A Call to Action

Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord Year A

It’s Ascension Thursday and we would expect to hear the account of the Ascension in the gospel. But this account is missing from St Matthew’s gospel which ends with our Lord summoning His disciples to an unnamed mountain in Galilee where He commissions them to “make disciples of all the nations; baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands” He had given them. Both content and location defer sharply from Luke’s account of the Ascension which takes place on the Mount of Olives, just outside Jerusalem. This seeming discrepancy has less to do with a contradiction or an error than it must possibly do with two different events. The Great Commission, as many would call the episode described in today’s passage, would have taken place on a hill (or borrowing scriptural language of embellishment, a “mountain”) in Galilee, whereas the Ascension as described in the gospel of St Luke and the Acts of the Apostles, took place outside Jerusalem on the Mount of Olives.

Scholars and theologians suggest several reasons why Matthew chose to end his gospel this way instead of referring to the Ascension as do St Luke and the longer ending of St Mark’s gospel.

Firstly, in Matthew’s Gospel, the evangelist begins with Jesus being called "Emmanuel" (God with us) and the gospel then ends with the Lord’s promise "I am with you always" which form a pair of literary bookends (an inclusio and conclusio), emphasising that the Lord remains spiritually present with His Church despite His physical departure. The Ascension marks the completion of the Lord’s earthly mission. He came to teach, to heal, to suffer, die and rise again. After His resurrection, His final act was to return to the Father. This signals that His saving work was done. Mission accomplished! Yes and no. Although His work of salvation is complete and He is no longer present with us physically until His return in glory at the end of the ages, He continues to remain with us sacramentally through the Eucharist and continues to act in and through His Church, His Mystical Body on earth - teaching us, guiding us, and sanctifying us.

A second reason for St Matthew’s omission of the account of the Ascension is that his gospel is primarily written for a Jewish audience and so Matthew emphasises Jesus as the prophesied and long-awaited Messiah and Davidic King. So, the titles of “Messiah,” “the Christ Anointed) of God” and “Son of David” are recurring leitmotifs in the storyline as a gradual revelation of His identity. The ending establishes His universal authority over all nations rather than focusing on the mechanics of His departure. We are invited to not only look upwards in the direction which He has ascended but to look around to the full expanse of His earthly domain where He has made us His stewards and emissaries with a specific duty of making disciples and Christians: “Go, therefore, make disciples of all the nations; baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands I gave you.” The Feast of the Ascension, therefore, speaks of two missions, the completion of our Lord’s earthly mission and ministry but now also the beginning of the Church, our own mission to spread the gospel to the ends of the earth.

In Eastern iconography, we witness this twofold dynamics. The icon of the Ascension is divided into three sections. In the upper part, we have the ascending or ascended Lord in all His divine glory and below we have the disciples with Mary in their midst. The apostles are shown below in various states of confusion, motion, and conversation, indicating their transition from spectators to missionaries, only Mary remains peacefully calm and poised in a position of prayer. But between these two obvious focal points, we have two angels. The gestures of their hands tell a grand story. The angels point toward Christ while also addressing the disciples, “Why are you men from Galilee standing here looking into the sky?” (Acts 1:11). This gesture acts as a call to action—directing the disciples to stop simply gawking and to start walking, to cease from gazing into an empty sky because the Lord has already departed and to begin the mission to spread His gospel to the ends of the earth as He had instructed.

So, the Ascension by no means concludes the story of salvation as how the curtain falls or the end credits to a movie marks its end. When the story ends, the audience departs in silence or whispers their reviews of what they had witnessed. Not so in the case of the Ascension. In fact, today reminds us that we have been swept into the storyline of our Lord, a story that does not end until He returns in glory. There’s work to be done. Hearts to be touched. Wounds to be bandaged. Souls to be saved. We are our Lord’s proxies. We are His ambassadors. We are His hands and His feet. When people see us, they should see the Risen Lord, despite all our foibles and limitations. We are what we claim to be - “Christians” - a little Christ. That is why even though He is ascended, He is not absent. In fact, His presence has become all the more pervading through us, the Church and the Sacraments.

Finally, today’s feast is not just about a recollection of the story of how the Lord ascended to heaven, which is a nice thing to know, nor that we have been entrusted with a mission, which is something challenging if we truly grasped it. Today’s feast also provides us with the ultimate reason for our hope. Through our Lord’s Ascension, we know for certain that the gates of heaven are opened and He awaits to welcome us to stand before His seat of glory, where He is seated at the right hand of the Father. But His exaltation is also “our exaltation” (collect for the Vigil Mass). As the Preface for the Feast tells us, His Ascension “is not to distance Himself from our lowly state but, that we, His members, might be confident of following where He, our Head and Founder, has gone before.”

Uppers and Downers

Second Sunday of Lent Year A

My good friend and I often used to take digs at each other, especially when our eccentric idiosyncrasies start showing up in public. In jest, we express great concern for each other and take turns asking, “Have you taken your pills today?” The imaginary pink pills are the uppers and the blue ones are the downers. It seems logical to take a pink one or perhaps a bottle for it, when you’re racing downhill into the dumps.

This must be the experience of the three disciples, Peter, James and John. Above all the foreshadowing of dark things predicted by the Lord Himself, above all the dark things that will soon follow, today’s mountain story rises above a brooding plain. It was a ‘pink pill’ experience. The Lord takes Peter, John and James up to a mountain and there, His glory shines through in some inscrutable way. The Greek word that describes this mystery is “metemorphothe”- the verb form of “metamorphosis,” the scientific word which describes the wondrous unfolding of a butterfly as she spreads her glorious wings upon emerging from the dark and colourless cocoon. And, as an icing on this picture-perfect moment, two Old Testament luminaries photobomb the scene and delightfully adds flavour to it.

For Peter, this experience, however you imagine it, is a wonderful “upper” coming just after the “downers” of the last day where the Lord had reiterated His prediction concerning His own passion and just before the abysmal pit of sorrow that awaits during Holy Week. It’s a glory moment and Peter, caught up in a spiritual high, says in effect, “Let’s just stay up on this nice mountain. Let us hold onto this wonderful postcard perfect moment.” Peter wanted to make the memory last. He wants to hang on to the moment by building a physical Monument or Museum, so that they can all stay up on the mountain and be happy forever after. Perhaps, by staying secure up on the mountain, Peter could prevent the Lord from carrying out His threat to be killed. Peter had failed once to convince the Lord to abandon His course of action. Now, a wiser Peter has learnt the art of subtlety. No point arguing. Just distract.

It’s hardly fair to make Peter a foil. His reaction is so natural. There are at least two things that you and I are wont to do with fond memories. One choice is Peter’s first reaction. Let’s just retreat into a memory. Let’s live there. It really is alluring to hunker down with the sweet memory and just settle in it. When the future veritably swarms with uncertainty, how wonderfully secure it is just to hide away in the past. The other choice is to take those fond memories, those glory moments, and find in them nourishment for an even more glorious future. Memory can be an escape, or memory can light the way when the present is unclear and the future is dark.

The Lord, therefore, challenges Peter and all of us to take the second option. This is the reason why He refuses Peter’s request to stay on the mountain. A sentence later, they are on the path back down into the real world. Just when Peter suggests that they pitch a tent and stay there forever, our Lord bursts his bubble and leads him back down the mountain. He invites them—and us—to journey with Him back into life’s valleys. But Peter's memory of that mountaintop was something he would carry with him throughout the week of confusion in Jerusalem. And I would guess that it gave him hope in that valley of the shadows. After the life-changing experience of beholding Christ's divinity, the apostles must come down from the mountain and return to their daily lives. They are surely changed, yet they must continue their “ordinary” work of following the Lord and spreading His Good News in the midst of setbacks, failures and confusion.

Placed here at the beginning of the season of Lent with a few good weeks to go, I guess the story of the Transfiguration is a good reminder to all of us that though the Lord can bring us up to the mountaintop to have a glimpse of God’s glory and a taste of heaven, and to experience His love so tangibly, we can’t stay up there. Life is lived in the low places, in the valleys, and sometimes what feels like bottomless pits. God has work for us to do. We should not forget about the mission of the cross that we are to pick up as servants of Christ. To gain our life we must lose it, to follow Christ is to take upon us the cross. To answer His call, to go and make disciples of all nations.

Yes, the gospel does not end with the Transfiguration. The ordinary continues, the habitual and the routine continues. Sometimes, life can feel like a chore. But do remember, when your life passes through some pain or loss, remember your Transfiguration moment. After having encountered God, just like the three disciples, our lives are never the same again. The revelation of God’s glory has forever widened the horizons of our lives and that is both wonderful and terrifying. Terrifying because it sometimes feels safer to go through life blinkered, as it gives you an excuse for not doing anything. Something is at risk; we risk facing possible hostility, ridicule, shame and uncomfortableness, but these are all part of the call.

And this is the mysterious nature of our faith. Faith is always drawing us onwards, drawing us further, and drawing us upwards. Just when we thought we knew the answers, we have to set those answers down and move on empty-handed. Just when the disciples thought they had reached the mountain of glory, they had to go down and start all over again - they did not ever grasp that they would have to lose all, to gain all. This is the God who calls us to let go again-and-again as we move forward in trust. Our faith, our experiences of God must be lived out, not only on the tops of mountains, but in the cold reality of the valley among people who are sceptics, people who are hostile and the spiritually ‘unwashed’.

Ultimately, the transfiguration is not just about reaching the tops of mountains. You see, it’s about the transfiguration of all of our lives and that includes the concealed rubbish too. This is not just a project for Lent but for the rest of our lives. Not only will Christ be revealed in glory on the mountain but He will also be revealed in glory in the loneliness, forsakenness and agony on a cross. And He will transfigure that cross too - from a sign of death into a sign of life and hope. Yes, He will be present at the top of mountains and also in the darkest valleys. And, wherever we are, we must “listen to Him”. For an encounter with the living Christ is no less profound as we go down the mountain and go about our day-to-day work.

Our Duty to Pray for the Dead

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

The first reading is taken from a book of the Old Testament that is missing from the Protestant Bible. Its omission is understandable as it shows how the people of the Old Testament prayed for the deceased, a practice which is considered futile and superstitious and thus rejected by the Protestants.

The two books of Maccabees speak of a time when the Jewish homeland was ruled by the Greeks who sought every means to destroy both the local culture and suppress the people’s religion. The desecration of the holy Temple of God was the last straw when the Greeks sought to turn it into a temple rededicated to their chief pagan deity, Zeus. The Jewish nationalists rose in revolt. It was not merely a nationalistic insurrection but first and foremost, a religious war. The Jewish rebels would invoke God’s assistance to defend them and to destroy their enemies. But here in chapter 12 of the second book of Maccabees, we see the Jews offering up a different form of prayer - this time not for blood of their enemies but for reconciliation of the dead.

Although Judas won this battle, many of his soldiers were killed. When their companions went to bury them, they found that each dead soldier was wearing pagan amulets under his tunic. In the minds of the Jews, it was clear why their compatriots died despite God’s protection. But instead of abandoning their souls to perdition, Judas took a collection up among his soldiers and sent an offering to Jerusalem so that sacrifices and prayers might be offered up for his men who had sinned and fallen. All is not lost even in death and when one dies a sinner. It is here that we read an important verse for us on this day, “For if (Judas) had not expected the fallen to rise again it would have been superfluous and foolish to pray for the dead, whereas if he had in view the splendid recompense reserved for those who make a pious end, the thought was holy and devout. This was why he had this atonement sacrifice offered for the dead, so that they might be released from their sin.”

Within this most positive assessment of Judas’ deed of offering prayers and sacrifices for the dead, we have the powerful justification for two important aspects of our Catholic faith - the dogma concerning purgatory and the efficacy of praying for the dead - both, unfortunately, seem to have grown out of fashion due to a subtle transformation of the Requiem or funeral Mass into a mere memorial service where the deceased are eulogised.

In our efforts to eulogise the dead, we have forgotten that funerals are meant for sinners and not perfected saints. We celebrate feast days for saints. But the truth is that we are all imperfect and most of us die imperfect, in spite of our efforts to be better. This is the reason for believing in Purgatory. Purgatory is not a midway point between heaven and hell. Purgatory is intended for those destined for heaven. Purgatory is where souls are prepared for heaven, it is where the work of God which had begun in their lives would be completed. It is the “processing centre” where exiles wandering lost in the valley of sin and death are prepared for their final homecoming to their eternal home in heaven.

Most people believe that heaven is guaranteed, it is a done deal once they’re baptised and if they live relatively good lives. For this reason, many choose to not go for confession, seeing no need for it. But we need healing from the results of our sins, even if these sins are forgiven in confession. The results of sin do not just go away because the sin is forgiven. For example, a man might leave his wife and family and move in with another woman. His wife might be near a nervous breakdown. His children in turmoil. If ten years later, he seeks forgiveness for his actions, he can be forgiven not just by God but also by his wife. But the results of his sins remain. The children grew up devastated. Their father was not there when they needed him. His wife is still suffering the traumatic results of the end of their marriage. The sin is forgiven, but the effects of the sin remains. Reparation is required, and we are not talking about the monetary kind.

During our lives we approach the Lord seeking the healing for the results of our sins. That is why the Church promotes the gaining of indulgences which supplements the necessary practice of frequent confession. Indulgences deal with the effects of sin, the temporal punishment due to us, while confession absolves us of the guilt and the eternal punishment due to sin. When our lives on earth have ended, we depend on the prayers of those still living here to continue to ask God to heal the results of sin in our lives. And so, we do a disservice to our dead by canonising them prematurely, by deciding that no matter what their lives may have been like, they must be in heaven right now. It is a disservice because the faithful departed need our prayers. They need us to offer the sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross for them–to have Masses said for them. They need us to pray the rosary asking Mary to speak to her Son for our loved ones. They need us to visit their graves, which are visible reminders of our duty to pray for them and that we continue to remain united to them in the Communion of Saints.

On this day when we commemorate all the faithful departed whom we had lost over the years, we do so not with broken hearts nor in hopeless despair. We live as a people of hope because we believe that humanity’s exile to this sin-scarred planet of crime, cruelty, injustice, and death will one day come to an end. Just as how our Lord commanded the dead son of the widow to rise up, it is our hope and prayer, that our Lord will command all the faithful departed who have died in His peace, to rise and have a share in His glory won for us on the cross.

The Books of Maccabees tell us that it is a good thing to pray for the dead. But it is more than just a recommended “good thing,” it is our duty! Our duty is to continue to pray for the dead, for the souls in Purgatory, and we do this, because this is what the Holy Spirit has taught us to do. It is a gift of God, to allow us to share in His work in bringing His people to perfection. God wills that we should share in this work through our prayers. And by praying for them, we are attesting to the truth, “life is changed, not ended” at death.

And so we pray this ancient prayer which our ancestors prayed, and we hope that our descendants would continue to do so for us:

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Turning One's Gaze toward God

Solemnity of All Saints

One of my favourite songs is often described as the epitome of British dark humour. Some of you may know it: “Always look on the bright side of life.” Seems like a good and encouraging piece of advice until you realised that it was sung by a person or persons dying by crucifixion (not Jesus but the movie’s eponymous protagonist, Brian, Jesus’ neighbour) and it comes in the closing scene of the Monty Python movie, with other crucifixion victims joining in the chorus as the credits roll. To declare that one should always look on the bright side of life even as one suffers the excruciatingly slow and painful execution of crucifixion is the height of irony. Is this what our Lord is suggesting in His teaching on the beatitudes? Should we be “happy” or pretend to be “happy” even when everything is going south? Is this the reason why we Christians declare that the Friday where our Lord was betrayed, tortured, humiliated and died, a “Good” Friday instead of a “bad” one?

Perhaps, there is always at least two ways of looking at a bad situation. An old ditty best sums this up: “Two men looked out from prison bars, one saw the mud, the other saw stars." This little ditty highlights that individuals in the same situation can have vastly different perspectives; one sees only the negative, while the other finds hope or the positive, demonstrating how perspective shapes one's experience and can lead to different choices.

Likewise, there are also two different ways of viewing the scenarios described by the Beatitudes. One may see them as misfortunes and even curses from God - poverty, weakness, hunger, grief, loss, persecution - who wouldn’t? But then our Lord invites us to view them as blessings and in fact a source of Christian joy. Which view seems more realistic? If we didn’t know Jesus any better, we would have chosen the former. When faced with difficulties, trials and tribulations, our first reaction would be a negative one, rather than a positive one - we would see mud, rather than stars. But the Beatitudes seek to challenge this world view.

So, how do we make the shift from seeing only mud to seeing stars, even in the most difficult and painful situations of life? The recently canonised Saint Carlo Acutis gives us the answer: “Sadness is turning one’s gaze inward; happiness is turning one’s gaze toward God. Conversion is nothing other than shifting one’s gaze from below to above. A simple movement of the eyes is enough.” The wise words of this young man shows us that the joy described by our Lord in the Beatitudes are not naive or false optimism; instead, they represent a deeper, authentic joy found not in worldly success but in humility, mercy, and aligning one's life with God's will. The Beatitudes overturn worldly standards of happiness, which often equate it with wealth, power, and success. True joy comes from recognising one's spiritual need and emptying the self to make room for God, rather than filling oneself with material possessions or self-sufficiency.

Our modern society is suffering from a pandemic of narcissism, of self-absorption, where we believe that everything revolves around us as the centre of the universe. So, every difficulty or challenge, every hurdle or obstacle we encounter in life, becomes another opportunity to moan our misfortune and decry our victimhood. The situations in the Beatitudes will definitely look like “mud”, like curses, if we are merely focusing on ourselves. Saint Acutis was correct to diagnose the cause of “sadness,” it’s “turning one’s gaze inward.”

Our Lord provides the antidote to this pandemic of narcissism through His Beatitudes. A saint is one who turns his gaze to God or as Carlo Acutis puts it, the secret to happiness is “shifting one’s gaze from below to above.” The saint is not an individual who is insulated from what the world sees as unhappy situations but is one who can shift his or her gaze from his present turmoil and sufferings to the joy of eternal life which God has promised to those who remain faithful and on course in following His Son.

In the first reading, we are given a vision of the host of saints arrayed in heaven. They are not those spared of persecution but rather those who have gone through it. In the gospel, our Lord is speaking to people who for the most part live in poverty, for whom hunger, starvation and death are daily realities. He looks at them and tells them that if they follow the way of the kingdom, they will be blessed. They will be assured of true happiness. If we love God and the things of God as we ought, even in this life, we will consider the suffering we experience in this life as insignificant in comparison to the joys for which we hope. And unless we learn to love God above all things, and all things for God’s sake, we shall never find true happiness. This is the message of the Beatitudes.

So, our Lord invites us who are called to be saints to always reach for the stars instead of grovelling in the mud of despair. To always look on the brighter side of life is not to ignore the issues and difficulties we have to face or attempt to pull the wool over our eyes and pretend these problems do not exist. But we need to remember that concentrating on the problem can make it appear larger and more consuming. Focusing on problems can lead to depression, despair and exhaustion. If problems are the sole focus, God can diminish in your vision, leading to a forgetfulness of His promises and power. Instead, we are called like all the saints to always shift our gaze from below to above, to focus on the Lord even if we are in the midst of pain and distress because as the Psalmist assures us, we “shall receive blessings from the Lord and reward from the God who saves him. Such are the men who seek him, seek the face of the God of Jacob.”

At the end of his homily on the occasion of the canonisation of two amazing men, young saints of our time, Pope Leo XIV said that the lives of “Saints Pier Giorgio Frassati and Carlo Acutis are an invitation to all of us, especially young people, not to waste our lives, but to direct them upward and make them a masterpiece. They encourage us with their words: "Not I, but God," said Carlo. And Pier Giorgio: "If you have God at the centre of all your actions, then you will reach the end." This is the simple but sure formula of their holiness. And it is also the testimony we are called to imitate to enjoy life to the fullest and go to meet the Lord at the feast in heaven.”

Are you saved?

Twenty First Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Our Lord gives us a frightening parable of judgment in answer to the question: “Sir, will there be only a few saved?” You may think that this question is ludicrous, that it’s making a mountain out of a molehill. You may even volunteer to beat Jesus in giving the answer to this man: “of course not! Don’t you know that everyone’s going to be saved?” Although official Catholic teaching and Protestant understanding of salvation shares many points in common, this is where they defer – at least in popular imagination. Many Catholics believe that everyone is going to heaven while Protestants think that almost everyone, unless you are a true Christian believer, is going to hell.

When Protestants ask Catholics if they have been saved, the question would most likely be met with a stunned look on the part of the Catholic or an admission that he has never thought about this before. This comes as good news to the Protestant as he can now confidently proselytise the Catholic and ensure that the latter is saved by becoming a Bible believing, faith professing Protestant Christian. For many Protestants, one becomes a Christian by merely making a confession of faith in Jesus as Saviour and Lord. Baptism comes later but isn’t necessary for our salvation. I guess the reason why most Catholics are not prepared with an answer to that question is that salvation or rather, heaven, is something they often take for granted. Why worry about this moot issue when we can all get to heaven?

Perhaps, this common Catholic misunderstanding of universal salvation can be far more dangerous than the Protestant heretical position of being saved once and for all by grace alone. When you believe that salvation is guaranteed whether you’ve lived a good life or not in conformity to Christ’s teachings and God’s will, it is called the sin of presumption, which is a sin against hope. On presumption, the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches: “There are two kinds of presumption. Either man presumes upon his own capacities, (hoping to be able to save himself without help from on high), or he presumes upon God’s almighty power or his mercy (hoping to obtain his forgiveness without conversion and glory without merit).” (CCC 2092) When people are presumptuous, they are living in denial of the truth. And because they are living in denial, they will not repent of his or her own sin.

I have often tried to explain the Catholic position on salvation to both Catholics and non-Catholics by using this analogy of being shipwrecked in the middle of an ocean. We’re like the survivors of a shipwreck in a storm out in mid-ocean. Just imagine being in this situation. The nearest shoreline is just too far for even the strongest swimmer. You won’t be able to save yourself. The only way that we can get out of this situation is that we are saved. And the good news is that we have been rescued from drowning by the Lord Jesus Himself, our Saviour, and welcomed onboard the ship we call the Church. That ship is now taking us to a safe harbour — our home in heaven with God. For Protestants, being saved is the end of the story and they don’t even believe you need a boat for this. But for Catholics, baptism, being rescued into the ship is just the first step. But we’re not home yet.

You could say, then, that we’ve been “saved” in the sense of being rescued and taken aboard a safe vessel. But we can’t really speak of being “saved” in the full sense until we reach our destination. We must humbly admit that we haven’t yet arrived at final perfection. Meanwhile, we also must recognise the sobering possibility that — God forbid — we could choose someday to jump overboard again. Salvation isn’t guaranteed just because of something we’ve done in the past. We continue to have a free will, which is part of God’s likeness in us. So we still have the ability to turn away from God again. It’s a chilling possibility. But it shouldn’t make us perpetually worried that we’ll be damned despite our best efforts to grow in grace. We can be confident that God desires our salvation, and He’s faithful to help us. And He does so by providing us with the Sacraments. If we’re tempted to forsake Him, He’ll grant us the power to resist that temptation. He will even send a lifeboat to rescue us again through the sacrament of penance. Even so, the choice is still ours.

If we can’t be certain as to the final statistics on the population of heaven and hell, there are some things we can know with certainty because our Lord has revealed this to us, leaving no room for speculation.

Firstly, Hell is real and it is everlasting. We may not hear much about hell these days and we may not even like to, but silence on the subject does not make the reality of Hell go away. Infact the denial of hell leads ultimately to the trivialising of heaven. But a healthy understanding of the pains and horrors of hell, will lead us to an authentic appreciation of the joys of heaven.

Secondly, life is a series of choices. We can either choose to take a) the difficult path that leads to the narrow gate and life, and b) the broad path which leads to the wide gate and destruction. The narrow path is the way of the Cross which our Lord undertook, and we must follow in our respective way. The second reading from Hebrews reminds us that the suffering we endure is not the result of a cruel sadistic God but because “suffering is part of your training; God is treating you as his sons.” It is a popular error of our time to believe that it does not matter which road one takes. Some believe that all roads are like spokes on a wheel, all leading to the same place—Heaven. In fact, we make choices every day that draw us closer to God or lead us farther away from Him. That’s why simply believing in Jesus isn’t enough. Friendship with God, like friendship of any kind, is more than just getting acquainted. It involves making a series of choices to love over the long term, so that a committed relationship grows. Faith is useless then, without good works. God must have our active cooperation, because both our mind and our will — the full likeness of God — must be renewed if we’re to be saved in the end.

Thirdly, there is an urgency to making the right decision. Time is of the essence. No time for procrastination or putting off what must be done today. Our Lord speaks of the time when the householder will arise, shut and lock the door. That corridor of opportunity will not always be opened and if mistaken that it is always open may lead to our destruction.

Finally, we must make our own salvation and the salvation of all those around us, our top priority in this life. As the old Catholic adage reminds us: “the salvation of souls is the supreme law!” Nothing else ranks anywhere close in importance—not health, wealth, career, popularity, possessions or acclaim by others. Know what you must do to be saved and work out that salvation in fear and trembling.

Today, let us not be guilty of the sin of presumption that Heaven is guaranteed no matter how or which way we live our lives. Truly, our Lord Jesus is the Divine Mercy. Truly, He wishes and desires for all of us to be saved. But more urgently, He wants us to understand that there can be no other way to salvation other than passing through the Narrow Door. He is that Narrow Doorway to Heaven. It is the Gospel of Christ, paid by His own blood on the cross. It is demanding. It demands that we make the ultimate sacrifice by turning our backs on all the false gods that have become the defining elements in our lives. It demands repentance on our part.

I can see clearly now

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Gold Standard of Hospitality

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Heaven in popular imagination invokes a brightly lit realm above the clouds, a realm devoid of walls, private spaces or homes, where the heavenly denizens are free to roam and wander at will with no one complaining about another invading their private space. But our Lord’s own description seems far from this: “In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” (John 14:2) At one level, the Jews who first heard these words would have thought immediately of the Temple. If God was indeed Jesus’ father, the Temple which is God’s House (literally this is what the Hebrew word “Bethel” meant) is the “Father’s house” which our Lord is referring to in this text. The Temple of Jerusalem was indeed made up of several rooms or spaces and the closer you get to the inner sanctum of the Temple, the more groups of people would be excluded. For all purposes, it was not a very welcoming or hospitable house.

So, our Lord’s reference to the “Father’s house” which He was returning to, the house with “many rooms”, the house where He was preparing a place to welcome us, could not possibly be referring to this building. In the year 70 AD, after the siege of Jerusalem, the Temple would be destroyed by the Romans, the Jews would be dispersed to the far corners of the empire, and they would be a homeless and stateless nation as once their ancestors were in Egypt and later in Babylon. For our Lord, the true home which He was preparing, would not just be a place to visit, but one to stay. It would be a “dwelling place.”

This is at the heart of God’s hospitality that we encounter in today’s set of readings. The first reading and the gospel provides us with two stellar examples of hospitality - Abraham and Martha. But there is a twist to the ending of both tales demonstrating that as much as we wish to offer hospitality to others and to God, it is we who are the real beneficiaries of hospitality, especially of God’s.

The first reading is not just a story of Abraham’s hospitality offered to his visitors, but more importantly, it is the hospitality offered by the three visitors, which Christians would later identify as the Most Holy Trinity, to Abraham. Our attention is usually focused on the acts of hospitality which Abraham shows to his guests, but are we correct in doing so? The ending of the story which tells us how the three guests would bless Abraham and his seemingly barren wife, both in their old age, with a child, should be the key that unlocks the secret of this tale.

When Abraham gives his guests water, who really gives the water of life? When Abraham refreshes them by washing their feet, who really makes who clean? And when Abraham offers them bread, who really gives the bread of life? If you can figure out this riddle, you are one step closer to enlightenment. I’ll give you a clue… it isn’t Abraham who is the giver of all gifts. This isn’t a story about ordinary hospitality. And neither is the Gospel reading too. It wasn’t Abraham who was really being hospitable. It was God, God giving Abraham the bread of life and the water of life and the washing of salvation.

We turn our attention to the gospel. In wanting to show hospitality to the Lord, Martha expresses hostility towards her own sister whom she believes is unsympathetic to her hard work in the kitchen. For Martha, the “better part" of hospitality is to make her guest feel welcomed, accepted, and loved. Many of us would agree with her.

But our Lord by pointing to the action of Mary shows us that the “better part” is to sit at His feet and listen to His life-giving Word. The best hospitality we can give to the Lord is to listen to Him, which is another way of saying, to accept His hospitality.

Throughout scriptures, it is God who offers hospitality to us. The two bookends of the Bible speak of God’s hospitality - Eden and the Heavenly Jerusalem, both representative of God’s desire to dwell with us and among us. Everything that comes in-between shows God’s unwavering attempt to draw estranged fallen humanity home - whether it be through the establishment of a family of nations under the patriarchs, the call of the prophets to return to the covenants and finally the sending of His only begotten Son to save mankind.

Rather than assume that we can do something exceedingly great for God like Martha, we should imitate Mary in her docility in humbly accepting the gift of hospitality from Jesus, which is salvation. Our place is at His feet in humble adoration and submission. And unless, we recognise that our place is at His feet instead of arrogantly barking orders to others or even to God in order to get our way, our feeble attempts at hospitality would only result in more hostility. The best thing we can do for God, to please Him, is to accept His hospitality without any conditions. The astounding paradoxical truth is this: we don’t serve God. God serves us. We don’t need to feed God. God feeds us. We don’t need to provide for God. God provides for us. We don’t need to protect God. God heals and holds us in our brokenness. We don’t need to sacrifice to God. God has already sacrificed Himself for us.

Both of these apparently simple but exceedingly profound biblical stories offer a guiding word to Christians who yearn and thirst for hospitality, as we struggle to offer the warmth of hospitality to others. At this and every Eucharist, God invites us to the altar of His perfect sacrifice, to the meal which is a foretaste of the heavenly banquet, to have a seat at the table and share in the fellowship of the Most Holy Trinity. It is here where we will be fed, we will be refreshed, and where we are saved. As we nervously approach the altar, fully aware of our unworthiness, we hear the Lord who beckons to us, as how He had gently spoken to Abraham, Mary and Martha: “Come… sit down… and taste. Fret no longer in what you can do but pay attention to what I can do for you. With me you will learn love. With me you will discover life. With me you will find a most welcoming eternal home.” If we have received such astounding hospitality at the hands of God, it should not be difficult for us to share a fraction of that with others. Remember: “You received without charge, give without charge.”

Faith, Hope and Love

Fifth Sunday of Easter Year C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope will not disappoint

Second Sunday of Lent Year C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Food that endures for eternity

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Since last week, our lectionary seems to have taken a detour, a necessary one, away from the Gospel of St Mark. For the next few weeks, we will be treated to the Bread of Life Discourse found in Chapter 6 of John’s Gospel which follows John’s account of the miracle of multiplication of loaves and feeding of the multitude. If the account of the Last Supper in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke provide us with the “when” was the sacrament of the Eucharist instituted, John Chapter 6 provides us with the answer to “what” and “why” was it instituted. But all three synoptic gospels also provide us with a similar clue as to “what” was instituted when they all recorded our Lord as saying: “this is my Body” and “this is my Blood.” Of course, it can be argued and has been argued by the Protestants that our Lord was speaking metaphorically. But to dispel all doubts about what our Lord meant by these words, we have to turn to John’s gospel and to this chapter in particular.

The discourse begins with a parallel made between the manna which God gave to Moses and the Israelites in the desert and what our Lord had just done when He miraculously multiplied the loaves of bread and fish to feed the multitude. But that is not the only parallel. In fact, the underlying parallel which the people were seeking was to determine if our Lord was the new Moses.

Last week’s gospel concluded by telling us that the Lord literally had to run away from the crowds before they could make Him their king. And our gospel today begins by telling us that the people were looking for the Lord to see if He was the earthly messiah they were waiting for who would be a king and lead them; for they believed that when the messiah would come, he would act like a New Moses who would feed and save them from their oppressors as Moses did. But when they found the Lord, He immediately dispelled their expectations, “I tell you most solemnly, you are not looking for me because you have seen the signs but because you had all the bread you wanted to eat.” If we were part of the crowd, these words would have stung us to the core. It is true that we are often ruled by our stomach and other baser instincts than we are of spiritual values. Case in point – if you want a good turnout at a church event, make sure you provide good food – preferably free!

Our Lord, continues to clarify His true mission and what He can really offer them: “Do not work for food that cannot last, but work for food that endures to eternal life, the kind of food the Son of Man is offering you, for on him the Father, God himself, has set his seal.” Our Lord is telling them that they shouldn’t seek Him out just because they want more earthly food, or an earthly king and leader, but they should actually come looking for Him because He can give them food that endures to eternal life; which only He alone can give.

Not satisfied, His audience, just like the Israelites of old, asks our Lord for another sign, they want Him to work another miracle to show and prove that He is the Messiah in order for them to believe, apparently the multiplication of the loaves wasn’t enough and they were simply not listening to what He had just said! The benchmark for this sign which they demanded must be one that can rival the miracle of manna from heaven which Moses had performed. For them, there has been no greater miracle in Israel’s collective history than the mysterious bread which seemed to have dropped miraculously from the heavens and saved them from extinction by starvation. And in their limited reasoning, they saw Moses as the hero behind this miracle.

Our Lord then makes a correction and provides this reality check - Moses isn’t the real catalyst of this miracle but God. Our Lord clarifies: “it is my Father who gives you the bread from heaven, the true bread; for the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” It seems this time, our Lord’s words hit home, and His audience consumed it lock stock and barrel. They immediately request that He gives them this bread always.

But nothing prepared them for what is to follow. They were not ready for our Lord’s next explanation. “I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never be hungry; he who believes in me will never thirst.” It is clear that He was not going to repeat the miracle of manna but rather offering Himself as the solution. This is the first time that our Lord introduces Himself as “the bread of life” but it would not be His last time. It would serve as a refrain throughout the discourse in Chapter 6 and we will get to hear it again for the next couple of weeks.

So, in contrast to the story of Moses and the manna in the first reading, we have in the gospel something far greater and more superior. It must be noted that God did not just provide bread as food for the Israelites in their sojourn in the desert. He also gave them meat, in the form of the flesh of quails. The manna appeared in the morning and the quails in the evening. Now, let us look at what our Lord did, not just in the miracle of multiplication but also at the Last Supper when He instituted the Eucharist. Our Lord uses the understanding of the Manna to teach that God wants to give us in the Eucharist, the new Manna, the true bread from Heaven, which will give life to the world. For it is not just a coincidence that the miraculous food God regularly gave the Israelites in the desert was flesh and bread. In the Eucharist, though it has the appearance of bread, it is truly the body and blood, the living flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ.

And like the Manna, the Eucharist will not be ordinary bread, or bread that they would recognise, but unlike the manna it will not be temporary, only last for a time, but the Eucharist, the new bread of life, will endure to eternal life. And so, the people ask our Lord to “give them this bread always”. And our Lord answers them, “I am the bread of life”. Jesus is declaring to all the world, “I am the new Manna, I am the bread that will be given for the life the world.”

And so, my brothers and sisters, even though the Eucharist looks like ordinary bread, it is not. And although some might think our Lord was only speaking metaphorically, He wasn’t. It is clear that the Manna, just as the Eucharist, was not a metaphor, or a figure of speech. For the Israelites testified that the Manna was not a metaphor, but it was real food that was eaten and which sustained them until they reached the Promised Land. For us, the Eucharist too is real food, but in a so much more astounding way. The Eucharist is the Body of Christ and it will continue to sustain us spiritually in this earthly exile of ours until we reach our heavenly homeland. So let us take the Lord at His word, let us believe by faith that Jesus is as He says He is, the bread of life which will give eternal life to the world, and that anyone who comes to Him and believes in Him will no longer hunger or thirst for any other paltry substitute.

Fidelity not popularity

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

There is much talk these days about the spirit of Synodality, that the Synodal way is the way the Church must progress and move forward. One could simply describe it as the culture and attitude of different members of the Body of Christ walking together and attentively and effectively listening to each other. Most people would agree that it is a good thing to have more listening, to have ears closer to the ground, to the real issues and struggles of the people, to be able to empathise with the challenges and problems people are facing.

But there is also much disagreement as to what Synodality in practice entails. There is much misunderstanding as to what is the end game. Someone cynically gave this mischievous definition: “journeying together without a destination.” The concept begs the following questions: Is it a Parliament where people get to vote on critical issues including norms of morality and doctrine? Would sensus fidelium be reduced to public opinion where the position of the majority will rule the day? Is it all about brainstorming ideas and sentiments and then try to merge and synthesise these positions, even opposing ones, into a single all-inclusive corporate mission statement?

The answer to every one of these questions must be a clear and definite “no”! Synodality can never mean a popularity contest, neither can it entail blurring the lines between good and evil, truth and falsehood. The Church does not and cannot march along with the drumbeat of the world. We simply cannot subvert the Church and her scripture and tradition-based teachings, in order to please the world.

Certainly, we cannot ignore the world, and that’s why it’s a mistake to entrench ourselves in the past and enter into a time sealed cocoon, insulated from what is happening around us. However, we must never forget that we are in the world, but we are not of the world. This is what the readings today wish to emphasise. To be prophetic is not just being a contrarian, objecting to every mainstream opinion or dissenting with the establishment. To be truly prophetic means learning to live in the world while not being of the world. It is a call to be faithful to God’s Word while learning to communicate that Word to a world that lacks a vocabulary to understand. It is having our feet firmly planted on the ground but with our eyes constantly gazing heavenward. It is an amphibious existence.

In the first reading, we have the call of the prophet Ezekiel. This serves as a prelude to the gospel where our Lord Jesus likens the people’s reception of Him as how their ancestors treated the prophet. From the very beginning, God is laying out the difficult task and mission of the prophet. A prophet is not simply someone who foretells the future. The task of a prophet is to tell people how God sees things, for the prophet sees things as God sees them. This directness of vision is not always popular, for we don’t always like being told home truths about ourselves. The truth about ourselves is often unwelcomed, particularly when it involves criticism and demands change. But the ministry of the prophet is not dependent on the people’s reception or lack of it but rather on the call to be faithful to the mission which has been entrusted to him by God. As God tells Ezekiel: “Whether they listen or not, this set of rebels shall know there is a prophet among them.”

Our Lord in the gospel also reminds us that we should not expect a warm welcome from those who seem closest to us, especially when we choose to stand by the side of truth rather than along party or sectarian lines. As He so rightly pointed out: “A prophet is only despised in his own country, among his own relations and in his own house.”

As much as we often measure the success of our efforts by the extent of their approval, this should never be our yardstick. When it comes to our Christian witnessing, fidelity and not popularity should be the benchmark. In fact, the more faithful we are to the cause of Christ and His message, the more opposition, ridicule and even persecution would we receive at the hands of our audience. This seems counterintuitive. We would be so much more motivated when we receive positive appraisal from others. But here’s the secret which St Paul shares with us in the second reading - God assures us: “My grace is enough for you: my power is at its best in weakness.” It is for this reason that we can make our weaknesses our special boast and be content with all kinds of hardship because as St Paul rightly puts it: “For it is when I am weak that I am strong.”

Yes, we are called to a Synodal way in which we recognise that we are fellow companions on a journey. But it is a Synodal way that has a direction rather than listless wandering and an ever-changing goal post depending on the latest fads and mainstream opinions. Our direction is that whatever we do or say, our goal is to get to heaven and not settle for some transient earthly utopia that promises big things but delivers little.

We must be committed to a Synodal way that is not dictated by the complaints and erroneous ideas or sinful preferences of the unfaithful, but rather, a call to listen to and follow the Only One who matters, our Lord Jesus, no matter how unpopular His teachings may be. Synodality is a call to deeper fidelity and not a substitute for it. We must do what is pleasing to the Lord rather than seek external validation from our peers and contemporaries.

Yes, being Synodal means change, but not in the way of changing the gospel or the teachings of the Church to suit our every whim and fancy but rather to humbly acknowledge our sinfulness and undergo repentance and conversion that will lead us to a deeper and more challenging commitment to follow Christ. We must remember that our goal is not to sneak into heaven by the skin of our teeth, but to be transformed in Christ, even on earth. Yes, we must be transformed in Christ – and not into another rival of Christ. This is the ideal.

Finally, it is good to be guided by the wise words of St Ignatius of Antioch: “Our task is not one of producing persuasive propaganda; Christianity shows its greatness when it is hated by the world.”

My Precious!

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

A lot of parishioners often walk up to me and tell me that they really pity me. They think that I have lost a great deal and given up so much for the priesthood - a family, a career, comfort and money and all these must have come at a terrible loss to me. I don’t really know how to tell them that I haven’t really given up that much. In fact, I don’t feel the loss at all. It would be so, if these things were really considered valuable to me, but they no longer do. In fact, for me the priesthood is a GAIN, not a LOSS!

It is ironic that the pitiable character of the creature known as Gollum in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings should provide us a lesson of valuing something. Upon the discovery of the One Ring which rules the rings of power, this creature descends into a world of darkness, forsaking friend and kin, enduring banishment and torture, risking death and even the damnation of his soul, and goes through great lengths to recover the one thing which he describes as his “Precious.” What he was willing to endure shows how much he truly values this object.

The parables today raise a similar question: what do we value most in life? How would we really know if something or someone is valuable to us? The real litmus test is not how loud or persistent we say that something is of value to us but what are we prepared to sacrifice for it.

The parables set out this basic principle to determine the value of a thing desired: what are we willing to sacrifice? What is the cost that we are willing to pay? Both tales indicate that the kingdom is of such inestimable value that those who understand this truth will do whatever it takes to possess it.

In the first parable, the man finds a treasure in a field; in the second, the man seeks the valuable pearl. Both parables make a similar point about the Kingdom of heaven – this is the greatest treasure. Receiving it brings joy to the finder, but also calls for the valuing of this treasure above all others. The order is the same in both parables - joy over receiving the Gospel, and then the willingness to sell all their possessions. Their sacrifice was not out of obligation or done grudgingly, but one made out of joy! Our joy in the Lord and our estimation of His incomparable value in our lives produce the willingness to give everything we have to God--our talents, time, and resources. This joy in finding the greatest treasure, Jesus, results in a radical life change, the kind of change that causes us to reorientate our lives, reevaluate our priorities and render all previous attachments dispensable and disposable.

The two parables though conveying a similar message, express two different experiences - two ways where the protagonist comes upon their treasures. In the first parable, the hidden treasure is found by chance, it seems, without the man intentionally looking for it. In the surprise of it all, the accent falls on his shocking and happy response: from his joy he goes and sells all he has, to buy the field. Joy flooded his heart as he stumbled on such value.

In the second parable, the merchant is looking. He is searching high and low, near and far. Being a merchant and connoisseur of pearls, he knows their value. And this merchant is not just seeking pearls but “fine pearls” — beautiful pearls, precious pearls. His palate is refined. He has a keen eye. The merchant’s life has been bound up with pursuing the most precious of earthly objects. Now, he comes across one singular pearl of such beauty, of such great value, one pearl so precious, he goes and sells all he has just to have it. The emphasis is not on his accidental find but on the over-the-top fulfillment of an intentional search.

Together the short parables contribute to one picture, seen in the obvious repetition: the man sells all he has to obtain the newfound treasure. However accidental or intentional the search, the man has come upon something of such value that he is eager (“from his joy”) to count all else loss in view of the surpassing value of the treasure — of the exceeding preciousness of the treasure and pearl.

The apostle St Paul expresses the very same thing in his letter to the Philippians 3:7-8, “Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” St Paul suffers the loss of all things that he may gain Christ. Both the Gospel and Paul’s words express the very same reality and truth: if you profess that something is most precious to you, no cost is too big or price too high or sacrifice too great, in order for you to attain it or keep it. The treasure far outstrips the cost that we gladly say, “gain!” This is why the whole army of martyrs and saints can declare with St Paul, “For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.”

One last caveat must be made about the message of these parables. The point here is not that you buy the kingdom or barter for the kingdom or negotiate for the kingdom. The kingdom of God is received without pay, like a poor child, not a rich businessman. It is given to the undeserving, to those who have not earned it or will ever be able to pay for it. So the point here is that you can never buy it. You get it freely because you want it more than you want anything else. In other words, there is a condition for having the kingdom—for having the King on your side and as your friend—but the condition is not wealth or power or intelligence or eminence. The condition is that you prize the Kingdom more than you prize anything else. The point of selling everything in this parable is simply to show where your heart is.

So, the point of these two parables is that the Kingdom of God is so valuable that losing everything on earth, but getting the Kingdom, is a happy trade-off. Losing everything is no real loss, because the Kingdom is by far the greatest gain. The loss of all things is not sad if we gain Christ. Do you truly value Him in your heart? If so, what are you prepared to sacrifice and endure for Him? Remember this: finding our Lord as your one Precious, will not poison and shrink your soul, unlike what the Ring did to Gollum. Rather, Christ is the antidote to what ails us, the catalyst to expand our small hearts, the surprising remedy we’ve long been seeking. In casting off all other attachments in our lives we will not be impoverished. Rather, we will be immensely and undeniably enriched. “Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”

The Truth isn't Nice

Twenty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Many Christians, including Catholics (perhaps more so), actually believe that they are pretty good Christians and are guaranteed a place in heaven, since they are baptised (or as Catholics are fond of proudly but inaccurately stating: “born Catholic”). But the painful truth is that their version of the faith is very often one which is undemanding, customised according to their personal preferences, the dumb-down, no frills, bare minimum light version of the original.

The core teaching of this soft version of Christianity or Catholicism is the gospel of nice or ‘Moralistic Therapeutic Deism’, as one author coins it. Instead of a suffering Christ on the cross, the jovial image of Santa Claus or even a cuddly Care Bear has taken over as potent symbols of this new religion. The gospel of niceness has seeped into our own Christian culture and it has become indiscernible from the real thing. We are often too nice to say no, to question others’ opinions, to critique others’ decisions or to point out the obvious. We let people get away with stuff that is blatantly incorrect or wrong-headed, immoral or illegal, or sinful – we make excuses by being nice about it. We complain when canon law or liturgical rubrics are cited or implemented. In such a religious system, the following words and concepts are taboo and have been expunged from our vocabulary – sin, moral evil, and of course, “hell!” A God who is the personification of niceness will never tolerate hell! Never!

Here are some core beliefs of this new politically correct religion:

1. God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other.

2. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.

3. God is not involved in my life except when I need God to resolve a problem.

4. Since no one is really bad, and sin doesn’t really exist, everyone gets to go to heaven.

So, does hell exist? In the Gospel today someone asked the Lord, “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” This is a topic most Catholics are concerned about as well. It is a difficult subject to think about and we would rather not think about it if we can. Many Catholics believe everyone will go to heaven, and that there isn’t such a thing as hell. They believe that God is loving, forgiving, merciful and would never send anyone to hell. This view, however, is simply a personal opinion! It is not based on the catechism or the scriptures, which is most evident in today’s Gospel. In fact, this belief is called the sin of presumption.

Our Lord avoided a simple straightforward answer. And this wasn’t because He felt uncomfortable with the topic as modern people would. Instead, He began to lay out the high demands of discipleship, which is a way of stating that we should never take salvation for granted. He answered the question by saying that we should strive to enter through the narrow gate and adds this sobering but significant footnote, “many will try to enter and will not succeed.” The reason for this would be that many would prefer the easier and more convenient path. As Yogi bear would often exclaim, “why do more when you can do less?”

But our Lord lays out for us a choice between two paths in life. The first is the difficult path that leads to the narrow gate and ultimately to Eternal Life. The second is the broad and easy path which leads to the wide gate and a destructive end. It is a popular error of our time to believe that it does not matter which road one takes. What’s toxic about the denial of hell is that it suggests that God doesn’t much care what we do in this life as long as everyone’s enjoying it. That’s not Christianity, that’s hedonism, the worship of enjoyment and fun.

The ‘narrow door’ which the Lord speaks of, flies in the face of the core tenets of Moral Therapeutic Deism. It is a reminder that Christianity is not a ‘free for all’ ideology. It implies that there are boundaries, there are heavy demands, there are consequences to our actions, that living according to God’s commandments would mean that one must be open to admonishment. It suggests that one should not take salvation for granted and that damnation is very real for those who choose not to go through the ‘narrow door.’ Our Lord knew that “nice people” (or at least they thought so) would have Him crucified because what He taught them would not be deemed sufficiently “nice.” Our Lord went to the cross not because He was nice or He wasn’t, that is immaterial. He willingly accepted death on the cross because He loved His people “to the end”. Love is the ultimate criterion, and not whether people get offended or not.

In the final analysis, the gospel of niceness won’t do. It isn’t salvific. It isn’t Jesus’ message. In other words, it’s a false religion that makes us feel good about ourselves – the gospel of ‘shiok sendiri’. Admit it; part of the appeal of a gospel of niceness is that it makes us feel good about ourselves. This often translates into the gospel of comfort and convenience – we know that we have subscribed to it when we complain about the uncomfortable pews, the temperature in the Church, the inconvenience of parking and of course, the long services and homilies. If the gospel is that niceness is the solution, then we’ve missed the point. Niceness won’t save you. Comfort and convenience won’t save you. In fact, the only thing the easy and soft gospel of niceness will do is to ease you into hell. You won’t know what hit you till it’s too late. On the other hand, the life, suffering, death, burial, and resurrection of a crucified Christ will be our salvation. Anything else is an idol and a false gospel.

The Gospel of Christ, paid by His own blood on the cross, is demanding. It demands that we make the ultimate sacrifice by turning our backs on wealth, power and popularity, comfort and convenience, the false gods that have become the defining elements in our lives. It demands that we burn our bridges when we have resolved to follow Jesus on the road to Calvary. It demands that we store treasures in heaven where it cannot be stolen or suffer the ravages of destruction. It demands that we avoid seeking honour among men, but strive to become rich in the sight of God. It demands passage through the narrow door. It demands that we expose the lies which Moralistic Therapeutic Deism peddles.

Charity covers a multitude of sins; but it does not call evil good; it does not give excuses for inconsistencies; it does not hide the inconvenient truth with a dressed-up lie. Crookedness and worldliness are still crookedness and worldliness, sin remains sin even if you choose to sugar-coat it. In the final analysis, it is not love nor is it broad-mindedness, when we allow people to follow their own erroneous ways, paths that may ultimately lead them to destruction. It is always the loving thing to help people choose the narrow and hard path, which will remain unpopular, because the Cross will never be a popular option, but it is most necessary for our salvation.