our lives now and for what is being prepared for us in the future.

The Hope of Resurrection has dawned

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

Most of us have a myopic view of reality, we often only see the small picture and are oblivious to the bigger one. We are often told by contemporary wisdom to live in the present and not dwell in the past nor should we be anxious about the future. This is a drastic mistake as it often translates into bad decisions, despair or at the other extreme, false optimism. The truth is that belief in the resurrection is what enables us to live in hope. Hope is the desire for eternal life, "placing our trust in Christ's promises and relying not on our strength but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit" (CCC, #1817).

In certainly one of the most beautiful texts in the Roman Missal, we find these profound words meant to broaden our vision:

“In him the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come. Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven” (Preface 1 of the Masses for the Dead).

Our Lord’s resurrection has brought about a new dawn of hope, the hope that one day we too shall share and partake in His resurrection and our bodies not be condemned to rot in the grave nor our souls dissipate into oblivion. This is certainly consoling for those who mourn over the death of their loved ones knowing that they have been promised immortality. St Paul exclaims this in his letter to the Corinthians: "This corruptible body must be clothed with incorruptibility, this mortal body with immortality" (1 Corinthians 15:53).

We struggle to find analogies to explain this reality, but the process of metamorphosis that changes a caterpillar into a butterfly comes to mind. The Greek word used to describe the Transfiguration of the Lord is precisely the word that has been used to explain this transformation from nature. Another analogy comes from St Paul in his letter to the Corinthians. To show continuity and discontinuity between this life and the next, Saint Paul turned to the seed and the plant. The seed buried in the ground has one form, and the plant that springs from the ground is in another form. The continuity between the seed and plant is accompanied by discontinuity or radical change. Paul uses this image to contrast the resurrected body with the physical body: what is sown corruptible will be raised incorruptible; what is sown dishonorable is raised glorious; the weak will be raised powerful (1 Corinthians 15:42-44).

But our vision is not just broadened by faith and hope to see what becomes of mortal bodies and immortal souls. We are also given a new vision of the Church as a “bigger tent”. As much as it is a popular jargon to declare that “we are the Church,” it would be pure hubris to declare that we the living faithful are the only members of the Church. We are only “a part” of the Church, a small part. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains how there are “three states of the Church … at the present time some of his disciples are pilgrims on earth. Others have died and are being purified, while still others are in glory, contemplating ‘in full light, God himself triune and one, exactly as he is'” (CCC 954). Traditionally, these three states have been referred to as the Church Militant, Church Suffering and Church Triumphant. Together, these three make up the Communion of Saints which we profess in the Creed.

As Catholics, it is not just incumbent for us to pray for the living, for their needs and protection and ultimately for their salvation, but we should also turn our prayers to the saints to ask for their intercessions. But let us never forget to pray for the dead, the members of the Church Penitent or Church Suffering. They seem to be the most neglected category in these times when man is unable to see beyond the veil and threshold of death and heaven, for many they remain a mere illusion and mystery. We need to remember the words in the Preface, that in death, “life is changed not ended.”

The idea of funerals and in this particular day in the year, specifically set aside for praying for the dead, is premised on the belief that not all persons who die will immediately go to heaven. In fact, for the vast majority of us, we would most likely be in Purgatory, even if we have lived a fairly good but far from perfect life. Rather than a downer and a wet blanket, this should be a cause for hope and joy, that heaven is not entirely denied to the imperfect but open to those who were on the path of perfection, unfinished products, but through God’s mercy and providence, are brought to that perfection through the fires of His blazing love. As St Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans which we heard in the Second Reading, this hope “is not deceptive, because the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.” It is a hope not based on human merits but the result of the sacrifice of Christ who “died for sinful men.”

It is in Christian hope that the Christian community commends the dead to the mercy and love of God for the forgiveness of their sins. The Church encourages you, therefore, to seek indulgences, pray novenas, fast, make sacrifices and have Masses said for the deceased, especially for those who have no one to pray for them. These acts of charity will increase the love of God in your heart and soul and help those who have gone before us in death. As St Ambrose reminds us, “we have loved them in life, let us not forget them in death.”

Not Why but What

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Someone once gave me a tip on how to sound smart even when I am not. “Ask a question which you do not have the answer. The other person most likely may not know either.” Of course, if the person did know the answer, you can always curtly tell him: “Wrong. When you find the right answer, come look for me!” Mischief managed!

Today’s readings are sandwiched between questions. In fact, the first reading is a set of rapid fire questions which God poses to Job. The gospel closes with the disciples asking this question about Jesus: “Who can this be? Even the wind and the sea obey him.” Ironically, the answer to the questions in the first reading would also serve to be the answer to the last question posed by our Lord’s disciples in the gospel.

Throughout the book of Job, we see our protagonist and his friends asking all sorts of questions directed at God and Job’s righteousness. The basic question is whether Job deserves his current loss and suffering. His friends say “yes” but Job defiantly protests his innocence by saying “no.” God finally breaks the silence and the book presents it in a most dramatic way: “From the heart of the tempest the Lord gave Job his answer.” Just like our Lord answered His disciples in the gospel in the middle of a storm.

God’s first question to Job (which has unfortunately been redacted from our first reading) sets the tone of their mostly one-way conversation and series of rhetorical questions, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding” (Job 38:4). In short, God is reminding Job and his friends, “Who are you to question me?” At the end of this age, we will stand before our Lord as Judge and King of the Universe. It is we who will be questioned, and it would be audacious for us to believe that we are entitled to question Him.

St Paul puts it more directly: But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’” (Rom 9:20). Some translations of this passage in fact make this point clearer: “can a pot question the potter why it was made this way?”

Does it mean that we should never ask questions? Certainly not. As St Anselm wisely reminds us: “faith seeks understanding.” This is what we see in the episode of our Lord calming the storm in today’s gospel passage. The lack of faith exhibited by the fearful disciples who thought that they were drowning and that the Lord had abandoned them were now challenged to ask questions, questions which would deepen their faith and expand their understanding of who the Lord is: “Who can this be? Even the wind and the sea obey him.“ It’s a rhetorical question that can only have one answer. The answer, of course, is God - Jesus is God because only God could have such power and authority over the wind and sea - and yet, they were not ready to make that leap of faith, a leap which they will eventually make after the resurrection when they witness for themselves that Jesus also has authority over death, His own death.

There is, therefore, no dichotomy between faith and reason. But our pursuit for full understanding should not be the reason to demolish faith. The basis for asking questions and the goal for seeking answers should propel us to recognise our limited knowledge in comparison to God’s immense wisdom which is always beyond and above ours. Curiously embedded in the midst of our questioning nature is a profound insight into the human condition. At once this both affirms our search for understanding and demonstrates its limits.

The wisdom God puts in our inward parts makes it possible for us to yearn for an answer to the mystery of suffering. Yet our wisdom comes only from God, so we cannot outsmart God with wisdom of our own. In fact, He has implanted in us only a small fraction of His wisdom, so we will never have the capacity to comprehend all His ways. As we have seen, it may be good for our souls to voice our complaints against God. But it would be foolish to expect Him to admit His error, that He had made a mistake. The truth is that God never makes mistakes. We do but He never does.

It’s not wrong to experience grief or anger or any other emotion when we’re going through a hard time, when we find ourselves in a middle of a maelstrom wondering whether the Lord is sleeping on the job or that He has abandoned us. It’s ok to ask God our questions. It’s ok to tell God how we’re feeling, He already knows anyway. A key invitation of our spiritual journey is to be emotionally honest about our uncertainties. Questions…are signs of a living, growing, active faith, not evidence of a dying one.

But when we do ask questions, it is good to remember that we may not always get an answer right away, but when it comes, it will certainly shift my perspective. God is giving us a larger picture of our circumstances, just as He was doing it for Job and for the Lord’s disciples. Much like someone who stands too close to a painting and cannot appreciate the artist’s perspective, we need to step back a few steps so that we can glimpse — if not fully understand — God’s larger purposes with greater clarity. Part of this enlightenment is to show us that we may have been asking the wrong questions.

The question to ask is not “why?” but “what?” with a heart to learn God’s wisdom and purpose for us. Instead of asking, “why did this happen?”, we should actually be asking, “What do you want me to learn from this experience? What good do you want to come from this?” God generally does not answer any of our ‘why’ questions, but He will gradually answer those ‘what’ questions as He moulds us into a stronger person of faith. Because He wants us to trust Him like never before.

If we are looking for a reason for Job’s suffering or ours, we may not find it. But this we do know: Job’s ordeal has given him an even greater appreciation for God’s goodness. Job’s relationship with God has deepened, his faith has grown stronger and he has become wiser as a result. The same could be said of us whenever we experience hardship or face adversity. It’s not always easy to trust in the Lord’s providence and wisdom. But we are assured by St Paul, “we know that in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). We may not see it clearly now, but it makes the hard times a little easier to bear, knowing that there is something to learn (and one day, to teach and encourage others) and that God will answer us “from the heart of the storm.”

It's not about you

Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

We often oscillate between two extremes - on the one hand, we feel so motivated that we are totally confident in our ability, capacity and sufficiency of our resources to move mountains and reach for the stars - a kind of Thomas the Train or Obama concession speech, “yes, we can!” moment. On the other hand, after a series of setbacks and failures, a much wiser and less naive tone sets in, sometimes to the point of hapless despair. Our initial “yes, we can” is now replaced with a more realistic “no, we can’t. It’s simply impossible.”

Our Lord offers us two agrarian parables which offer us a different way of looking at things. You see, Christians are neither expected to become naive optimists nor cranky pessimists. We are asked to be people of faith and hope. Both optimism and pessimism are inadequate categories. Though they appear to be at opposite ends of the spectrum of how we should perceive life and any situation, they both share something in common. They are both flip sides of the same coin. Both give too much emphasis to self - either to our ability or inability to accomplish something.

In one of the most epic scenes in the movie Dr Strange, which sets the stage and prepares our eponymous hero for the final showdown, the hero enters into this profound conversation on the spectral plane with his mentor, the Ancient One, as the latter lies dying in the emergency operation theatre. It is the last piece of wisdom which the Ancient One imparts unto her student. Dr Strange started off as a cocky brilliant brain surgeon, so confident in his own ability to heal, but after a disastrous car crash which ended his career, he is now uncertain about himself and fears failure. The Ancient One tells him: “Arrogance and fear still keep you from learning the simplest and most significant lesson of all.”
Dr. Stephen Strange: “Which is?”
The Ancient One: “It’s not about you.”

Yes, this is the powerful message of these parables and the first reading: “It’s not about you!” Rather, it is all about God. In the first reading, after the glory of Jerusalem had been destroyed and the Temple laid waste, the returning exiles from Babylon would have felt a heavy pessimism hovering over their future. Could they ever dream of rebuilding what had been destroyed and lost? Where would they find the resources to do this? It all seems to be a hopeless situation even if they are now given the opportunity to return to their homeland. This is where we see the prophetic genius of Ezekiel at work, painting a picture of how God would do the rebuilding and reconstruction of their nation by using images from nature. Ezekiel promises that Israel will again become a great cedar tree, in whose shade the nations will come to take shelter. But this great tree would not be the result of human planting or cultivation. It would be God’s doing.

The parables we find in the gospel reinforces this theme of God’s assured Providence. In the first parable which emphasises how the seed sown grows into a plentiful harvest with little intervention from the farmer and unbeknownst to him, we are assured that God’s purposes are accomplished in spite of our feeble and fumbling efforts. God is constantly working behind the scenes and His work is always successful, despite us not being able to discern it in a sensible manner.

The second parable adds an additional aspect to this theme. The beginnings of God’s work of building His kingdom often seems tiny and imperceptible, but never underestimate the outcome which will be massive. Small beginnings can produce grand endings. This would come as a message of hope to the early Christians who saw their movement as one led by a motley crew of underdogs, obstacles at every turn, impossible hurdles to overcome, and having to face the constant threat of extinction. What could a tiny mustard seed accomplish? It was not hard for these Christians to see how this metaphor applies to them. Yet, that very same mustard seed planted by God and nurtured by His hands would grow into a Church that would eventually overturn an empire without unsheathing a single sword. This was no optimistic vision of the future but something which eventually became a reality despite all the odds being stacked against it. The reason is simple. God is the mover, not us! So, don’t flatter yourself nor denigrate yourself, “it’s not about you!”

This is what Christian hope is about. Hope provides us with a vision of seeing the world, our current situation and the future through the lenses of God. The glossary section of the Catechism of the Catholic Church describes hope as “the theological virtue by which we desire and expect from God both eternal life and the grace we need to attain it.” An optimist may view things as attainable because of his strong confidence in his own ability to determine the outcome of his actions. A pessimist views a goal as unattainable because he only focuses on the futility of his own actions. But a man of faith with hope, is confident that God would fulfil what He has promised us and that He will supply us with sufficient grace to both endure our current situation and to attain the purpose which He has destined for us.

The solution to our despairing culture is not to pump it with more motivational hog wash and sell us the over-used idea that we are incredible, brilliant, capable and strong. What these programmes are trying to message is this - it’s all about you. You determine your future. You determine your own success and failure. You are in charge of your life and your destiny. The harsh reality of life would soon burst the optimistic balloon and expose these propositions as lies. The more you lead a self-focused life, the more you’re prone to discouragement. Every time you forget that it’s not about you, you’re going to get prideful or fearful or bitter. Those feelings will always lead to discouragement because they keep you focused on yourself.

The good news is that you don’t need to have all the answers. You don’t need to rescue yourself or others from a fix. You don’t need to be in control. You don’t need to be superman or superwoman. God has your back. God is the answer. God is always working even when nothing seems to be happening. God will always accomplish His purpose even when our efforts seem to fail, and every situation seems hopeless. This is the reason why in scripture, we often see God deliberately choosing men and women that culture overlooks to expose the hollow pretensions of the people who think they are something. God chooses what the world considers nonsense, weak, and ordinary to not only shame but also destroy all pretentious thinking and inflated pride. He does this so that the only thing that one can boast about is – Christ. Let us exclaim with St Paul “that we are full of confidence” not in ourselves or in our meagre resources but in Christ, who one day we hope would welcome us home!

Console my people

Second Sunday of Advent Year B

When you are grieving, feeling lost and confused, you would most likely look to others for comfort and consolation - a word of affirmation, a reassurance of friendship and support, a warm hug or gentle touch to remind us that we are not alone. St Ignatius of Loyola also used the movements of consolation and desolation as the foundational tools for his primary spiritual exercise, which is the discernment of spirits. But Ignatius defines these terms in a very specific way, that is different to their common usage.

You may find it surprising that both consolation and its antonym, desolation, share a common root in Latin - “Sol” which means the Sun. So, consolation is literally with or towards the Sunlight, whereas desolation means away from the Sun - darkness. The latter makes more sense as we often equate our experience of desolation with darkness, the feeling where all light in our lives have been put out. So, consolation is facing or turning to the light and desolation is facing or turning away from the light. This makes so much sense with Ignatius’ definitions of these words.

Looking towards God’s light, the effect on the person’s spirit is ‘warming’, uplifting, positive. Looking away from the light, one is in one’s own shadow, the pitch-black darkness staring back at us when we attempt to look into the depths of our souls. To Ignatius, the task in desolation is not to try and find the way and chart a new course of direction, but to turn towards the light.

This is how we should consider the prophetic words of Isaiah, our Advent prophet, in the first reading. The reading begins with God’s instruction to Isaiah: “console my people, console them.” God is not just asking Isaiah to give His people some cheap form of consolation - a spiritual bear hug, nor is He asking Isaiah to provide them with some empty assurance -“don’t worry. Things will get better.” Many of us have been guilty of doing this when we are faced with people in pain who are hurting.

God, instead, is asking Isaiah to remind the people that their sentence for their sins, which is the 70 years of humiliating exile in Babylon, has come to an end. Their “prison term” is over and they will be released soon because their sins have been atoned and forgiven. This prolonged period of desolation, a period where they have been deprived of the light of God which shone on their land and the Temple, would soon be replaced by a period of consolation. The light is returning, the dark night would soon be over, they will be able to bask in the sunlight of God’s graces and mercy. The Lord is returning as a victorious King and a loving Shepherd who will hold His people tightly to His breast in a loving embrace.

The prophecy of Isaiah would only be partially fulfilled during the time of the return of the people from exile. Instead of a lush and rich land, they would encounter a barren wilderness where all traces of their glorious past civilisation had been erased by their enemies. Instead of the imposing Temple of Jerusalem, God’s seat and foothold on earth, they would only see ruins and rubble, mirroring their own lives which had to be rebuilt from scratch. Many would have wondered how the words of Isaiah’s prophecy, the promises of God, could have applied to them. Would they need to wait longer? How long?

This too is the experience of many of us. When faced with one setback or another, we often pray for and look for a break. Many lose faith when God seems slow in acting and answering their prayer. This is why the words of St Peter in the second reading, provide us with a clue as to the reason why God sometimes appears to delay in acting: “The Lord is not being slow to carry out his promises, as anybody else might be called slow; but he is being patient with you all, wanting nobody to be lost and everybody to be brought to change his ways.” What seems to be a delay is not caused by God being slow! It is because He is patient with us, waiting for us to repent and change our ways.

Israel had to wait in twilight and darkness for many centuries. And finally, the gospel announces the first hint of dawn, and it comes in the mysterious figure of this wild like character crying out in the wilderness. Just as heralds in ancient times would go before their liege to announce the imminent arrival of the king, St John the Baptist prepares the way of the Lord by announcing a message of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. This is it! The true secret of attaining consolation is found in repentance. Repentance is the door that leads from darkness to light, from despondency to hope, from tragedy to opportunity, from the pit of despair to the heights of joy.

Despite knowing this to be true, many of us continue to wait and this is where Advent is a season for us who experience the darkness of desolation. What must we do? What can we do as we await for the sun to break through the clouds? Once again, we turn to St Paul for guidance. He writes: “So then, my friends, while you are waiting, do your best to live lives without spot or stain so that he will find you at peace.”

Even as God wishes to console us with the message of hope and peace, He continues to permit moments of darkness in our lives. Why would He do this? The truth is that God works deep in our lives to transform our deepest sorrow into an abiding joy. Suffering, sorrow, pain and grieving may seem like an eternity. Those who have lost their loved ones will cringe whenever they are told by well-intentioned friends and family, to “get over it” or “find closure” or just “move on.” But it only takes a moment alone, or a memory, or a memorabilia to trigger a torrent of heart-breaking tears. As much as it is difficult to believe, we are assured that this will only “last a moment.” The flip side is grace, God’s favour. This, however, will not just last a lifetime but for eternity. What are months and years of mourning and grieving in comparison to an incalculable eternity of joy. Juxtaposed, we realise that our moments of anguish and darkness are fleeting in the light of God’s eternal favour and grace.

Sometimes we need to view our lives through a mirror. In our sorrow, we learn to appreciate joy. In our loss, we discover how much we have gained. Death reflects the sacredness and fragility of life. In the night of tears, we come to long for the dawn of joy. C. S. Lewis was right. Joy often comes as a surprise. It invades the most sorrowful spaces. It reminds us that beauty and goodness and life can grow, even in the most unpromising soil. Joy does not mean the absence of pain or sorrow. Rather, joy is often begotten in the purifying fire of the crucible of love, especially the love of God which is boundless and eternal. That my friends, is our true consolation.

The Sound of Silence

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

In every concert piece, there is a portion of the score which builds up to a crescendo, followed by a moment of silence where all the instruments are paused at once. It may only last a beat or two and then the strings would quietly start again. That silence is a powerful moment in the piece. That silence isn’t a random absence of sound; it is placed there by the composer as a key part of the music. It is essential to the movement and feel of the piece. The lack of sound almost seems to be a sound in itself. Perhaps, this could be the hidden meaning behind that Simon and Garfunkel classic, The Sound of Silence.

The first reading is particularly poignant, as it provides us with a strange but insightful theophany - a manifestation of God to the prophet Elijah during one of the darkest moments of his life. Elijah had fled a murderous pagan Queen who sought revenge for the death of her pagan prophets on Mount Carmel. From the dramatic and climatic battle with these prophets which proved victorious for Elijah because God had fought on his side, Elijah fell to the lowest moment of his ministry where he wished for his own death as an escape from misery. But God sent an angel to console him and lead him to another mountain, Horeb. On Mount Sinai in the Old Testament, God had revealed Himself to Moses. God had hidden behind dark clouds lit up only by streaks of lightning and the sound of deafening thunder. We see something similar in the first reading - wind, earthquake and fire. But ironically, God is not found in the strong wind, earthquake, or fire. Elijah recognises God’s presence in “the sound of a gentle breeze” or in some translations, “the sound of silence.”

The gospel passage also draws our attention to the sound and power of a storm contrasted by the silence at the end of the story. Having performed the great miracle of the multiplication of loaves and the feeding of the multitude, our Lord refused to allow the disciples to bask in the glory of His miracle. He Himself chose not to. Instead, our Lord chose to withdraw into the hills to be alone with His Heavenly Father, to commune in silence. But the noise would pursue His disciples even when they were far out in the sea away from the crowds. The noise of positive approval of the crowds was now replaced with the noise of a crisis, the noise of fear.

When our Lord came walking on the waters in their direction, the storm had not yet calmed. Despite what they witness, their fears and doubts seem more overwhelming than their faith in God. But there is a glimmer of hope. St Peter seeks to take a first step in faith. He requests our Lord to help him walk on water too. As long as Peter kept his eyes on Christ, he was able to walk unhindered through the stormy sea; as soon as he let his eyes wander away from Christ to examine the intimidating waves and listen to the sound of the strong winds, he began to sink. It was not the noisy raging storm around him which caused him to sink but it was the noise in his heart which stopped him from trusting and listening to the Lord.

Finally, the Lord steps into the boat and the evangelist tells us, “the wind dropped.” The noise fell into silence again. Our Lord had restored calm. Our Lord had silenced the noise in the surrounding storm and the storm within the hearts of His disciples. Once more we see the power of silence.

Many of us too, experience the sound of silence in our own lives. The silence is disturbing and unnerving. Perhaps we’ve prayed and prayed and still no answer comes. Maybe we’ve been in a long season of waiting and the silence grows increasingly loud as the days wear on. Or maybe we find ourselves in a spiritual wilderness where the fog of doubt and uncertainty is thick. We feel all alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. And the silence makes us think God has turned and simply walked away. We start to think He’s given up on us and begin to wonder if we should too.

The problem isn’t with God but with us. It is we who have the wrong assumption about God’s silence. Perhaps God’s silence isn’t silence at all. Perhaps what seems like silence is actually an important pause in the score of our life. Because it’s often in the quiet where the real work takes place. We see this truth in the darkness of the womb, a child is knit together. And in the quiet of each night, while all the world sleeps, our bodies and minds continue their labours, drawing breath and circulating blood and firing synapses. In the tomb, where the body of Jesus was laid after His crucifixion, He descends into Hades to rescue the faithful dead unnoticed by the world, which believes that they have killed Him. God is at work, God is always at work, even in the silence. God is at work especially in the silence. Often, the silence is His work.

I once encountered the deafening silence of God as I was discerning my vocation to the priesthood. I had decided to clear my doubts and seek an answer by undertaking a personal retreat at the seminary. After four days of spiritual direction, personal prayer and silence, the answer did not come. As I drove back alone to KL, I was overwhelmed by an immense sense of loss and sadness, and it was at this moment I had an epiphany. The Lord had indeed answered in His silence. In that long drive home, I realised that He had given an answer to my question: “Lord, if it be your will take this cup away from me.” His silence was the answer I needed though it may not have been the answer I expected or wanted. The cup may have tasted bitter at the first sip but would soon yield a full body of sweetness over the years. God answers even in His silence and His ways are always wise and above and beyond our wildest dreams.

There is good in quietly waiting on the Lord. There is good in the silence. Silence forces us to hear things we can’t hear in the storms and cacophony of life. It makes us sit and notice those things we often avoid or drown out with busyness and other distractions. The silence gives us an opportunity to take an honest look at ourselves. To see what we truly love and trust and hope in. To perhaps realise how fickle our hearts are and how far we’ve wandered from God. To see the lies we’ve long believed and lived by. And, ultimately, to grasp just how much we need God’s grace poured out in our lives. Then, like the flash of light in the darkest night, God breaks the silence. The Spirit prompts our hearts and reminds us of what is true. And we realise God has been there all along.

It is good and comforting to remember that the sound of God’s silence will not last forever. It is but a pause used for His good purposes in our lives. One day, all the silences of life will find their place in the score of our lives and we’ll hear it played out in its completion. We’ll hear the most beautiful composition ever played, the song God wrote before time began, the song of redemption. So, despite the raging storms around us, let us keep our eyes and our hearts fixed on Him knowing that with Him, we will not drown, our ship will not capsize and the ranging winds of the storm will drop. Despite the noises of confusion without and within, if our hearts are united to His, we will hear His voice even in the midst of the sound of silence.