Call to Conversion

Third Sunday of Easter Year C
Pilgrimage Day 7 - Basilica of St Ignatius (Chapel of Conversion)

The theme of conversion rings within these walls. An attic was converted into a hospital room, a tormented fallen soldier is converted into a saint, or at least the beginning of one. Dreams of valour were converted into a new zeal for Christ. A mercenary soldier was converted into a missionary and charismatic reformer of the Church.

In this room, with its dark wooden beams and leaden windows, Ignatius of Loyola recovered from his grisly wounds received at the battle of Pamplona. Spirit beaten, body shattered, leg broken and mended horribly, leaving him crippled for the rest of his life, Ignatius of Loyola hovered near death for months, crying out against the cruel fate that saw his dreams of glory and honour at court all-but-extinguished. Sitting in the musty silence, the occasional creak of the centuries-old floor the only accompaniment, you can almost hear his anguished screams of pain and despair, the hushed footsteps of doctors and attendants rushing about to save his life, a life that he no longer recognised. His life would have been quite different if his body and pride had not been broken. Perhaps strength doesn't reside in having never been broken, but in the courage required to grow strong in the broken places. As surgeons would tell you, that where a bone is broken and heals, it becomes the strongest part of the bone.

Our gospel for this Sunday, also provides us with another living testimony of this truth - that we do grow stronger in grace in places where we have been broken by sin. The gospel provides us with the post end-credits of the Gospel of John, where we see a disillusioned Peter, who has abandoned his mission and vocation to return to his earlier profession, being brought to life once again by the Risen Lord. Our Lord could have gone in search of fresh candidates to continue His mission of building and tending His Church but instead chooses to return to the one who had denied Him, abandoned Him and who even now leads others astray by guiding them to return to the work of being fishers of fish rather than of men.

Both stories, that of Peter’s and Ignatius’, provide us with some important insights into the process and anatomy of conversion.

Firstly, conversion is an invitation given by our Lord to all. It’s much easier for us to think that conversion is for some, but not us. The sinner, the unbeliever, the lapsed Catholic, the one who has betrayed and hurt us - they need conversion. But not us. Heaven forbid. But conversion is a constant ever-developing process of us growing closer to the Lord. It is a call to repentance, because everyone of us are sinners. It is a call to sanctification because none of us are finished products, just work in progress. In this chapel, Ignatius experienced a conversion but it wasn’t his last experience, just the first. Likewise, though Peter seemed to have been “resurrected” and restored to his mission and vocation, scripture and tradition tells us of other instances where he would falter again, needing a wake-up call to return to his original vocation.

Secondly, the reason why the Lord calls us to conversion is because He loves us. So often we have bought into the lie that to call someone to conversion is being judgmental and unloving. In the West, conversion therapy, that is helping someone deal with delusions as regard to their sexuality, is considered a form of hate crime. But this couldn’t be further from the truth. It is precisely God’s terrific love for us that leads to the call to change, to conversion, to metanoia. God does not love us because we are already so good. Instead, He loves us in order to make us good, to bring us back to the goodness that was originally meant for us but that we have lost.

Thirdly, there is no conversion without a crisis. The Chinese term for crisis is made up of two characters – one character means danger or risk and the other, opportunity. Every crisis, therefore, is an opportunity for good, for transformative change, for strengthening of our resolve and character. So, rather than regard a crisis as a cruel curse imposed on us by a capricious God, we should view every crisis as a signpost sent by God to help us make the proper correction before it is too late. It could be as dramatic as a crisis which ends a career or a dream as in the case of Ignatius, or death of a mentor as in the case of Peter. When crisis hits, we have a choice. We can choose the path of resentment or we can choose the path of renewal.

We have passed the midway point of our pilgrimage but have we seen the change, transformation and conversion needed to complete the rest of the journey and beyond? Just like Peter, many of us may have lost sight of our calling, our initial fervour. Peter had lost sight of what Christ had originally spoken over him; that on him, the Rock, the Lord would build His church. We have lost sight of what happened at our baptism, we became living stones which are to be built into a spiritual house for a holy priesthood to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. Failure, disillusionment and forgetfulness comes to us all. But our Lord shows us that in the resurrection, and because of the resurrection, restoration is possible. The resurrection reminds us that faith can emerge from the ashes of doubt, as life breaks forth from the prison of death. This is the foundation of our Christian hope.

The problem with many of us is that we seem to express greater faith in the severity of our brokenness than in the grace of God to restore us to wholeness. Many are afraid to look into the piercing eyes of our Lord, for fear that they may see judgment. Others believe that there is no getting up from the royal tumble down the ladder of perfection and the only option would be to stay down, stay safe, instead of getting up and risk being hit by the bullets of criticism and ridicule. But the story of Ignatius’ conversion and Peter’s restoration remind us that failure need not be the ending written for life’s script. Perhaps, if we have the courage, the hope and the faith to peer into those tender eyes of our Merciful Lord, we would catch sight of something quite different, something that would surprise us – an invitation to surrender all to Him, our heavy baggage, our burdened conscience and our broken and wounded past.

Above the altar, on one of the great beams is an inscription, both in Basque and Spanish, which translates as: “Here, Ignatius of Loyola surrendered to God”. Truly, it is surrender that this room demands. As we enter this room we too are asked - just as was Ignatius - to be prepared to surrender: to be converted, to let expectations fall away and see not just ourselves and our own needs, but the needs of the Church. Centuries ago, this room was the place where a broken, despondent St Ignatius answered God’s call to set the world on fire. And centuries before that on the shores of the lake of Galilee, our first Pope gazed into the charcoal fire and received a challenge from the Lord to rekindle the fire of mission in his heart. Their conversion led to the conversion of many in the world. Today, from this room let us go forth to keep that fire burning so that the Church and the world may be set ablaze with God’s love.

Be a little Christ

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

The lofty demands by the Lord in today’s gospel reading would often elicit this immediate response: “I’m only human.” This is not a humble admission of one’s fallibility or inability to live up to the ideals of Christian living, but often used as an excuse that such demands are only meant for angels and the saints, and beyond the reach of mere mortals like us. When we hide behind the label of being “human”, our nature is not seen as a gift but rather as a deficit. We forgot that we are made in the image and likeness of a loving God who only wants what’s best for us and to be our best, not our worst.

We find in the course of salvation history and the pages of the Bible, individuals, families and nations called, chosen and sent by God on His mission not because of their good genes, immaculate backgrounds, exceptional talents or heroic prowess. In fact, most of these figures appear to be failures and losers, or as my bishop is fond of saying, they are members of “the least, the little, the lost and the last.” The reason for such seemingly defective candidates directs the spotlight away from them and points it glaringly at the One who is the real hero and protagonist of the story - God. Scripture is not the revelation that exposes the gradual evolution of man into some sort of Ubermensch (Superman), but rather the revelation of a God who qualifies, empowers and sanctifies the unqualified weak sinner.

In the first reading, we are given a beautiful portrayal of young David before his ascension to the throne. In his loyalty to God, he spares the life of his king who had hunted him and who had threatened to kill him out of envy. As magnanimous as David may be, epitomising the virtue of compassion and offering forgiveness to his enemy as the Lord exhorts in the gospel, David proves to be a weak man and a great sinner later in life. As much as he is seen as a national hero and in fact, the gold standard of kings, David remains a weak and imperfect man. He would later be found guilty of the most egregious crimes of adultery and murder. The Messiah is prophesied to be of his lineage and it is this lineage and link to David which would serve to validate and legitimise the office of the Messiah. But the gospels would soon reveal that it is the Messiah, Jesus Himself, who would validate His ancestor.

St Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians also draws a contrast between the first Adam and the second or last Adam, who is Jesus Christ. The contrast could not be starker. Christ is the founder of the new humanity, just as Adam is the founder of fallen humanity. The obedience of Christ, the Second Adam, undoes the disobedience of the first Adam. Just before this passage Paul has explained that in the resurrection, we will all be changed, and transformed into the heavenly sphere, in the image of the Risen Christ. What was weak will be strong with the strength of God, what was corruptible will be incorruptible with the incorruptibility of God, what was contemptible will be glorious with the glory of God. So, a Christian’s goal is not just to aspire to be the best and most perfect man (“Adam” means “man”) but rather our goal should be to imitate and be another Christ. That is why we are called “Christians.” “Christian” means “a little Christ.”

The gospel provides us with one of the most important aspects of Christ which we must imitate - His mercy and compassion. The problem is that one of the victims of our banal culture is compassion. Compassion is a precarious word, often used interchangeably with pity and sympathy. The word “pity” means a feeling of sadness or fear at the unavoidable lot of another, either deserved or undeserved. But the message we hear in today's gospel is entirely different. Being a bleeding heart, having pity and sympathy for others just doesn’t cut it. It must go much deeper: Our Lord says, "Be compassionate as your Father is compassionate."

So that compassion may not descend into shallow banality, we look to Jesus who provides us with a radically new benchmark. In fact, every example that He cites in today’s passage is something which the Lord Himself had done, especially during His Passion. He forgave His enemies who had delivered Him to His executors right at the moment of His death on the cross. He was mocked, slapped, humiliated and tortured but did not retaliate. He was stripped of His clothes and then made to walk a mile and beyond to the place of His execution. Our Lord demonstrates not only through His teaching, His miracles, His public ministry, the shape and content of compassion, but most certainly through His passion and death.

This is what compassion entails. From the Latin root, the word literally means to “suffer with” and this is what our Lord, our true Hero did for us. That means sharing our goals, our fears, our intentions, our pains and our suffering. One can't even begin to speak of compassion unless one is prepared to pay the price for it, an often expensive price that may even entail sacrificing our personal happiness and well-being, and finally our entire life. So, compassion is never of the saccharine kind. It bears within itself the precious cargo of patience, humility, and growth in the conforming of our will to God's will, to the will of Jesus Christ, our friend. To become more like Him is to become more, not less, human. Only in this way, as the whole of our being takes on the qualities of truth and righteousness, is love and compassion true. Its inner demand always includes suffering. At a deep level, the essence of love, the essence of genuine compassion, means self-abandonment, self-giving, it bears within itself the sign of the cross.

How do we grow in sacrificial love and compassion? We do this by uniting our own sufferings with His, dying to our selfish will, and rising to new life in Christ through humility and obedience to His will. So by declaring that “we are only human” is not a resignation to our weak fallen nature, an excuse to abandon what is difficult, but should be testimony that we wish to be “modelled after the heavenly man,” Jesus, whom St Paul so proudly declared. In embracing our humanity, we must also enter into solidarity with fellow humans. We are all united by our humanity and because of that we are also united by our fallen nature and need for salvation. The good news is that we are also united by grace, because the One who has come to save us chose to unite with us so deeply that "He became sin who knew no sin” (2 Cor 5:21).

Each of us can resolve to imitate Christ in our own lives, by reaching out in love and compassion to assist and comfort others who are suffering. At times this can be relatively easy, such as simply spending time with a friend who is suffering with a problem and may need someone to listen. At other times the witnessing of suffering may require much greater effort, such as when a loved one is dying from a painful illness. It would mean embracing the pain, the suffering, the frustration and the anger of the friend. And even in the face of the greatest offence which we had suffered at the hands of this person, we should also acknowledge - “he is only human” - and at least remember to treat others as how we wish to be treated in return. If we desire mercy, show mercy!

Here I am, send me

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

There is a tendency among many to be drawn to certain charismatic preachers and leaders. Can people be faulted for this? Who doesn’t want to be inspired or motivated or moved to tears or action? And whether one wishes to admit it or not, who doesn’t want to be entertained by amusing anecdotes and colourful illustrations? That is why crowds would throng to a rally or a preached mission whenever a popular and dynamic preacher is in town. But the readings which we hear this Sunday provide us with an important and necessary corrective - the gospel is always greater than its greatest proclaimers. An important truth that preachers, like me, should remember and need. “For what we preach is not ourselves,” wrote St Paul to the Corinthians, “but Jesus Christ as Lord” (2 Cor. 4:5).

The prophets of old like Isaiah and the great missionary apostles like St Paul and St Peter, were anything than rockstar-like celebrities of the faith. The quest for celebrity-like fame can actually be a distraction from the work of preaching the gospel. The habit of seeking ever-larger audiences through new technologies always runs the risk of trivialising the message, fueling the culture of celebrity, and losing sight of the everyday work of evangelisation.

In all three examples that are offered by today’s readings - Isaiah in the first reading, St Paul in the second and St Peter in the gospel - there is a keen awareness of their own personal unworthiness. Isaiah protests that he is unworthy to speak God’s words because he is a man of unclean lips. Paul claims that he is the “least among the apostles” and that he “hardly deserve the name apostle.” When Simon Peter discovered the enormity of what he has just witnessed, the Lord performing a miracle before his own eyes, he pleaded, “Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.” None of these men stated a claim that they were entitled to the right of proclaiming the Word of God. On the contrary, all three clearly admitted their own disqualification.

Many of us would have similar sentiments and that is the reason why so many Catholics fail to undertake the work of sharing the good news with others. If you have ever felt that you were not good enough for God or the work He wishes to entrust to you, know this - you are in good company - because that’s just how Isaiah, St Paul, and St Peter felt when God called them.

Feeling inadequate before God is certainly understandable. In a way, this isn’t wrong. It’s a sign of humility to recognise our inadequacy before God. After all, God is God! He is perfectly good, perfectly righteous, and perfectly pure. We are none of those things. When we imagine ourselves before a being of such power and purity, we can’t help but feel small and unworthy by comparison. Yet, despite our unworthiness God continues to call us. Don’t take my word for it. Take God’s Word. He still chose Isaiah and Peter and Paul, despite their protestations of being unworthy. If it takes humility to recognise that we are unworthy, it takes greater humility to admit that it’s not about us! It’s all about God - the sovereignty of God and the freedom He exercises in choosing who He pleases even if the world or the person thinks nothing of it. It would be arrogance for us to question God’s choice.

This is why in our human frailty, we cannot just merely depend on our abilities and resources. We have abilities and we do have resources but we also have our limitations. But God supplements these with His abundant grace. This is what St Paul declared in the second reading: “I am the least of the apostles; in fact, since I persecuted the Church of God, I hardly deserve the name apostle; but by God’s grace that is what I am, and the grace that he gave me has not been fruitless.” Like Paul before his conversion, many of us continue to live in the delusion that we are self-made, that we have to chart our own destiny, orchestrate our own achievements, work hard to achieve our goals. But there is also grace that shapes and perfects us and as Paul so rightly noted, that it is by “God’s grace that is what I am.”

This is also what Peter experienced in the gospel. The dawn of his new life marked by the success which could only be brought on by the Lord’s miraculous assistance had to come after a long night of struggling and repeated failure. Peter would continue to experience this pattern in his own life. Whenever he depended solely on his bravado, his personal leadership skills, his speaking out of turn and jumping the gun, he would meet with failure and disappointment. Tradition tells us that this pattern continues even after the Lord had ascended and he had received the mantle of leadership and the gift of the Holy Spirit. But despite his shortcomings and failings, and in spite of it, our Lord would continue to return to him, renewing his election and commission. Peter too can declare with Paul that the Lord’s “grace that is what I am.”

Now many of us would argue that unlike Isaiah, we were not given a vision of heaven, or like Peter and Paul, called by the Lord personally to be His apostles. How does the Lord qualify us who are unqualified? The answer is simple and yet profound. The Lord continues to call and He continues to act and He continues to pour out His graces through the Church, especially through the sacraments. All of the sacraments are tangible means by which God imparts His intangible grace to us. Baptism is that first sacrament that binds us to Christ, Penance is the sacrament that restores us to union with Him when we have strayed, the Eucharist is what He chooses to sustain us with His own body and blood. That is why when people avoid the sacraments, they do not know what they are missing out. Just like the air we breathe is necessary for our survival, the grace we receive through the sacraments is necessary for our salvation. Without grace, we will perish.

But for all our dependence on grace, does it mean that we just sit back and do nothing? We are not Calvinist Protestants who hold on to the erroneous sola that only grace alone saves. St Paul was the greatest evangeliser the world has ever known, and he certainly worked hard at it. But he was only able to succeed by relying on God’s grace. This is the key: we can’t do God’s work on our own. Nor can we just sit back and be lazy Christians, relying on God to do all the work. The truth lies in the middle: we need to put forth effort, because God wants to work through us and in us, our will cooperating with His. God knows exactly what you are capable of. He knows exactly how strong you are, and how weak you are. He knows your knowledge and your ignorance. He knows your capacities and your limitations. And He says, my grace is sufficient for you (2 Cor 2:19). We just need to trust that the God who calls us will provide whatever grace is needed to answer that call. All we need to do is say, like Isaiah, “Here I am” (Is 6:8).

There is a moment that comes at every Mass, just before we receive Communion. The priest holds the consecrated host up before us and proclaims, “Behold the Lamb of God, behold Him who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the Supper of the Lamb.” At that moment, like Isaiah and St. Peter, we find ourselves in the presence of divinity. We stand before perfect goodness. And if we feel unworthy before that presence… let us pray with earnestness and complete sincerity, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” We acknowledge our sins and trust God to forgive us. We acknowledge our weakness and trust God to strengthen us. We have faith that God will accomplish His will through us and in humility we say, “Here I am; send me.”

Not Born but Intentional Catholics

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

One of the common self-descriptions you would hear from a Catholic, and only from Catholics, is this: “I’m born Catholic.” That is not entirely accurate, which is to say it is a false statement. No one is “born Catholic.” Through baptism, we all “become” Catholic. We are not exactly “natural” sons of God, but “adopted” sons, as St Paul teaches. The only “born” Catholic was Christ. It may be more accurate, therefore, to describe the person as a “cradle Catholic” rather than “born Catholic.” But often the term has come to describe a prevalent condition which many Catholics possess or suffer - we are Catholics not by our own choice, not intentionally, but often only nominally, that is in name.

Borrowing an idea from the Protestants, Catholic author, Sherry Weddell, wrote a book entitled “Forming Intentional Disciples” to propose a solution to this malady by fostering a culture among Catholics to consciously and intentionally see themselves as disciples of Jesus Christ and to follow and imitate Him by being His messengers to the world. Before I share some salient points from her book, I believe our readings for today provide us with an excellent template for becoming intentional Catholics. The dynamics of the three readings could be simply stated as this: we are called, we are chosen and we are sent.

The first reading speaks of the call of the prophet Amos. Here was a prophet that was sent by God to a foreign nation that needed him but did not want him. The reading begins with Amaziah, the priest of Bethel in the north, practically shooing off Amos and telling him to go back to where he came from, which is the South, Amos’ homeland, and to do his prophesying there. The irony of this encounter is that Amos too expresses his true feelings about his ministry, something which he had not bargained for nor had he personally preferred: ‘I was no prophet, neither did I belong to any of the brotherhoods of prophets,’ Amos replied to Amaziah ‘I was a shepherd, and looked after sycamores: but it was the Lord who took me from herding the flock, and the Lord who said, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel.”’

Just like Amos, most of us have no sense of being called. We would have preferred being left alone to our devices, going about our own business and doing what we have to do to earn our living and get along in life. But being called means that each of us is given a mission beyond what we would have personally desired or chosen. By our baptism, each of us is called to be priest, king and prophet. We are called to be priests because we are called to intercede for others. We are called to be kings because we are called to serve others. We are called to be prophets because the Word of God must be proclaimed by us.

This begs the question: “why me?” If you’ve paid attention to the readings for the past few Sundays, that it’s never about you. God chooses us not because we are qualified, or naturally gifted or because we are worthy. Quite often He chooses those who are not. This is what St Paul tells us in the second reading: “Before the world was made, He chose us, chose us in Christ, to be holy and spotless, and to live through love in His presence, determining that we should become His adopted sons, through Jesus Christ for His own kind purposes, to make us praise the glory of His grace …” That’s it! We are called, we have been chosen. Why? For God’s glory, for the praise of His glory. Not for our glory or because we have merited His attention, so, don’t get swollen headed!

And finally, we have the Gospel where we hear how the Lord sends out the Twelve apostles on a mission. They are called. They are chosen. They are sent out. They are given a mission. They are asked to take nothing along with them because that too is part of their witness. If they are going to lead people to have faith in God, it must start with them. But the call, the choosing and the sending is not just confined to the Twelve. How much easier for us if God only chose the Twelve Apostles and not us! How much easier for us if only the pope, the bishops, the priests and the religious must have responsibilities for preaching and spreading the Word of God and the joy of His Church!

So, knowing that we have been called, chosen and sent, is only the first step. How do we now make the response? I’m going to return to Sherry Weddell’s book and borrow some of her thoughts on this matter. She proposes 5 simple steps.

Step 1 is initial trust. Just like Amos, we must trust the Lord’s call and His mission even if it means getting out of our comfort zones. The greatest obstacle to being an intentional disciple of the Lord is to be contented with what is convenient and secure. Like the apostles in the gospel, we must gradually learn to let go of our crutches - material and emotional- and begin to learn to trust God more each day. If God has called us to this mission, He will provide us with the wisdom, the tools and resources to carry out His will.

The next step is spiritual curiosity. As Weddell says, “When we live lives that are inexplicable apart from the grace and power of the Gospel, we will often find that curiosity is sparked among people who were formerly hostile to the Faith. To be a witness does not consist in engaging propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one’s life would not make sense if God did not exist.”

The third step after trust has been given, curiosity aroused, it is time to challenge our listeners. Often, we tip toe around difficult subjects and try to soften the demands of Christ. But without this challenge, Christians will remain infants, perpetually “born Catholics” or “infantile Catholics”, who are unable to make a breakthrough in their spiritual growth.

All the previous steps will lead to the fourth step - spiritual seeking. Here, the seeker is abandoning the false notion that God stands in the way of freedom and happiness, and realising that God is the good he or she has sought all his life in his pursuit of the shadows and copies of beauty that are mere earthly beauties.

So, how does one live the Catholic faith in the real world? It is certainly not enough to be “born Catholic” or even to be a “cradle Catholic.” These labels mean nothing unless we are intentional about it. Our lives cannot just be dictated by doing the bare minimum, even though many cradle Catholics these days don’t even do the bare minimum like observing the precepts of the Church – attending Mass every Sunday and holy days of obligation, making confession at least once a year etc. We must be consciously aware that we are called, we are chosen and we are sent. Today we are invited, each one of us, to recognise our own calling and to seek to know what God asks of us in order to spread the Good News of the Kingdom. Let us open our hearts and our minds in faith. No more excuses. No more delays. Time to get out of our cradles and be rock solid intentional disciples of the Lord!

He lays down His Life

Fourth Sunday of Easter Year B
Good Shepherd Sunday

What do priests talk about when we meet up with each other? Well, here’s a little secret. We talk about our sheep or to be more precise, we often end up complaining about them. I guess that when the sheep get into their own discussion circles, the performance of priests make good fodder for discussion and gossip. In paintings of Jesus the Good Shepherd, He is often depicted, cuddling cute adorable lambs. But the reality is that many members of our flocks are hardly adorable or cute, and certainly not someone you would enjoy cuddling. Perhaps, we may even be tempted at times to strangle them, especially the more incorrigible and annoying ones. Occasionally, some of us confess that there were times we doubted whether we had chosen the right profession, that we should have gotten out if we had the chance to do so.

This Sunday in our liturgical calendar, is a much needed wake up call for us priests, shepherds of souls, as well as an assurance that there is a Shepherd who would not suffer the same weaknesses as us. Here is a Shepherd who is willing to “lay down His life” for His sheep, even though His sheep sets out to murder Him. His selfless generosity exposes our depraved selfishness.

Here are some qualities of the good shepherd that stands out in today’s gospel. I’m not sure if you see your priests fitting the bill. If he doesn’t, do offer up a prayer for him. If that doesn’t work, you can always petition the bishop!

The relationship between the shepherd and his sheep is not just the result of a job; it is deeper than that. If it was a mere job, then one would be constantly seeking benefits from fulfilling one’s responsibilities. And if the benefits do not commensurate with the responsibility, we would immediately see it as a burden.

The shepherd is also a leader. With much talk about the importance of accompaniment, of walking together with others as equals, we often lose sight of the necessity for good leadership. The good shepherd leads his sheep; he does not just accompany them on whatever path they feel inspired to follow. Not only does he lead them, but he leads them “to pasture,” that is to good food. He ensures that his sheep are fed well with the complete revelation of Jesus Christ through Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition rather than survive on watered down mush passed off as truth. He ensures that they are fed with sanctifying grace through faithful celebration of the sacraments, rather than only when it is convenient and expedient to do so.

But the most distinctive quality of the Good Shepherd is that He is willing and actually does lay down His life for His sheep. If the gospel was turned into a song, this would be the resounding theme and refrain: “I lay down my life for my sheep.” Which shepherd would sacrifice and risk his own life for a single sheep? He would rather sacrifice and lose a sheep to a wolf than to lose his own life or the entire herd. But here is the greatest quality of the Good Shepherd. He is one who is willing to suffer, out of love, for those entrusted to His care. He is one who chooses the life of the sheep over His own life. At the heart of this teaching is sacrifice. The Good Shepherd is sacrificial. And being sacrificial is the truest and most accurate definition of love.

It is only through our Lord’s sacrificial death on the cross for our sins and His glorious resurrection to life eternal, that we are able to enter into the presence of God the Most High. In a relativistic world, where it is argued, that one religion is just as good as another, we Christians make this audacious but true claim - Jesus alone is Saviour. Jesus alone is the gate, the entrance point, to eternal life with God. St Peter declares this truth in the first reading taken from the Acts of the Apostles: “For of all the names in the world given to men, this is the only one by which we can be saved” (Acts 4:12). This is the reason why our Lord laid down His life for us, not just for those now counted among the fold that knows Him but also those others who have been entrusted to Him, who still do not know Him.

But His sacrifice also gives us an example of what we must do as His followers called to imitate His life. Laying down our lives shows that the nature of love is a total self-gift. Laying down your life cannot be done halfway. Either your life is laid down or not. This reveals that love, for it to be love in the truest sense, is a total commitment of 100% of your life. Love if not sacrificial is counterfeit. Laying down your life clearly shows that love requires a sort of death to self. You have to be stripped down so that all that remains is Christ who shines through you and works through you, you are a mere vessel in His service. It requires that we look to the other first, putting their needs before ours. This requires true sacrifice and selflessness.

In this year’s Chrism Mass of our Archdiocese, our shepherd Archbishop Julian Leow delivered a most stirring homily. He asked this question that seems to be on everyone’s mind as we witness the decline of vocations to the priesthood and religious life: “Are we in a crisis?” He then follows his rhetoric question with an answer: “We are not, but all signs show that we are heading in that direction if we sit back and do nothing. If there is a crisis now, it is a crisis of commitment and generosity to selflessness that is seen in all states of life.”

Yes, we are suffering from a crisis that goes beyond the plunging number of vocations. It is the crisis of a lack of generosity and commitment to selflessness. Whether it be in marriage or in a religious or priestly life, the crisis is a crisis of generosity and commitment. We demand a great deal from others but make little effort to make sacrifices, if at all. In any crisis, we can either choose to be selfish or to be selfless. To flee from danger out of self-preservation or to lay down one’s life for others out of love. That is the choice we must make! Too few are willing to “lay down” their lives for others. We are afraid to give because we are afraid to lose.

But the bottom line is that giving of ourselves until it hurts turns any small or large sacrifice we give into a blessing for others and a glorious reward for us. The truth of the matter is that by giving out of love, we have so much more to gain. Too often people have remarked in my presence that we priests have made such a great sacrifice by accepting this sacred vocation. How often was I tempted to reply, not out of some false humility but rather gratitude, that I have become so much the richer as a priest than before - spiritually richer that is! And how I am edified and inspired too by the sacrifices made by married couples to each other and parents to their children. Living a sacrificial life is fulfilling on many levels and is ultimately what we are made for. So, do not hesitate to commit yourself to this depth of love. By giving yourself completely away, you find yourself and discover Eternal Life in the presence of our Divine Lord, the Good Shepherd, who “lays down his life for his sheep.”

Greatness, Humility and Authority

Thirty First Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

Today’s readings, especially the first and the gospel, are painful passages to read and meditate. Not for you but for me as a priest. Both readings contain a list of stinging indictments against corrupt religious leaders who should have known better but are guilty of dereliction of duty and misplaced priorities.

The priests of Malachi’s day doctored the message of God which they were entrusted to transmit to their people. They wanted to be more popular with the people than faithful to God’s Word. They catered to itching ears and told folks what they wanted to hear, not necessarily what they needed to hear. And since they had deceived publicly, they were rebuked publicly. And so, Malachi accuses the priestly class of his times with these offences:
They do not listen to God;
They do not glorify His name;
They have strayed from their way;
They have caused many to stumble by their teachings;
They have destroyed the covenant of Levi;
They have not kept to the path;
They have showed partiality in their administration.

For the above reasons God will send His curse upon them and curse their very blessing. To prove to the people the error of their teaching, God will bring on them a public disgrace - He will make them “contemptible and vile in the eyes of the whole people.” A fitting repayment for their infidelity.

The harshness of Malachi’s prophetic words is outmatched by the diatribe which our Lord heaps on the scribes and Pharisees, the religious leaders of His time. Our Lord’s rant against the Pharisees’ ostentatious dressing and certain cultural norms of honour could easily be applied to the Catholic Church and serve as the perfect foundation for any ad hominem anti-clerical attack on the Catholic hierarchy, or so many think. For aren’t Catholic clergy known for dressing up in flowing robes (or as Pope Francis is fond of saying, “grandmother’s lace”), having seats of honour in churches and even social functions? Aren’t our priests simply addressed as “Father”?

Although this is not meant as a general apologia for the Catholic hierarchy, it is good to understand what our Lord meant in His scathing attack of the scribes and the Pharisees and how any superficial application of the text to support our own prejudices, would be the greatest injustice done to our Lord’s teachings. It would be literally taking His words and twisting their meaning to suit our agenda.

It is clear that our Lord was attacking the hypocrisy and self-aggrandising attitude of the religious leaders of His time. He was not making a statement about fashion styles (broader phylacteries and longer tassels, or in today’s modern update “lacey albs”) nor was He attacking the cultural norms of giving places of honour to honoured guests. Let’s be honest, hypocrisy and self-aggrandisement are not a malady that is exclusive to clerics but can infect anyone. Whenever we make show of our status or our outward practices to win men’s admiration, we are as guilty as the Pharisees and scribes described in today’s gospel.

Likewise, when it comes to calling anyone “teacher” or “father,” our Lord’s admonition is against the false assumption of any kind of title or mark of respect for self-glorification, thus detracting from the primacy of God’s authority, in a very real way putting oneself in God’s place. Our Lord was not outlawing the title “father” in legitimate usage. He Himself referred to the prodigal son’s parent as a father and quoted the commandment “Honour your father and your mother.” And He did not correct those who called Him “Rabbi” or “Master.”

Likewise, St Paul was unaware of any prohibition of the spiritual use of the title "father," telling the Corinthians: “I became your father in Christ Jesus through the Gospel” (1 Corinthians 4:15), and speaking of his relationship with Timothy said that “as a child with a father he has served along with me in the cause of the Gospel.” (Philippians 2:22) The spiritual use of father was not questioned in the Church for centuries, and Jesus’ words were never invoked to cause question or concern about the practice. Early teachers and revered spiritual guides were known as Fathers of the Church. Even the Pope is known as “Holy Father.”

At the end of the day, if our criticisms are confined to attacks on dressing, cultural practices and titles, it would only expose our superficiality. We seem to be focusing on the externals and ignoring what is fundamentally interior to a person. Wouldn’t that be an apt description of one of the major sins of the Pharisees? Although we can judge the external behaviour of another, none of us can or are qualified, to judge their intent. Our Lord could do this because He is God. Let us not flatter ourselves by thinking that we are on par with Him and can therefore do the same.

Ultimately, the key is found in the last few lines of today’s passage. And so, our Lord exhorts us to follow this standard: “The greatest among you must be your servant. Anyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.” This is a standard not just meant for leaders, though they should take special heed of this, but for everyone.

It is one thing to see how a general application of our Lord’s criticism can apply to everyone, clergy, religious or laity. But as I had mentioned at the start, we priests must take heed of both Malachi’s warnings and that of our Lord’s since a greater responsibility is attached to those who are entrusted with the authority to teach and lead the people. Pope St Gregory’s words in one of his homilies remain relevant today, “We can speak only with a heavy heart of so few labourers for such a great harvest, for although there are many to hear the good news there are only a few to preach it. Look about you and see how full the world is of priests, yet in God’s harvest a labourer is rarely to be found; for although we have accepted the priestly office, we do not fulfil its demands.”

“Beloved brothers, consider what has been said: Pray the Lord of the harvest to send labourers into his harvest. Pray for us so that we may have the strength to work on your behalf, that our tongue may not grow weary of exhortation, and that after we have accepted the office of preaching, our silence may not condemn us before the just judge.” So, the next time you offer up a prayer, remember to pray for us unworthy priests, bishops and the Holy Father, the Pope.

The Voice of the Shepherd

Fourth Sunday of Easter Year A
Good Shepherd Sunday

Preparing a homily can be a real uphill task. Not because we lack inspiration or the words of scripture are dull and uninspiring. On the contrary, there is so much fodder in scriptures to build upon. The real challenge is our audience and their receptivity or lack of it: Do I tell them what they want to hear or do I tell them the truth?

Sadly, in our culture today, these two options are often mutually exclusive. The truth is hard to hear, so we prefer to hear what we like, even if it’s not what we need. Ours is an age that flourishes in compromise, steadfastness to the truth is hardly tolerated. Thus, the pastor is often faced with tension of either preaching the uncomfortable truth of God’s Word or watering it down to make it more agreeable to the listener. As it says in 2 Timothy 4:3, “The time is sure to come when people will not accept sound teaching, but their ears will be itching for anything new and they will collect themselves a whole series of teachers according to their own tastes.” Sadly, we are living in such times!

Here’s the paradox of preaching: If I were to tell the audience what they do not wish to hear, would I risk not having my voice recognised as the sheep recognises the voice of the shepherd? Or if I choose to pander to the crowd and tell them what they want to hear, am I not robbing them of their right to receive “sound teaching”? In this sense, would I not be more a “brigand”, a robber, than a shepherd?

On this Good Shepherd Sunday, I want to set out several uncomfortable topics which are listed by the readings as sine qua non to the preacher’s arsenal of homiletic themes. As much as these topics seem unpopular and triggering, they provide the necessary nutritious sustenance to our hungering flock. To provide them with anything less or innovatively different would either be to starve them of solid spiritual food or provide them with theological indigestion.

First on the list is everyone’s favourite - Sin! Now you may think that this is stating the obvious - isn’t sin one of the essential themes of religion? It is but the truth is that in recent times, most of us attempt to skirt the topic or try to soften it by using some wish-washy euphemistic substitute. We preach consoling, encouraging and invigorating sermons but avoid making mention of sin because we fear that this would make our audience uncomfortable. We have transformed our funerals into rituals of canonisation whilst ignoring the fact that one of the main reasons for a funeral is that the deceased sinner needs us to pray FOR him and not pray TO him. We hide sin under the cover of every psychological concept or newly minted syndrome, thus taking away all culpability and liability from the individual.

So many, including many shepherds, have forgotten this simple truth - if we ignore sin, salvation is meaningless. The good news of the Lord’s death and resurrection means nothing if we don’t have a clear picture of our desperate sinful condition. Christ came to save us from our sins, not just to inspire us and make us feel good. Many of us priests have forgotten that we are called to be shepherds of souls and not just motivational speakers or counsellors. St Peter in the first reading fully understood his role as a shepherd of souls - convicting his audience of their sins, calling them to repentance, and saw his mission as participating in Christ’s mission to save his audience from this “perverse generation.” In saving souls, he knew he had to risk losing his audience’s approval and even far worse, losing his own life, which he did.

The second topic is suffering and the cross. Now, most people are keenly aware of their own sufferings and that of others. This often leads either to resentment or despair. One of the most common manifestations of narcissism is playing the victim: “poor me!” We complain that we have received a raw deal despite our attempts in following Christ and obeying His commandments. The reason for our complaints is that we expect to be rewarded. Many Protestant pastors would, therefore, choose to offer a Christianity without the cross - what is pejoratively known as the “gospel of prosperity” - and sad to say, many Catholic preachers have likewise jumped on the same bandwagon. The popularity of the prosperity gospel is understandable. Who would not wish for an alleviation of one’s pains and sufferings? The gospel which preaches the cross as inevitable is naturally unpopular.

And yet, this is what we must do, as St Peter spells out in the second reading: “The merit, in the sight of God, is in bearing punishment patiently when you are punished after doing your duty. This, in fact, is what you were called to do, because Christ suffered for you and left an example for you to follow the way he took.” The truth is that we all suffer to a greater or lesser degree, whether we like or not. But how we suffer and what we do with that suffering makes all the difference. Suffering for a Christian is a priceless opportunity to draw close to the suffering Christ, to carry His cross and consciously share in His redemptive suffering.

Third, the Good Shepherd offers us objective truth instead of just one opinion or direction or path among many. Living in an increasingly globalised and multicultural society, there is a great temptation to just succumb to the heresy of relativism - that all truths - even those which seem to contradict each other - are equally valid. Ironically, the heresy of relativism has been established as a new form of orthodoxy, and anyone who disagrees with this position would be summarily cancelled, the modern version of excommunication. The gospel provides us, however, with an important but uncomfortable truth - in a marketplace of ideas, only the Good Shepherd, the true Shepherd, can offer us saving truth “so that they may have life and have it to the full.” Beware of false teachers who pander to our “itching ears” and give us what is according to our respective “tastes.”

Now if this is what we shepherds are called to do by virtue of our vocation as pastors, shepherds, what does your vocation entail? Being described as “sheep” doesn’t sound flattering. In fact, it often invokes an image of mindless clique behaviour, having to be sorted out, constantly losing our way, and having to be minded and controlled by others. Unlike the parables involving shepherds and sheep found in the Synoptic Gospels, St John provides us with a more nuanced and mature image of the sheep. His are the sheep which recognise the voice of the shepherd and knows how to distinguish between counterfeits and the real thing. His are sheep that are so tuned in to their shepherd that they will follow him, trusting him that he will bring them to no harm. His are the sheep who understand that they will enjoy true freedom only when they submit themselves to the authority of the Shepherd. And they do so knowing that only the Good Shepherd alone can offer them “life and have it to the full.” As your priests, we too are not exempt from being sheep within the fold of Jesus the Good Shepherd. As we pray for our shepherds in the church, the bishops and priests, that they will take after the heart of the Good Shepherd, let us also pray for ourselves that we will all have the confidence and faith to place our lives in the hands of the One who alone has assured us that we will be safe.

Be His faithful witnesses

Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord

It is significant that St Luke tells the story of the Ascension twice, and we have the benefit of hearing both accounts today – the account from the Acts of the Apostles in the first reading, and a second account in the Gospel. Each narration brings out a different aspect of the truth but the theme of witnessing seems to bind both Lucan accounts. For St Luke, the Ascension was a significant moment in the disciples’ personal transformation. It marked a critical turning point, the passing of the Lord’s message and mission to His disciples.

In the Acts account, just before He ascends, the Lord promises His Apostles, “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you, and then you will be my witnesses not only in Jerusalem but throughout Judaea and Samaria, and indeed to the ends of the earth.” Similarly in the Gospel, having reiterated the kerygma, the kernel of the Christian faith, that “Christ would suffer and on the third day rise from the dead,” the Lord gives them this commission: “In His name repentance for the forgiveness of sins would be preached to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses to this.” In other words, when Christ ascended, He left with the intention that the Church takes up where He left off.

The Acts version of the event also paints a rather comical scene. The disciples are standing there, first looking at the Lord ascending and then, they continue staring at the clouds. They are then shaken out of their stupor by the question posed by two men in white, presumably angels: “Why are you men from Galilee standing here looking into the sky?” The question could be paraphrased, “Do you not have something better to do than to stand here and gawk?”

Here lies one of the greatest challenges to Catholics – our inertia to engage in mission. We seem to be transfixed firmly in our churches but feel no need or urgency to reach out. We Catholics have been “indoctrinated” to attend mass every Sunday and on holy days of obligation. The Liturgy is supposed to be the “source and summit of the Christian life.” So, we should see it not just as an end but also as a starting point for mission. Yes, worship is our primary activity, as witnessed by the Apostles at the end of today’s Gospel. But what about mission? It is a false dichotomy to pit worship against mission. It’s never a hard choice between the two. Both worship and mission are part of the life of a Christian. They feed off each other.

The Ascension reminds us that the Church is an institution defined by mission. Today all institutions have a statement of mission; but to say the Church is defined by mission is to say something more. The Church is not an institution with a mission, but a mission with an institution. As Pope Francis is fond of reminding us - the church exists for mission. To be sent, is the church's raison d'être, so when it ceases to be sent, it ceases to be the Church. When the Church is removed from its mission, she ends up becoming a fortress or a museum. She keeps things safe and predictable and there is a need for this – we need to be protected from the dangers of the world and from sin. But if her role is merely “protective” she leaves many within her fold feeling stranded in a no man's land, between an institution that seems out of touch and a complex world they feel called to understand and influence.

On the other hand, the Church cannot only be defined by her mission alone, but also by her call to worship the One who has sent her on this mission. If this was not the case, she would be no better than a NGO. But the Church of the Ascension is simultaneously drawn upward in worship, and pushed outward in mission. These are not opposing movements and the Ascension forbids such a dichotomy. The Church does not have to choose whether it will be defined by the depth of its liturgy or prayer life, or its faithfulness and fervour in mission. Both acts flow from the single reality of the Ascension. Both have integrity only in that they are connected to one another.

At the end of every mass, the priest dismisses the faithful with one of these formulas, “Go forth, the Mass is ended!” “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord!” etc. Mission is at the core of each of these formulas. The Sacrifice of the Mass is directed and geared towards this purpose – the continuation of the mission of Christ. The Eucharistic Lord invites us, He commands us, to share in His mission, and to preach the Gospel everywhere.

If worship is the beginning of mission, then mission too must find its ultimate conclusion in worship – for the liturgy is the “source and summit of the Christian life” as taught by the Second Vatican Council. Worship must be at the heart and the soul of mission. This is beautifully depicted in the Novgorod School’s icon of the Ascension. The apostles are excited and ready to carry out the mission entrusted to them by the two angels at the scene of the Ascension. And yet, the Blessed Virgin Mother stands serenely in the middle of this icon, with her hands raised in the traditional gesture of prayer (orans). She seems to be the sturdy anchor that holds them rooted to the Ascension event, reminding them that their mission must always be anchored in Christ through prayer. So, the more authentically missionary a church becomes, the more profound will be its life of worship, since mission always ends in worship.

Those first Apostles took seriously our Lord’s command that they preach the Gospel to all nations, and the fact that we are Christians here today centuries later and thousands of miles away from the birth of Christianity, is positive proof of how seriously they heeded His command. From its very origins, then, the Church has had an outward missionary thrust. The work Christ began here on earth, He has now entrusted to us so that we may continue. If we have truly caught on to the message of the risen and ascended Christ, we should not just stand here looking up into the skies, waiting for an answer. We are called to get going and do the job our Lord has given us to do, never forgetting that we must remain connected to Him through our worship and prayer. With the help of the promised Holy Spirit, you will be His faithful witnesses “not only in Jerusalem but throughout Judaea and Samaria, and indeed to the ends of the earth.”

Leave me Lord! I am a sinful man

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Lord is my Shepherd

 Fourth Sunday of Easter Year B

On this fourth Sunday of Easter, which is also known as Good Shepherd Sunday and Vocation Sunday, we are invited to contemplate one of the most beautiful images of our Lord as the Good Shepherd. As earthy and endearing as the popular image that we have of our Lord cuddling a lamb in His arms, as a mother would hold her baby, this “I am statement,” is another instance of High Christology, which emphasises the divinity of our Lord, rather than accentuates His humanity by using a seemingly human metaphor. Already in the Old Testament, the figure of the shepherd was an image for God. The prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel spoke of God as the shepherd of the people of Israel. The people were referred to as the Lord’s flock. Most people, even non-Christians, are familiar with the particularly moving Psalm 23 which begins: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” And so it is significant that our Lord applies this image of a shepherd to Himself.

The gospel passage sets out three attributes of this Shepherd-God which is worth pondering.

The first is the sacrificial character of the Shepherd. This is a unique image because the sheep which He cares for is meant to be the sin-atoning sacrifice offered in the Temple and the lamb which would be slaughtered during the Preparation Day of the Passover. The lambs are supposed to “lay down” their lives for their human carers in atonement for their sins. But we see a spectacular reversal. Here it is the Shepherd “who lays down his life for his sheep.” The animal is not sacrificed to save the Master, but the master sacrifices Himself to save His sheep. The thought of this demands lasting contemplation - the wondrous exchange between the Shepherd and the Sheep, the ultimate sacrifice on the part of the Shepherd.

Yes our Lord is the “good shepherd who lays down His life for His sheep.” These words were confirmed during Christ’s passion. Our Lord laid down His life on the cross. He did so with love and He did so freely. In this Sunday’s Gospel, Our Lord says: “The Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me; I lay it down of my own free will, and as it is in my power to lay it down, so it is in my power to take it up again; and this is the command I have been given by my Father.” Our Lord offered Himself up on the cross to redeem humanity, to save every one of us, though none of us were deserving of His sacrifice. He did so willingly unlike the lamb-sacrifice which were killed against their will. But our Lord did it with love, in union with His Father’s love for us.

This begs the question: “why would a stranger do this for me?” This introduces the second attribute of our Shepherd-Lord. Though many of us either do not know Him or our knowledge of Him is too shallow, we are no strangers to Him. He tells us, “I am the good shepherd; I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” This is wonderful and consoling news. Our Lord knows each of us. He knows us by name. He knows our deepest thoughts and our hidden emotions. We are not faceless anonymous objects, not just part of a multitude or crowd. We are each individually known and loved. But it doesn’t just stop there. Our Lord not only says that He knows His sheep; He also says that His sheep know Him. The knowledge is mutual. Knowledge is the basis of any authentic relationship. The more we know Christ, the more we trust Him and love Him.

Finally, our Shepherd-God spells out His mission. Unlike the national and parochial gods of other nations who seem only concerned with their own subjects, our Lord seeks out others too and He will not rest until everyone is included in His flock. “And there are other sheep I have that are not of this fold, and these I have to lead as well. They too will listen to my voice, and there will be only one flock, and one shepherd.”

This attribute is a reminder that the Church’s primary mission is evangelisation, preaching the gospel of Christ so that all may be drawn to the “one flock” led by the “one shepherd.” Evangelisation, unlike what modern critics would claim, is not an act of triumphalism or religious colonialism. It is an act of charity and hospitality. As much as it is trendy to say that the Church’s mission is to get along with others, this is not what she is called to do. The Church does not have to go along with every current and trend just to get along. Her mission is to proclaim the gospel by whatever means necessary, so that all may come to recognise the one Lord, the one Spirit, the One God and the one Shepherd. Sometimes it takes the form of respectful dialogue. Sometimes we are called to bear witness by positively living out our Christian vocation. But other times, we must be ready to give witness to Christ and His gospel, even if this means that we have to “lay down” our lives like our Shepherd.

Our Lord provides a contrast to this image of the good Shepherd by using the parable of the hireling. “The hired man, since he is not the shepherd and the sheep do not belong to him, abandons the sheep and runs away as soon as he sees a wolf coming, and then the wolf attacks and scatters the sheep; this is because he is only a hired man and has no concern for the sheep.” Here we find the antithesis of the good Shepherd. Self-serving instead of self-giving, indifferent instead of taking the trouble to know each member of the flock and finally, calculative instead of going beyond the pale and one’s job description to search out others. When the description of the hireling is unpacked in this fashion, we immediately come to realise that many of us look more like the hired man, than a good Shepherd.

As we reflect this Sunday on Jesus, the Good Shepherd, it is also good to reflect on our call to imitate the Good Shepherd. It is said that we become what we behold. We naturally think first of bishops and priests who are configured to Christ, the Good Shepherd, by ordination. We are called to shepherd our people with the heart of Christ, to know our people, to lead them, to feed them, to love them, indeed to lay down our life for them. Sometimes we fail and that is why we need your prayers, although more often than not, we deserve your criticisms.

By virtue of Baptism, every Christian is called to be “a good shepherd” in the environment where he or she lives: in the family, at work, in the community. We can think of parents and their vocation to exercise the functions of the Good Shepherd with regard to their children; those who care for the sick and the suffering; leaders in the community; those engaged in the works of mercy and compassion. And there is the mission of evangelisation: sharing the Gospel with those who do not belong to the sheepfold of the Church.

But today is a day that we should be thankful that our Lord is the Good Shepherd. Saint John Paul II reminds us: “What a blessing it is to know Christ, the Good Shepherd, to know Him as the Redeemer who laid down His life for the sheep, to know Him as the Risen Lord, the source of everlasting joy and life. What a blessing it is to know the Good Shepherd and to believe in Him. This gift of faith is the greatest blessing we could ever receive in life.”

Shepherd and Warrior

Fourth Sunday of Easter Year C

Every year, this Sunday’s liturgy offers for our meditation a passage extracted from the lengthy Chapter 10 of the Fourth Gospel, where our Lord presents Himself as the “true shepherd.” The four verses which I just read this year are taken from the last part of the speech and helps us foster a deeper understanding of this beautiful biblical image. But do you pay attention to the portrait of the Good Shepherd that is painted here?

Firstly, it dispels a widely held myth about the Good Shepherd. Whenever we think of this, what does it remind us of? For most people, the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd may come from pictures in children’s books or in stained glass windows: Jesus as a benign shepherd in long flowing robes, surrounded by cuddly lambs and golden-haired children in a soft grassy field on a perfect day.  Perhaps, the image painted by St Luke in his parable of the lost sheep may have something to do with influencing this portrait (Luke 15:4-8).

But the image of the shepherd in St John’s gospel has nothing to do with this nice and pleasant picture. Our Lord is not presenting Himself as the one who lovingly caresses and coddles the wounded sheep like a doting mother whilst giving its ego a therapeutic massage. St John paints a picture of a seasoned battle-worn shepherd, strong, courageous, who fights off bandits and wild beasts like David (another shepherd-warrior-king). Here is one who is not afraid to risk everything and even lay down His life for the flock He loves. Here is one who stands in the face of danger, holds his ground and issues this warning, “no one can steal from the Father.”

We tend to overlook the fact that shepherds are also fighters. Shepherds must be prepared to kill to protect the sheep in their charge.  For of such is the “Good Shepherd.” The shepherd does not flee the scene at the slightest indication of danger or risk to himself. The shepherd does not sit down for a meal over roasted lamb with a bandit who has only one intent in mind – the stealing and killing of his charges. The shepherd does not hand over his flock to the wild beasts in order to appease them and to save his own skin. As “nice” as the image of a benign and friendly shepherd may be, he does not have his sheep’s best interest in mind. His job is to protect and guard them from their enemies. His job is not to invite the enemies in, to feast on his flock.

No, the life of a shepherd and his flock is one marked by danger and strife. In fact, all life is a struggle from start to finish.  At no time is life not in the conflict of struggle.  And the struggle to survive is a fraction of the total struggle in which life is engaged at all times and places.  The heart struggles to beat, the lungs to function, families to love, enterprises to exist. Man’s ineffable, ineluctable and interminable destiny in this world is conflict (war as Heraclitus puts it).  Someone once said, “Time is war.  Space is conflict.  Land is violence.”

And that is the reason why we speak of the Church as Church Militant, with Christ as our Warrior-King, Shepherd cum General. It is not our intention to be belligerent, that is to pick fights and to sow discord and violence. Rather, it is others who often pick fights with us, who sow discord in our midst and eventually intend our destruction. And so, our destiny has already been written by the perennial condition of a fallen humanity hostile to Christ and His mission. The Catechism of Trent, Article IX, puts it very succinctly: the Church “is called militant, because it wages eternal war with those implacable enemies, the world, the flesh and the devil.”

It is not un-Christian to fight, on the contrary, Christians are called to fight the good fight. But how can this spirit be compatible with the commandment to love? Everything a Christian does should be motivated by love, but this does not conflict with the spirit to strive and fight. Rather this spirit should be a fruit of love. Love presupposes sacrifice for the one who is loved. Without sacrifice, there is no true love – only sentimentalism. If a man loves his wife and children, he is ready to defend them. If he loves his country, he must be ready to fight against all attacks. Likewise, he too must defend his faith and his Church. True love is proven under such difficult circumstances. Love is ultimately determined when self-sacrifice is called for. Our Lord who sacrificed Himself on the cross is the greatest example of the militant spirit as the fruit of love.

But unfortunately, modern society, mistakes our fundamental convictions as intolerance and extremism which breeds violence. We live in a society that is more concerned with providing self-help therapies which affirm us in our error than it is with challenging us with the Truth in order to change. In fact, this is a generation which can’t handle the Truth. Living a lie is so much less threatening and comfortable. That is why the world tries to convince us not to enter into battle. “Do not waste your life fighting for abstract ideals, enjoy the pleasures life has to offer,” is its message. Yet the Catholic spirit should be the exact opposite – “Do not waste your life on the pleasures of this world, fight for ideals that are worth living and dying for.”

Sadly, the church is too often simply a mirror of the wider culture on this issue. This plays out in how church leaders sometimes compromise the most basic values and beliefs of the Church in order to appease the world. We want to make peace with the world, even at the risk of offending God. We insist on “listening” to the world and even conforming to the values of the world, forgetting that the primary duty of the Church is to teach prophetically. And so we end up dumbing things down in an attempt to be catchy or popular. We fail to realise that our kids can actually understand the big doctrines of the Christian faith, if they are given the opportunity and the forum to do so. But we often believe that they are too dumb to handle these things.

But the Church of the living is ultimately the Church Militant. This is what the Church is meant to be. Catholicism is meant to be active and not passive. It's where you are required to adapt to it, rather than it adapting to you. The longer you are in it, the more you realise its demands of you. The Catholic Church is not a mall or a spa. No, the Catholic Church is a gym, a battleship ready for war. Yes. The Catholic faith is difficult. It is demanding and it’s meant to be so. It is about mercy, but it is also about overcoming oneself.  We are challenged in a deep way, not just to “feel good about myself” but to become holy. 

In times of war and in the heat of battle, obedience is paramount. That is why the Lord tells us, “The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice.” This is what ultimately defines us – our obedience. He makes the judgment call, we merely carry it out. In the midst of a culture of mass information, relativism and individualism, in which there are so many competing voices, we must learn to listen to the only voice that matters, the voice of Christ the Good Shepherd. Failing to listen to His voice only ends in chaos and conflict within the ranks of the flock.

So who are the sheep of His flock? Are they those docile, pacifist creatures who only know how to pray, pay and obey? Hardly. His “sheep” are those who have the courage to follow Him and the humility to obey Him. His “sheep” are those who are prepared to fight in His army and die for Him. If our Shepherd King is a Warrior, we His sheep must be ready to wage the “eternal war with those implacable enemies, the world, the flesh and the devil.” Indeed, following His example, pious Catholic men and women throughout the centuries have brought tremendous acts of daring and bravery to the battlefields of life and steadfastly faced innumerable situations of danger and conflict. Nothing could be more Catholic than this.