The Light which enlightens

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Console my people

Second Sunday of Advent Year B

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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