Courage! It is I!

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

Does God continue to manifest Himself to us? I guess many of you would agree that He does but you would also personally desire for an opportunity to witness this with your own eyes rather than rely on second-hand hearsay information. This explains why shrines associated with apparitions or any rumours thereof are often the most popular crowd pullers. We Catholics want a faith that is tangible, sensible and visible. It’s part of our human nature as sensible beings rather than purely spiritual beings like the angels.

Today’s readings provide us with glimpses into the way God communicates with us. In the first reading, we see the prophet Elijah witnessing a theophany of God which seems to be anticlimactic. After the dramatic phenomena of a strong wind, an earthquake followed by a fire, God reveals Himself in “the sound of a gentle breeze,” literally “the sound of silence”. Notice the venue. Mount Horeb is another name for Mount Sinai where Moses and the Israelites who had just escaped slavery in Egypt encountered God in this terrifying theophany of dark clouds, lightning, fire and earthquake. The two figures encountering God in two different ways is meant to be a stark contrast. God would not be confined to any form or expectation of ours. He is indeed the God of surprises, who deliberately reveals Himself to us in the most unexpected ways - sometimes in extraordinary ways but more often than not in the ordinary experiences of life. It is no wonder that both figures, Elijah and Moses would appear again at the scene of the Transfiguration - the manifestation of God not in the wind, nor earthquake, nor fire, nor even a gentle breeze, but in the person of Jesus Christ, the Beloved Son of God.

In the gospel, the scene of our Lord walking on water is another theophany, a visible manifestation of God, and not just a demonstration of Jesus’ miraculous powers. In fact, it is no exaggeration that the theophany experienced by the disciples was far greater than any recorded in the Old Testament, and even such a theophany would be surpassed by the Transfiguration of our Lord whose feast we will celebrate in just a few weeks.

The story uses two powerful signs to show Jesus is God.

Firstly, our Lord’s striding on the waves is an allusion to how God is described anthropomorphically as walking on the stormy sea (Job 9:8). But it also reminds us of how God imposes His creative will on the waters of chaos in Genesis Chapter 1, setting boundaries and bringing order to this destructive and unpredictable force of nature. But the Lord who created the heavens and earth is also the Lord who saves His people during the Exodus. In the first exodus, God walked through the sea, leading His people to safety and freedom. Our Lord in this gospel scene is the divine Saviour who brings the long-anticipated salvation of a new exodus. This chapter looks back on the first exodus as the precedent for a new, future exodus when the Lord would climactically redeem His people. Now, He leads us through the waters of baptism to a new life of grace and the Holy Spirit.

But the second and most important theme is that the story dispels any doubt about our Lord’s identity. To assuage the fear and panic of His disciples, the Lord announces: “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.” The original Greek phrase for "It is I" is literally "I AM". This is the holy name of God that He revealed to Moses at the burning bush (Exodus 3:14). This is at the heart of every revelation from God, it is not just merely the communication of some information but rather an invitation to enter into communion with Him. For how could we possibly come to love someone whom we do not know? That is why the answer to the second question of the penny catechism follows a logical progression from knowledge to union. To the question, “why did God make us?”, comes the answer, “to know Him, to love Him, to serve Him and be with Him in paradise forever.”

How about us today? Wanting to experience manifestations from the divine is understandable. We live in a world filled with noise, always seeking the next breaking news alert or dramatic sign. There is an existential human desire perennially looking for answers. This is why for people of faith, it is natural to want a direct, personal sign from God to prove He is listening. And this desire often draws us to private revelations—prophecies, visions, and apparitions.

It is here that we need to make a distinction between public and private revelation. For us Catholics, public revelation which is contained in Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition ended with the death of the last Apostle. God has already spoken completely and sufficiently, providing us with whatever is necessary for our salvation. Jesus Christ is the ultimate, final Word of the Father. As the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us, "In times past, God spoke in partial and various ways... but in these last days, he spoke to us through a son." And because public revelation is complete, no new visionary, message, or private revelation can ever add to, change, or correct the Deposit of Faith left by Christ and the Apostles.

So, what should we make of private revelations, especially those approved by the Church like our Lady’s apparitions and messages in Lourdes and Fatima and elsewhere? Are we to just dismiss these as unnecessary? Although belief in these messages is not necessary for our salvation, they are meant to augment and excite our faith and so motivate us to have a greater determination to follow Christ and His teachings. It is a help which is offered, but which one is not obliged to use. “Private revelations” do not add to or complete God’s definitive revelation in Christ but are meant to help believers live more fully by the Gospel. The criterion for judging the truth of a private revelation, therefore, is precisely its orientation to Christ Himself. If it leads us away from Him, then it certainly does not come from the Holy Spirit, who guides us more deeply into the Gospel, and not away from it. A word of caution - we must get our priorities right. It is not spiritually good to centre one's life around private revelations. They are good when approved, and may be used, but the core is in public revelation.

So, the next time you read or hear about some new private revelation whether it is in the form of some vision or apparition or miracle, do not be so quick to forget that you already have the true treasure which is Christ found in Sacred Scriptures and Sacred Tradition. Don’t let yourself be distracted and misled to place these extraordinary occurrences above what our Lord now communicates to us in ordinary ways, when we listen to the Word of God, read the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and participate in the sacraments, especially in the Sacrament of His Body and Blood. Remember, God is not only to be found in the extraordinary circumstances like the wind, an earthquake, a raging fire or a vision, nor is He only to be found striding across the waters as He once did, but He often manifests Himself most intimately when He sits quietly invisibly in the boat, the Church, by your side, as you weather the storms of life. And in the hull of the boat, the bosom of the Church, you will hear Him speak again: “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.”

Not enough becomes more than enough

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

The second reading is worth a second, a third, perhaps repeated looks as it is one of the most beautiful and powerful assurances of God’s abundant love. St Paul first gives seven hardships and trials which cannot cut us off and then adds another seven hostile powers which are powerless against the love of God. The list is certainly not exhaustive. You can throw in anything imaginable and unimaginable into the list and it would stick. The number seven is clearly symbolic to represent completeness and perfection. The message is clear and couldn’t be stated better: there isn’t anything, absolutely nothing, that can separate us from the love of God.

We can sometimes point to things outside of ourselves and claim that they are pulling us away from God, or that He is pulling Himself away from us, neither of which is true. He never stops offering His love to us and nothing that happens to us can break that bond. It is important to note, however, that there actually is one thing that can ever separate us from the love of Christ – ourselves. Our unwillingness to accept His love by turning away from Him and freely choosing to sin pushes us away from His love, and in the case of mortal sin, we separate ourselves completely from His love.

In the gospel, we have the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fish followed by the feeding of the multitudes. Except for the Resurrection, the multiplication of loaves is the only miracle told in all four Gospels. Before our Lord works this amazing miracle, we see two obstacles coming between the Lord and the people who are seeking Him out like those thirsting for life giving water in Isaiah’s prophecy. They are hungry and thirsty for His teachings. They are hungry for His healing power. They are hungry for His presence. They refused to leave Him alone and would readily make the long track on foot to ambush His retinue as they set foot on shore. But the Lord also knows that they are physically hungry for food. Man does not live on bread alone, but neither will he survive on fresh air and sunshine alone. And so, our Lord “took pity” on them and took immediate action without dismissing the hungry crowd by hiding behind the most common excuse, “It’s none of my business. I can’t solve every problem. I can’t save the whole world.” But the truth is that Jesus did come for this purpose. His mission is to save the world.

The first obstacle, which is actually a most common excuse for indifference, is limited resources. Here we witness the clash of two economic models - one of scarcity versus one of abundance. The disciples view this issue from the lenses of scarcity and their diagnosis and prognosis seem logical and understandable. In traditional economics, scarcity is the main problem. We have limited resources to meet unlimited wants. It leads to competition, high prices, and prioritisation. Since there isn’t enough to go around, the disciples concluded that Jesus and His cohort should be the first to be fed. They leave the crumbs, if any, for others.

But our Lord’s starting point is the economics of abundance because this is how God always acts. This may seem disingenuous. How can you give what you do not possess? Well, this is true if we are still using the economic model of scarcity. In a scarcity mindset, a pie is a fixed size. If someone takes a big slice, you get less. In an abundance mindset, you bake more pies or share a recipe so everyone can eat. This is what our Lord did in today’s gospel, which only God alone can do. So, the miracle of Jesus is not so much just a sign of Christ’s preferential option for the poor and His use of economic justice to ensure that everyone has an equitable slice of the cake but a sign of Christ’s sacramental economy and the multiplication of grace. He gives gratuitously without demanding for any payment or compensation. This is how He invites the thirsty and hungry to come to Him in the first reading, without expecting any payment or charging any cost. Graces and blessings can’t be bought. He will not deny anyone who comes to Him hungering and thirsting for the life of grace.

But the second obstacle appears to be a harder one to surmount. His disciples are acting like a barrier, goal keepers, to Him sharing His graces with the people. They attempt to push the responsibility of being fed back to the multitude, abdicating theirs, and also preventing our Lord from further ministering to them. Instead of seeing the crowds as a hungry flock waiting to be fed, both spiritually and physically, they saw the latter as a burden. Here we see once again the tentacles of sin at work - sin which attempts to separate us from the love of Christ.

The disciples have forgotten - and we should be careful never to forget - that they are meant to be stepping stones to heaven rather than stumbling blocks for others. A true disciple’s job is to act as a bridge, not a barrier. They are meant to guide people toward a closer relationship with Jesus. Yes, it is true that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ, but the disciples were doing a pretty good job at attempting to separate the crowds from their Master. They thought they were doing Him a favour, but they were not. He had come to seek out the lost, feed the hungry and thirsty, liberate those who are imprisoned by their disordered passions, and pour out His abundant life on those who desire it more than life itself.

We may not have the benefit of witnessing the miracle of the multiplication of loaves but the Lord continues to feed us spiritually through the Eucharist. I know many of you can recall how painful it was to be excluded from Masses and Holy Communion during the Covid 19 pandemic -how separated you felt from the Church and the sacraments. Yet, so many have chosen to separate themselves from the Eucharist every Sunday even when there are no longer any restrictions preventing them from coming. It is no longer a matter of safety or a situation of emergency but rather now, a personal choice. They have chosen to separate themselves from the Eucharist and from the Eucharistic Lord, without any good reason.

The Eucharist has much to teach us about living a life imbued with abundance rather than complaining about the scarcity. How can something so little, so insignificant, contain all the power of creation? How can the finite contain the infinite? For this is how God works. It is how Christ shows His life in us. We have to learn, as the disciples had to learn, to see abundance rather than scarcity, plenty rather than lack, promise and hope rather than despair. In our consumer culture, this is a hard lesson. There is never enough time, never enough money, never enough energy. We can quickly get bogged down in all the “more” that we know we want: more happiness, more money, more stuff.

But in the hands of Jesus, not enough becomes more than enough. That is the way that our Lord wishes us to live: in generosity, in hope, and in trust, not in our resources or our own strength, but in His. Let us be stepping stones for each other and for others so that they may find their fulfilment in Christ and not in some cheap fake substitute which the world promises. And should you too suffer from sickness, failure, persecution, or rejection, never forget, never doubt for a second, that “neither death nor life, no angel, no prince, nothing that exists, nothing still to come, not any power, or height or depth, nor any created thing, can ever come between us and the love of God made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Even stones will rise again

Fifth Sunday of Lent Year A

Buried dead men and even ruined stones cannot rise again. That’s the firm conviction and belief of the materialist communists, who reject any belief in God and dismiss anything religious and spiritual as pure superstition. In the year 1966, a platoon of Red Guards was ordered to destroy all remnants of the past including Christian cemeteries and tombs on the grounds of the Zhalan Catholic cemetery in Beijing. Most significant was the tomb of the famous Jesuit missionary, known by locals as the erudite Mr Li. He was Father Matteo Ricci SJ, the first Catholic priest permitted entry into the Forbidden City, where he spent the last nine years of his tireless and fruitful life and was honoured by the emperor himself with a tomb fit for a Mandarin.

Other memorials had been reduced to rubble, and the stones given to peasants to build with. The remains of the dead were simply scattered. Priests and nuns were forcefully conscripted for this laborious work of desecration, and they had to destroy the tombs with their own hands. But there was a shrewd lover of history at the Institute which trained communist officials. He didn’t want the relics to be ruined, not because he believed but was motivated by sentimental reasons. He came up with a brilliant proposal which was a subterfuge to save these stones. “Why don’t you just bury the stones,” he suggested, “and then order them not to rise again?”

After some time, when the horrible Cultural Revolution had passed and most people had forgotten the history of those buried stones, it was decided that they dig up these stones with little ceremony and fanfare to avoid unnecessary attention. So they did, and that’s why we still have Ricci’s tomb, dug out of the ground later on when the Communists changed their minds. Despite the order that they should remain buried, the stones of this tomb and that of two other Jesuits did “rise again”.

If dead stones can rise again from the rubble of destruction, so can men too. This is what we witness in today’s gospel. Martha and Mary had sent a message to the Lord by coming immediately to save their brother who was terminally ill. The Grim Reaper would not wait another day, but our Lord did. He waited another two days. In a seemingly nonchalant manner, our Lord declared that this illness is not unto death, but for the glory of God and His Son. Perhaps, these words would have been misunderstood by the sisters that Lazarus would recover from his illness and be saved from the brink of death. Can you imagine their disappointment with the Lord and His prophecy when Lazarus did succumb to his illness and die?

When our Lord finally arrived after deliberately delaying His departure by two days, He found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. One could argue that if the Lord had departed immediately upon receiving the news, it would have made little difference to the outcome. He would still have come too late. Martha, true to form, ran out to meet Jesus, while Mary, true to form, remained in the house.

Martha declares that if the Lord had been present, her brother would not have died, but that whatever Jesus asks of God, God will give it. The Lord, in response, declares to Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life. If anyone believes in me, even though he dies he will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (Jn 11:25-26) Here’s Martha’s moment of glory. John’s Gospel does not narrate Peter’s proclamation of faith: Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Martha now has the honour of echoing Peter’s declaration: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

If Martha displayed such brazen faith in the Lord despite her personal tragedy, Mary’s response seems more human and therefore, would resonate with most of us. She appears to question the Lord for His lateness. If only He had been there, this tragedy could have been evaded: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” It is a human thing to grieve. It is quite natural of us to ask God or rather demand an answer from Him in the face of tragedy. Rather than being annoyed or angry at her seeming lack of faith in comparison to her sister’s, our Lord is moved by her response - her tears of grief and perhaps even anger.

Our Lord knew that in the end, life would reign, joy would outweigh the sorrow, and yet He grieved before performing that great miracle of miracles. He grieved for His beloved friend decaying in the tomb. And He grieved for us, I'd like to think, for all of humanity who must endure great trials, loss, abuse, injustice, as a result of our free will and fallenness - for us who, while on this earth, must fight hard and ceaselessly to believe in what cannot be seen, in a divine compassion we cannot fathom. He is grieving for the destruction that has been wrought by sin, death itself, which is not part of God’s original plan. Save for sin, death has no place in our universe. The wages of sin is death as St Paul points out.

Some people console us by trying to make us accept death as a natural part of human life. Others argue that death is merely a portal to eternity. But our Lord saw death as the enemy. His Father had never intended for us to experience it. In fact, He forbade Adam and Eve only one thing – a fruit that would make them subject to it. Death came into the world through the envy of the devil and the disobedience of man, not through the plan of God. So, in the presence of those wounded by death’s sting, our Lord weeps.

I guess it is always so irresistibly easier to surrender to the power of despair and thus be authors of our own spiritual and psychological death. Despair is the most lethal weapon at the hands of the enemies of Christianity. The Communists who ordered the destruction of the Christian graves and commandeered the religious leaders to undertake this heinous task with their own hands thought that they could bury the faith of the people as they did with the stones from the tombs of their heroes. But just as the stones did not remain buried, the faith of the Catholics continues to endure and indeed have grown despite years of persecution, oppression and governmental control.

When you're exhausted, from day after day battling doubts, struggling against the current, resisting the urge to lie down and allow the fear, resentment, selfishness, hatred to bury you alive, it is good to remember the story of Lazarus and the tomb of Matteo Ricci. The story of Lazarus reinforces our hope – a hope which does not lie in finding an answer to the mystery of our suffering, a hope that is not grounded in a final solution to life’s troubles, but a shining hope in the life of the resurrection – a rebirth – of how even the dead, the seemingly lost can be called forth, they can be liberated from the bindings of sin, desperation and grief, and be finally set free to live not just a dream, but the reality of immortality, never to suffer pain or death again. If the communists could not keep the tomb stones and the faith of the Chinese Catholics buried, if tombs could not keep Lazarus and Jesus dead, we too profess with firm conviction “in the resurrection of the body,” that God will ensure that not only our immortal souls will live on after death, but that even our "mortal body" will “rise again”.

Light a Candle

Fourth Sunday of Lent Year A

The popular adage “it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness” may seem to be a cliched expression, a naive suggestion to put on rose-coloured glasses and pretend that all the messiness in this world do not exist. But like all other cliches, there is always a certain modicum of truth in this. All Malaysians should understand this - that we have a cultural tendency to complain and gripe about all and sundry. From politics to economics, from school to work, from food to accommodations, from church to family. Even though there may be a basis in reality to all our grievances, we seem to be blind to anything which is good. And though we may at times admit the good, we choose to minimise its value, “good just isn’t good enough”, and then proceed to exaggerate the negative side of things.

In our lengthy gospel for today, we encounter various characters who have a blinkered vision of life. From our Lord’s disciples who see the blindness of the man born blind as punishment from God, to the neighbours of the man who cannot accept the reality that things have changed for the better, to the Pharisees who only see the healing as a violation of the Sabbath prohibition, to his own parents who are more worried about public opinion than to rejoice that their son’s vision has now been restored. None of them are able to see anything positive about this astounding miracle of our Lord. Only the blind man could have a valid excuse. It is obvious that he couldn’t see because he’s physically blind and yet at the end of the story, he is able to initially recognise Christ as a prophet and then as the mysterious messianic figure of “the Son of Man”. In fact, it is this blind man who makes this profound confession of faith long before Thomas does at the end of the gospel: “Lord, I believe”, and then proceeds to “worship” the Lord.

Perhaps, what is needed is the ability to see as God does. As God had to remind Samuel when he seemed to have overlooked David, the youngest son of Jesse, because he was considered to be the most unlikely candidate due to his youthful age and physical weakness, “God does not see as man sees: man looks at appearances but the Lord looks at the heart.” This statement has less to do with the irrelevance of appearances than it has to do with the reminder that our judgments on any matter should go much deeper than superficial appearances. Samuel saw the runt of the lot, but God saw in David a hero who will slay giants. Samuel saw his physical weakness, God saw his spiritual potential for greatness.

That too is a choice set before us. Just as the way of seeing is a choice we must make, joy too is a conscious, chosen response to God's grace and hope, despite the surrounding, often difficult, circumstances. We can rejoice in the face of our struggle with sins and sufferings because these painful realities are not the final word. We can rejoice because though we were born with original sin, just like the man in the gospel was born blind, there is One who can and has removed the scales from the eyes of all those who believe in Him. We can rejoice though we may be considered weak, others see us as weak, but in Christ we are strong, in Him we can overcome the greatest obstacle before us. We rejoice because we were blinded by sin, but now our Lord has given new sight through faith. So it is not naive to believe in this: “it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” We rejoice because as St Paul reminds us in the second reading, we were once in darkness, but now we are children of the light.

Faith, Gratitude and Salvation

Twenty Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

From a young age I recalled being taught and being constantly reminded by my parents and teachers that I should preface every request with a “please” and conclude every request answered with a “thank you.” That’s basic etiquette for you. And so many of our generation are alarmed when we witness younger children these days forgetting these most basic rules. They take without saying “please” and leave without saying “thank you.” This would have earned us the sternest side eye from our parents and a good spanking or caning when we are in the privacy of our homes. While you may think that saying please and thank you is a trivial matter, a mere nicety, failing to do so is more significant than you think. It costs nothing to say please and thank you. But forgetting those magic words can cost you everything.

This is what we learn from today’s gospel passage. Ten men were healed. They had requested this of the Lord. They had even offered the requisite “please” out of politeness. But immediately after having received what they had asked for, it soon became apparent that the word was a mere perfunctory gesture. Their lack of gratitude, save for one, revealed their true attitude - one of entitlement rather than of humble acknowledgment of their condition. For this reason, nine went off without giving a second thought to express gratitude to the Lord.

This would be a sad ending if indeed the story ended here. But just as it is fashionable to have post-credit scenes in many recent movies, one would need to patiently wait for the next part of the story - the real ending. And it is here that we read with delight how one of those lepers returned, he “turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself at the feet of Jesus and thanked him.” And this made all the difference. Our Lord would declare to this individual as He commissioned him at the end of the story: “Your faith has saved you.”

Although, gratitude seems to be the major theme of this story, it is really faith which underpins the whole narrative. All ten lepers had sufficient faith in our Lord’s authority and power and therefore received healing from His hands. But only one’s faith saved him - the Samaritan leper. What distinguished him from the others? He was the only one who returned praising God, worshipped Christ and gave thanks for the healing he had received. Only his faith could recognise the source of his healing which led to worship and thanksgiving.

While I was in the United States, I once asked a colleague if everyone, including agnostics and atheists, celebrated one of their greatest civic holidays, Thanksgiving, often done so with much religious fervour, and he answered in the affirmative. My next question: “if they don’t believe in God, who are they thanking?” Seems like a valid question. How can we offer thanksgiving if we do not believe in something or someone to be thankful for? We can be thankful for our family. We can be thankful for gainful employment. We can be thankful for good health. But all of these are just mere sentiments when there is no object to offer our gratitude. That is why true gratitude must always be intertwined with faith for it is faith that provides us with the reason not only to believe but to be grateful. True faith ultimately leads to thanksgiving and gratitude must ultimately be directed to God, the source of all goodness and blessings.

No work of God's is more worthy of gratitude than salvation. Only the foreigner, the Samaritan leper, is grateful for the grace received and that is his salvation. The others think solely of the benefits received, physical healing and social acceptance; but neglected to pursue the path of well-ness right to its very end – salvation. Selective forgetfulness is to be blamed for this. Christ not only rescued us from the power and penalty of our sins, He also lifted us to the realm of grace. He delivered us from punishment and brought glory. He defeated death and won for us eternal life. He took away the threat of hell and gave us the hope of heaven. Too often, we take all these things for granted, which is to say, that we have forgotten the gain we have received. As the French would tell us, gratitude is the memory of the heart. Gratitude should make us sing of salvation, talk of salvation. Thanking God for saving us should be the unceasing occupation of our lips.

Gratitude isn't something that should pass from our minds with the passing of a season. It's an attitude, a God-centred response to circumstances that should pervade every season of our lives. Imagine a Church or a parish that follows the example of the grateful former leper. Imagine serving in a culture of gratitude—not a culture of obligation, or guilt, or arrogance, or exclusion, or pride. A person cannot be complaining and thankful at the same time, nor can they worry about money or health or anything while being thankful. With gratitude comes joy, hope, peace and love. That’s the secret of transformation. It is not found in any programme or slogan or gimmick. True transformation, whether it be in a community like a parish or a family, or personal transformation, always begins with gratitude.

The story of the ten lepers is a wonderful story of the infinite grace and mercy of our Lord and Saviour, one who gives us good gifts, even if we have ungrateful hearts. It is also a story which challenges us to place our trust in God, to follow His commands, and to see the wonderful rewards this brings us. In a few moments we will come to the table of Christ together to celebrate the Eucharist. The word ‘Eucharist’ comes from the Greek word, “eucharistia,” (εὐχαριστία) meaning to give thanks (for the good graces we have received). And so, we give thanks not just because God has healed us, He has liberated us from sin, fear and anxiety. We give thanks because the Sacrifice of the Cross re-enacted at every Eucharist has saved us and continues to make us whole – completing, bringing together and finishing the grand work of salvation which God has begun in us. And I don’t know about you, but the prospect of being made whole, being healed, being liberated and being saved is enough to make me turn around, rush back again to Jesus, and say thank you, Jesus. Thank you so very much.

The Best Wine for the last

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Every drinker would appreciate the wisdom found in this Bible verse taken from the Book of Ecclesiastes (9:7), “Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favours what you do.” Wine or alcohol can be a bringer of joy, albeit temporary. But when the initial momentary elation wears off, the mood can descend into tears, anger, and even violence... and don’t forget the massive hangover that is certain to follow. After the string of drinking parties stretching from Christmas to the New Year, it’s time to sober up. The celebration is literally over when “we have run out of wine”, money and leave!

The Bible treats intoxicating drinks ambivalently, considering them both a blessing from God that brings joy and merriment, and potentially dangerous beverages that can be sinfully abused. The wine in today’s gospel story bears the first sense. Thank God for that! The symbol of wine used with the theme of the wedding feast expresses the exhilarating joy of ‘the Hour,’ not just the hour of nuptial bliss for the couple, but the ‘Hour’ marking the decisive intervention of God and manifestation of His glory in Christ. This is the hour of Israel’s liberation. Her Saviour has come! But just when the celebrations were gaining momentum, it risked being turned into a disaster. The festivities encountered an untimely snag: “they ran out of wine.” The mother of Jesus announces the sobering news, “They have no wine.” For all those present, this would have sounded like a death sentence.

This incident is a very fitting illustration of the failure of all this world’s joys. As much as we hope for an inexhaustible supply of resources, as much as we pray that the party and the honeymoon will never end, we always end up with an empty casket after everything has been drained. We know what it means for the wine to run out. Sooner or later in every situation, in every lucky streak, in every relationship, in every type of human pleasure, the wine runs out. Our family members, one by one, leave the nest. Divorce or separation may come even after years of a happy married life. Our friends, with whom we've shared so many enjoyable times, slowly move away. Our motivation to work and to produce is soon replaced with fatigue and burn out. In the parish, the exodus of the young, and the gradual decline of the BECs seem to signal the death of a once vibrant community. In every human achievement, pleasure, and joy — the "wine" is bound to run out.

What do all these experiences tell us? Have we truly run out of wine? Has the party ended? Or are these scenarios merely pointing to the fact that we are often dictated by our subjective experiences, especially our emotions? It is interesting to note that our assessment of any situation is often dictated by our subjective experience. “How do I feel?” This is quite natural. The problem is that we often assume that our subjective assessment is conclusive and infallible. But our feelings say more about ourselves than objective realities. We confuse our emotional urges for the voice of conscience. In any event, emotions are always beyond our control and they never last. This kind of wine is inevitably doomed to run out.

Thousands of years ago, the people of Israel also thought that the destruction of their country meant the end of everything. They were mocked by their neighbours as the “Forsaken” and “Abandoned” People. Israel had only herself to blame for this due to her infidelity. But Isaiah in the first reading gives an entirely different ending to the story, an objective one as far as it is the vision of God. It is a message of hope. All is not lost because God will return to redeem them. They will be called by a new name; they will be called “My Delight” and “The Wedded” for God has taken delight in them again. God has renewed His covenant with them – He has wedded them again. What brought about this change? They finally realised that glory and blessings come from God alone. No human power, riches or glory will last. Eventually all these things will run out except that which is given by God.

Our most common folly is that we often realise this important point only too late, after our own resources have been depleted or exhausted. In our drunken merriment, self-absorbed in our own human achievements, we often fail to recognise that Christ is the true source of joy, an inexhaustible and irrevocable joy, unless we choose to ignore Him. He is not only the provider of the wine that will never run out. He is the Best Wine often mistakenly kept for the last.

Thus, we must guard against the deception of subjective assessment and be misled into thinking that this is the end, merely on the basis that we feel it is so. When we allow our subjective impressions to dictate our lives, it would only lead to chaos and confusion. Here, our Catholic understanding of the Sacraments is important. Sacramental theology speaks of an objective reality, which is the grace we receive in the Sacraments, that is not dependent on our subjective experience or our emotions. Christ is present, truly, really, substantially at every Mass and in the tabernacle whether you “feel” it or not. The truth that Christ is present here is a fact. Your feelings do not matter. “Facts have no feelings!”

Likewise, even when the parties to the marriage no longer feel anything for the other, this does not spell the end of the marriage. The subjective experience of the parties does not determine the end of the objective reality proposed by the sacrament. Objectively, Christ remains faithful; He continues to confer the necessary grace through the Sacrament of matrimony, and this ultimately defines the permanency of the marital bond. In another instance, even if everyone in the congregation felt listless and bored during the entire mass, or the priest was ill-prepared to celebrate the mass, the mass is still objectively the Sacrifice of the Cross. As the fate of marriages cannot be determined by changing sentiment, the victory of the Cross is not undone by our fluctuating moods.

So, what do we do when the wine runs out? What do we do when the thrill is gone? What do we do when the faith dissipates? Many look for substitutes, only to find themselves disappointed once again because the wine will also run out. ‘Running away’ is no solution too. Mary shows us the way. The strength of Mary’s faith is when she tells the servants to follow the instructions of her Son. We run to Jesus with faith that He can do even the impossible, even outmatching the miracle of transforming water into wine. Mary teaches us to come to Him in humble submission, ready to listen to what He has to tell us, even though it may go against our better judgment. So, when the wine runs out, don’t attempt to brew some more, don’t look for cheap alternatives and don't run away. It’s not over. The best wine has been saved for the last – it is Jesus.

Be opened!

Twenty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Today’s text will trigger the ire of those with a penchant for the pedantic. As it is often said, “the devil is in the details!” Our Lord travels North before travelling eastward in order to make His way home to the South. A straight path in the direction of Galilee to the south of His current position would have been the most efficient and quickest way to get home. But our Lord chooses to make a round-a-bout detour to get to where He wishes to go. This is no coincidence nor directionless meandering. Everything our Lord does is calculated.

Today’s episode takes place again in Gentile or pagan territory, the Decapolis, the very lands where He was expelled after having exorcised the Gerasene demoniac. The reason for His summary dismissal is unclear. His healing and exorcism of the demoniac may have frightened the locals and the episode of the swine plunging into the sea in a lemming-like mass suicide and the ensuing economic loss to the owners may have been squarely blamed on Him. But here, the people of the area seem to have forgotten their past hostility. In today’s story, they see the Lord as a problem solver by bringing this deaf and mute man to meet the Lord.

Now we can assume that this deaf mute was also a local, thus a Gentile and not a Jew. It is indeed strange that our Lord would use an Aramaic word “Ephphatha” instead of some other more commonly known word in Greek, the lingua franca of the area. Well, it may be argued that this would not have made a difference since the man could not hear.

But it is the actions of our Lord which deserve our attention. To heal the man, the Lord placed His fingers in the man's ears and His spittle on the man's tongue. To us modern folks, this is indeed cringe worthy. Many have wondered why He did such things in healing the man. Some suggest that it was a sign that gave the Gentile man additional confidence that Jesus was in fact healing him, for Gentiles sometimes employed such methods in their attempts to heal people. Others have proposed that this foreshadows the outpouring of the blood of Christ that will bring full restoration not only to our souls but finally to our bodies in the new heaven and earth.

Perhaps, the depths and significance of this miracle is lost on the deaf mute and the audience, but every Jew was seeing in this miracle the fulfilment of the Old Testament prophecies which we had just heard in the first reading: “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, the ears of the deaf unsealed, then the lame shall leap like a deer and the tongues of the dumb sing for joy.” Our Lord would subsequently heal both the blind and the lame and complete the list of healings mentioned in the prophecy. But these miracles are merely signs pointing to a far greater prophecy of Isaiah: “Look, your God is coming, vengeance is coming, the retribution of God; he is coming to save you.” Our Lord is no mere wandering miracle worker. He is the promised Saviour not just of Israel but of the whole world. In fact, His name “Jesus” means “God saves.”

But the Gospel intends to go beyond showing us the ability of our Lord to physically heal the deaf and fulfil the prophecies of the Old Testament. The deaf mute man is a symbol of humanity, of modern society in particular. We are witnessing a society that has grown deaf to God, a society that is no longer “open” to the voice of God speaking through every man’s conscience, a society that can no longer speak or communicate with God because it has lost the vocabulary of prayer. And when man ceases to listen and speak to God, he can no longer authentically communicate with his neighbour. Although we often boast of living in an Information Age with the most sophisticated means of communication available at our finger tips, there is a lack of deep meaningful communication that builds community.

We could say that the world has become deaf and tongue-tied! How is it possible to listen to the Divine voice while tuning into the clamour of the television, the internet and so many other things? Ears filled with a hankering for the things of this world cannot distinguish the voice of the Almighty, for it is impossible to pay attention to two conversations simultaneously. Either one speaks with God, or with Satan! Today no one speaks of God, of the striving for sanctity, the hatred that we should have for sin or the great risk that modern man runs of being thrown eternally into hell. In general, people’s lives revolve around personal concerns, trivial matters inflated beyond reality, while choosing to be forgetful of the Creator and supernatural realities. Those who do not externalise their love for the Lord through prayer and an intimate relationship with Him, are deaf by choice.

If we sense our own deafness in the face of this grave scenario, we ought to ask ourselves: what is the solution? This Sunday’s Gospel does not only diagnose the problem but provides us with the cure. We must approach the Lord in faith through His sacraments and His Church. When we encounter our Lord in the sacraments in which He instituted, we too are similarly transformed and our spiritual senses healed. Our vision, our hearing, our sense of touch, taste and smell should be overhauled by a glimpse of God’s Truth, Beauty and Goodness. That is why our churches must be beautiful and our liturgies rich in symbolism and grandeur. Beauty is not just a matter of aesthetics nor is it a question of personal taste. It is meant to open the “eyes of faith,” to put in sharp focus and vivid colour, what God is bringing about in the world. We have become too over familiar and comfortable with our own iconoclastic and white-washed churches. We have become blind and deaf to the means by which God wishes to communicate to us.

Just like our Lord looking up at the very final moment before the deaf man is healed, our common mundane everyday human situation is elevated into the presence of God in these moments when we encounter Him in the beauty and elegance of our churches and liturgy. Beauty, justice, love, and mercy are no longer external to us but now we participate intimately with their source in the triune God. Heaven and earth overlap, time collapses.

Life and reality viewed through the sacraments put our most basic assumptions on trial. God is not somewhere else, too busy, or unconcerned with the created order. Instead, all of creation is “charged” with the goodness of God and every inch of it participates in the life of God sacramentally. In this way, the sacraments and sacramentals serve as a revelation of sorts, a window into what is most real, and helps us wonder more truly about what God is doing in the world. Through and in the sacraments and sacramentals, we hear our Lord’s command once again: “Ephphatha!” “Be opened!” They help us to see sacredness even in the midst of human depravity, wealth in the midst of poverty, and redemption in the midst of human fallenness.

When Little becomes Abundant

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

There is this wonderful line which could only emerge from the inspired genius mind of St Augustine: “The New Testament lies hidden in the Old and the Old Testament is unveiled in the New.” This is what we see in our lectionary’s juxtaposition of the first reading and the gospel. Both readings provide us with two incidences of miraculous multiplication of bread, the first implicit, while the latter clearly more explicit by virtue of its scale. Elisha multiplied 20 barley loaves so as to feed 100, with some even left over. But in the Gospel, our Lord multiplies 5 barley loaves and feeds 5,000, leaving 12 baskets left over. We’re talking serious one-upmanship here!

What does the multiplication story of Elisha in the first reading and our Lord Jesus have in common is their seven-part movement in the narrative: a crisis arises due to shortage of food, a chanced character volunteers to make an offering of meagre means, the protagonists issue a command to feed the crowds with these limited resources, followed by incredulity, a second command is given, the feeding takes place and finally, there is food left over. Both narratives fit nicely into this 7-part template. But there is no equivalence. What our Lord does, out matches what is done by Elisha and in fact by Moses who fed the Israelites with manna from heaven. This is no mere coincidence.

Christ brings to complete perfection what had already been prefigured in the Old Testament. That is why we should not easily dismiss the Old Testament as historically obsolete or mythical stories. To know Christ in the fullest sense (sensus plenior), then, we must read not only the New Testament, but also the Old. Our Lord Jesus is not just another great prophet in a long line of prophets but He is of an entirely different category which surpasses all that has preceded Him. If the prophets of old had only communicated the Word of God as mediums of transmission, Jesus is the Word of God in the flesh.

Both stories begin in a context of hunger. Few understand the depths of hunger. Becoming hungry for most of us is a matter of choice. Fasting and dieting are deliberate choices. But one must also consider the hunger of millions of people in the world: “the siege of the poor”. They have no choice but to be hungry.

But it is the hunger of such as these that reminds us that life begins with hunger and to be alive is to be hungry. The dead do not experience hunger pangs any longer. Some people are so hungry that for them God cannot but have the form of a loaf of bread. It is no wonder that in both stories of multiplication, we are reminded that the paradigm which God shows us and which we must imitate is giving and not hoarding. That is why the Lord commands His disciples to count the cost of what is to be given and to make an inventory of what they possess.

The miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and the fish, therefore, shows us that the Lord is not concerned with the quantity of the bread; what He desires is that the bread be shared. The hunger of others has rights over me. It never ceases to amaze me at how much energy we put into making excuses that we don’t have enough to share with others. According to a mysterious divine rule: when “my” bread becomes “our” bread, then little becomes enough. Hunger begins when I keep my bread to myself, when I choose to hold on to my bread, my fish, my assets. In contrast to our penchant to be calculative, our Lord shows us another way of being wholly generous because we have received so much from Him. The fact that there were twelve baskets of leftover food is a reminder to us that His grace is aplenty and that it is free.

Because of this last point and for this reason, the seemingly logical explanation of this miracle being the result of the crowds sharing their personal stash of food is untenable. This is not just a story of sharing but one of revelation. Only God could complete such a feat. As God rained down manna in the desert, Elisha increased his meagre supply of bread to feed the hundreds and now our Lord multiplies the bread and fish to feed the multitude of thousands, none of these events could have happened without God’s intervention. It is simply not possible for the disciples or the people to feed themselves or each other. They could not heal themselves or each other. But God can and God does.

So, the grain of truth that confronts us in today’s readings is that we are subject to limitations. We are not able to do everything, we are not able to help everyone, we are not able to save everyone. But that does not absolve us from doing something or helping someone. When we entrust the little that we have to God, He will ensure that our efforts would not be impeded by our limitations. On the other hand, these stories remind us that for a miracle to happen, it is not about God creating something out of nothing. God takes what we offer Him and ensures that it is always enough for us to share it with others, with much more to spare.

Our financial resources, talents, and holiness are clearly inadequate to meet the needs of a hungry and confused world. But what else is new? This gospel commands us to offer these resources anyway, trusting that God will multiply them. Don’t just take my word for it. See it happen at every Mass. In the Eucharist we bring the very ordinary work of our hands, bread and wine, and join to this the offering of our very ordinary lives. Through the invocation of the Spirit and the Word of God, this offering is changed into the Body and Blood of Christ, the Bread of Life and the Cup of eternal salvation. Likewise, we offer Him the work of our hands and our broken humanity, and He transforms these things into perfect humanity and life-giving divinity. And with this He not only feeds us but empowers us to feed the whole world. When “His” bread becomes “our bread”, then little becomes abundant!

Love is stronger than Death

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

In the collective imagination of the Anglosphere, Robin Hood is second only to King Arthur in the hold he has on the public mind. The idea of the Merry Men living in self-constructed freedom “all under the merry greenwood tree” in Sherwood Forest – robbing the rich and helping the poor and staying loyal to King Richard the Lionheart during the regency of his brother – has been embraced by countless generations.

Robin Hood and his merry band of thieves have often been portrayed in a heroic light, as those who sided with the poor and stood against the despotic tyranny of the rich and powerful, symbolised in the person of the Sheriff of Nottingham, ironically, a medieval representation of the “blue”, the law enforcement agencies. Robin’s actions were not only regarded as justified but lauded as virtuous because he “stole from the rich to give to the poor!” There seems to be a resurgence of this spirit in many of the liberal ruled cities in America, where criminals are often vindicated as deserving of the spoils of theft and looting due to their disadvantaged social economic status. In fact, stealing is now regarded as a kind of reparation for what many would claim had been stolen from them. Ironically, the law enforcement officers, men who wear the “blue”, are regarded as the “bad guys”, very much like the wicked and conniving Sheriff of Nottingham.

In the second reading, we see St Paul writing to the wealthy church in Corinth and requesting them to send aid to the impoverished mother church in Jerusalem. He begins his appeal by first commending them on their spiritual wealth - “You always have the most of everything – of faith, of eloquence, of understanding, of keenness for any cause, and the biggest share of our affection – so we expect you to put the most into this work of mercy too.” Paul is trying to explain that this act of charity is not merely an act of generosity but also a work of mercy - another spiritual good. In other words, the more they give, the wealthier they become spiritually. Then he sets out the standard and model of such generosity - it is none other than Christ Himself: “Remember how generous the Lord Jesus was: he was rich, but he became poor for your sake, to make you rich out of his poverty.”

Of course, St Paul was not himself resorting to a Robin Hood mentality by taking from the rich to give to the poor. He was making it clear that any such giving should be done from a cheerful and willing heart, rather than grudgingly. Furthermore, he was not insisting that the Corinthians should impoverish themselves by enriching the folks in Jerusalem. He proposes a pragmatic rule to giving: “This does not mean that to give relief to others you ought to make things difficult for yourselves: it is a question of balancing what happens to be your surplus now against their present need, and one day they may have something to spare that will supply your own need. That is how we strike a balance …”

This is the reason why the vow of poverty which is taken by a religious is not meant to be pure renunciation of material goods, but rather a commitment to share everything in common. An interior spiritual poverty is required for communal living. A lack of it rings a death knell to the community, especially when every member is only looking out for his own interest and security, whilst failing to be concerned with the welfare of his brothers and sisters.

We see in the gospel the true hero worthy of our praise and emulation - it is not the fictional Robin Hood but the very real Jesus of Nazareth. Our Lord shows us how God’s generosity and providence can be given and is given to all, without depriving one whilst blessing the other. In the longer version of the gospel, we see both the adult and the child being recipients of our Lord’s mercy and healing powers - the woman who had suffered from internal bleeding for many years and the young girl whom our Lord brought back from the brink of death. It is arguable as to who was in the more dire situation. The focus seems to be on defeating death in the girl. Our Lord returning life to the dead girl confirms what is written in the Book of Wisdom that “death was not God’s doing,” and that God had made “man imperishable, He made him in the image of His own nature; it was the devil’s envy that brought death into the world …”

So, it is death and devil that seem to have robbed us of our immortality and they have done so without enriching anyone but impoverishing all of us. But our Lord comes to the rescue. He robs the devil and death of their booty and final victory. Death may be strong, in fact, it may be the strongest thing that anyone of us knows of - no medicine, no elixir, no insurance or guarantee, no fortress or bunker, no “Iron Dome” can keep us safe from its clutches. But there is one who is stronger, so strong that nothing can stand in His way - not the cross which took His life, not the stone rolled over the mouth of the tomb, not the gates of Hades could keep Him imprisoned. It is Christ our Lord and Saviour. He has plundered the fortress of death and the devil and restored our inheritance to us - life, eternal life.

And this is what St Baldwin of Canterbury declared in the 12th century, a truth that has not grown old nor will ever be obsolete:

“Death is strong: it has the power to deprive us of the gift of life. Love is strong: it has the power to restore us to the exercise of a better life.

Death is strong, strong enough to despoil us of this body of ours. Love is strong, strong enough to rob death of its spoils and restore them to us.

Death is strong; for no man can resist it. Love is strong; for it can triumph over death, can blunt its sting, counter its onslaught and overturn its victory. A time will come when death will be trampled underfoot; when it will be said: ‘Death, where is your sting? Death, where is your attack?’

‘Love is strong as death,’ since Christ’s love is the death of death. For this reason he says: ‘Death, I shall be your death; hell, I shall grip you fast.’ The love, too, with which Christ is loved by us is itself strong as death, since it is a kind of death, being the extinction of our old life, the abolition of vice, and the putting aside of dead works.”

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.”

We Lepers

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Leprosy? Most of us have never seen anyone with this debilitating disease. Leprosy seems to have been stamped out in our country and any trace of the colonies, where lepers were hold up, to isolate them from the rest of us healthy folks have been lost to development. But both scripture and the Church’s history refuse to let us forget. The story of St Damien of Molokai, Apostle to the Lepers, must certainly be one of the most inspired hagiographies ever written and one which reminds us of the “lepers” that continue to live among us, though often out of sight.

In 1866, to curb the spread of this virulent disease of leprosy, the Hawaiian authorities decided to consign lepers to an isolated community on the island of Molokai. Once the lepers were out of sight and no longer a threat to the general population, the government turned a blind eye to their basic needs. Where even other missionaries kept away, St Damien, a missionary priest, pleaded with the bishop of the territory to allow him to minister to the needs of these lepers. The bishop kindly accompanied Damien to the colony and introduced him to the 816 community members as “one who will be a father to you and who loves you so much that he does not hesitate to become one of you, to live and die with you”. Little did the bishop realise that his words would prove prophetic.

Damien’s superiors had given him strict advice: “Do not touch them. Do not allow them to touch you. Do not eat with them.” But Damien made the decision to transcend his fear of contagion and enter into solidarity with the Molokai lepers. Other missionaries and doctors shrank from the lepers. What surprised the lepers most was that Damien touched them. But Damien not only touched the lepers, he also embraced them, he dined with them, he put his thumb on their forehead to anoint them, and he placed the Eucharist on their tongues.

One day, while soaking his feet in extremely hot water, Damien experienced no sensation of heat or pain—a tell-tale sign that he had contracted leprosy. The disease quickly developed, causing Damien to write to his bishop with the news. Damian who had not hesitated to become one of the lepers, chose also to live and die with them.

If you find that story amazingly moving, then you should feel the same if not more for what the Lord has done for us. Our Lord approaches a leper in today’s gospel and touches him.

To truly understand the significance of our Lord’s action, we need to understand two important concepts in the mind of a Jew– leprosy and the laws of ritual purity. The idea of leprosy was more than a virulent disease to be avoided. For the Jews, it was a sacrament in reverse - outward sign of inward curse. It was a sign of separation from God. For this reason, both the diagnosis as well as the final assessment that it had been cured, was not left to any ordinary doctor. Since, leprosy was seen as the ultimate punishment from God, only a priest, a minister of God could confirm that this sin was absolved, and the punishment lifted.

How about the laws of ritual purity? Since God is considered holy, anything which is unholy is not permitted to enter into His presence. The rules of ritual purity were designed for this. In the Old Testament law, there were five main ways people became unclean (even if it’s just temporary): eating “unclean animals”; (e.g., carrion-eaters); giving birth; contracting skin diseases; genital discharges; contact with corpse. Leprosy fell under the third category. Coming into contact with an unclean person would also render one unclean. So strict rules like those given to St Damien (“Do not touch them. Do not allow them to touch you. Do not eat with them”) had to be observed to avoid contamination. Instead of doing this, our Lord “stretched out his hand and touched” the leper. In the eyes of the crowd, our Lord had been contaminated.

But instead of being contaminated Himself, He heals the leper. We are reminded that we do not only get infection through close proximity, we can also get saved by it. C.S. Lewis explains this beautifully: “Good things as well as bad, you know, are caught by a kind of infection, if you want to get warm you must stand near the fire: if you want to be wet you must get into the water. If you want joy, power, peace, eternal life, you must get close to, or even into, the thing that has them. They are not a sort of prize which God could, if He chose, just hand out to anyone. They are a great fountain of energy and beauty spurting up at the very centre of reality. If you are close to it, the spray will wet you: if you are not, you will remain dry. Once a man is united to God, how could he not live forever? Once a man is separated from God, what can he do but wither and die?”

The story of Jesus healing the leper ends happily for him but unfortunately for Jesus. At that touch, they were equals. Ironically, this man was now able to enter any town he wanted because he had been healed, but Jesus could no longer enter towns because of the news of this miracle had spread. He had become a social leper.

The healing of the leper was just a warm-up for what the Lord had prepared to do for all of us, a model of what was to come at the cross. When He died for our sins, for as many of us who have been washed in the blood, our sins died as well and Jesus was then able to be reconciled with the Father, from whom we have been separated because of our sins, our spiritual leprosy. By communion with Him, by participation in His cross, we could receive eternal life. He shared His divinity with us as we shared our humanity with Him but without Him taking away our humanity. Our humanity is thus sanctified by His divinity.

In the case of St Damien, although he entered into the most profound solidarity with the lepers by becoming one of them, he was never able to remove this disease from their bodies or the social stigma from their existence, what more his own. But in the case of our Lord Jesus, He has taken us into Himself. In exchange for our flawed and broken humanity, He has exchanged with us His sublime divinity. The Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen describes the sublime transaction of the In­carnation in which Christ said to man: "You give me your hu­manity, I will give you my divinity. You give me your time, I will give you my eternity. You give me your bonds, I will give you my omnipotence. You give me your slavery, I will give you my free­dom. You give me your death, I will give you my life. You give me your nothingness, I will give you my all.” So, let us turn to the Lord in confidence, humility and much love and ask: “Lord, if you want. You can cure me.”

A New Authority

Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

“Don’t put words into my mouth” is a popular way of deflecting accusations by arguing that you have been misquoted, that your original speech has been embellished by words which do not reflect your original intent. Under these circumstances, you would not appreciate any extrapolation by others. The original words and context are always the best, or as they would say, “from the horse’s mouth.”

Despite our insistence on others keeping faithful to what we had originally said, we always appreciate novelty in speech. Innovation excites. Repetition bores. Sometimes, the truth does not matter especially when it hurts and does not work in our favour. The more fanciful the story, the more entertaining. That is why the best gossips and rumours are often the most incredulous. Who wants to know the boring truth, when you have the make-believe version that is much juicier?

Our readings today reverse the above cultural trends.

Instead of innovating with our own words and ideas, the first reading seeks to look for an ideal prophet following the archetype of Moses, someone who speaks God’s words and not his own. In fact, only God has every right to demand that we do not put words in His mouth and claim to speak on His behalf when He has not spoken these words at all. “All they have spoken is well said. I will raise up a prophet like yourself for them from their own brothers; I will put my words into his mouth and he shall tell them all I command him. The man who does not listen to my words that he speaks in my name, shall be held answerable to me for it. But the prophet who presumes to say in my name a thing I have not commanded him to say, or who speaks in the name of other gods, that prophet shall die.” The Lord promises to raise up another leader like Moses, a prophecy which can only be fulfilled perfectly in the person of Jesus.

In the second reading, we are reminded by St Paul that words are not sufficient in witnessing the gospel of the Kingdom. It must be matched by actions and a particular value-based lifestyle. This is why St Paul advocates the celibate life. He does so not because he believes that marriage is bad and that the conjugal life is somewhat evil. He does so because celibacy, just like marriage, is also a sign of the life of the Kingdom. Celibacy does not make sense unless the values of the Kingdom of God fill the celibate’s whole horizon.

Finally, we have a miracle story in the gospel where our Lord exorcises a man possessed with an evil spirit in the synagogue. The crowds seem impressed by our Lord’s teachings, because “unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority.” St Mark does not elaborate any further as to the meaning of this term: “authority.” We often believe that “authority” and “power” are interchangeable. Yes, although there is intersection between the two concepts, one does not immediately imply the other. Persons with authority can be made powerless and those with power may not have authority.

The original Greek used by the evangelist would help us make more sense of the differences between these two words. The Greek word for power is dunamis, from which we derive the English dynamite. Our Lord had power as evidenced by His power to perform healing miracles, raise the dead, calm storms and cast out demons. But the unclean spirits likewise had power over the humans and the animals which they possessed. The difference between our Lord and the demons is that the former had authority (exousia) to exercise that power, while the demons did not. Exousia or authority points to limits, accountability, ministry and jurisdiction. Our Lord possessed authority by virtue of His identity - being the Son of God - an identity and authority which even the demons recognised and feared. Notice that the demons did not acknowledge the authority of the scribes, Pharisees and religious establishment. In the case of our Lord Jesus, He possessed both authority and power. The demons possessed their subjects with power but without authority.

Likewise, in modern times, many people are no respecters of authority, viewing it as tyrannical and old fashioned. They fail to recognise that without authority, without true limits, jurisdiction and accountability, everything descends into sheer abuse of power. Nothing exists in a vacuum. When we reject legitimate and rightful authority, we become an authority unto ourselves. My favourite definition of a Pharisee reflects this irony - a Pharisee sees a law when there is none and breaks a law when there is one.

It is authority which links our Lord’s deeds with His words, and this is the reason why the crowds commented that our Lord teaches with authority even though they had just witnessed an exorcism, for they saw both our Lord’s teachings and His deeds are united by their common source - authority - “he gives orders even to unclean spirits and they obey him.”

One last point needs to be raised when it comes to the truth of the Word of God. The crowds also declared this after having seen our Lord’s authority over demons: “Here is a teaching that is ‘new’”. Is novelty the benchmark for truth? Modernist would argue that it is so. In their efforts to revise the teachings of Christ, the Word of God and the traditional teachings of the Church, they argue that the only criterion which matters is that all these must be in synch with the values of modern times, values which are constantly shifting and expanding, what we call “new!” What they fail to recognise is that the hallmark of Christianity is not novelty but fidelity. We will be judged not by how the Church gets in “with the times,” but how she is more perfectly faithful as a Bride of Christ, whom St Augustine calls “O Beauty, Ever Ancient Ever New.” It is Christ who makes the teachings of the Church new, not us.

Preaching in all its forms is indispensable to the Church’s mission given to her by Jesus Christ: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you” (Matthew 28:16-20). Such preaching cannot just be a car salesman’s pitch, rooted in half truths. It cannot just be one that tickles the imagination of our audience and entertains them with innovation and creativity. It must always be done with the authority given to us by the Lord through the Holy Spirit and not spring from self-appointment. Finally, preaching must lead others to be conformed to Christ and not to the world. The world may demand what is popular and effective but only Christ’s teachings are going to get us to heaven.

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.