Humility blossoms in Generosity

Twenty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Recently, I attended a friend’s sacerdotal anniversary celebration. I was given the honour to be seated at the main VIP table that was strategically placed at the very centre of the hall. Apart from the stage, all eyes were laser focused on this table and all who sat at it. If given a choice, I would have asked for an obscure table at the side. My request was not made out of humility but out of selfish convenience. It’s easier to make a bee line for the restrooms when you are at the side and no one would notice that you are attempting to make an early exit.

So, the advice provided by the Lord in today’s gospel with regard to etiquette behaviour at a wedding feast where we are invited as guests does not immediately strike me as self-deprecating. Some may even describe it as a cunning and manipulative way of getting upgraded instead of suffering the humiliation of being downgraded.

On this day, as we celebrate our Independence Day, though not exactly the foundation of our federal nation, and as we also celebrate our Parish Community as family, we are provided with a lesson on two important virtues which are essential to harmonious living and being neighbourly - humility and generosity.

In fact, these two virtues are intimately connected. Humility, a virtue often misconstrued, stands in stark contrast to entitlement, the enemy of generosity. Humility thrives in restraint, obscurity, and vulnerability, not seeking validation or retribution against those who have wronged us. It’s a hidden treasure of the soul, more intrigued by the inner sanctum than the spotlight. Humility lies down and waits—not in a defeated way but in a way that brings peace. People who have little patience have little humility. They feel entitled to instant gratification. When impatience begins to drain from us, we begin to listen. Humility can feel tiresome, but mostly when we are fighting it.

On the other hand, pride drives the need for entitlement. We give not out of the generosity of the heart but expecting something in return, which exposes false generosity for what it is - a self-serving attitude. If we do something good for others, it is not for their benefit but for ours and we feel upset when they show little gratitude or acknowledgement. Entitlement is the new disease of pride gone unchecked. Instead of rejoicing over the blessings which others have received, the sense of entitlement leads to resentment.

But our Lord tells us in today’s gospel that true generosity involves giving without the expectation of receiving anything in return. No strings attached. No quid pro quo. So often, our mindset is to give something in order to get something. We make friends because it is advantageous to do so. We give compliments to get one back. We love in order to be loved. No matter what it is, there’s often an expectation to our giving. But real generosity doesn’t have that same expectation. God gave us Jesus, not because we gave Him anything to deserve or earn this gift, but simply because He chose to do so out of the generosity of His heart. It was an intentional and loving gift—one that demonstrates true, unwavering generosity.

On this day as we reflect over our common citizenship and fraternal bond as sisters and brothers in the Body of Christ, let us make every effort to reject pride and entitlement, which are twin diseases that do not only eat into the very core of our being but also into the foundation of our society and community. In place of pride, let us seek humility. Instead of demanding something from the community, from the Church or from our country, let us be ever generous to see in what way can we contribute to the betterment of our society. Let us remember those immortal words of John F. Kennedy, spoken at his inaugural address as president of the United States: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” I would also add: “Ask not what your Church can do for you, ask what you can do for your Church.”

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.

A Banquet for all peoples

Twenty Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

The significance of a meal can never be overstated. It is clear that food is more than just essential for our species’ survival. For survival needs, people everywhere could eat the same food, to be measured only in calories, fats, carbohydrates, proteins, and vitamins. But a meal is also an important social event. We celebrate weddings, anniversaries and birthdays with a meal. We honour and remember our dead at wakes and funerals with a meal. We conclude business discussions and seal contracts over a meal. We deepen bonds of friendship over a meal. There is something magical, even mystical about meals. It is no wonder that a priest who was an avid promoter of basic ecclesial communities (BEC) often joked that the acronym BEC should stand for Best Eating Club, alluding to the food potlucks being the most popular reason why Catholics decide to gather in small groups, if for no other reason.

The first reading provides us with a description of a sumptuous feast of “rich food” on an unnamed mountain which marks the end of a period of mourning. Most scholars agree that the prophet Isaiah was painting a picture of restoration for those of the House of Judah who had been taken into exile after the fall of Jerusalem to the invading Babylonians. The exiles were returning home and God was going to enter into a new relationship with them. The scene recalls another banquet that took place on another mountain. In Exodus (24:1-11), Moses and the seventy elders whom he has chosen, go up to Sinai, the mountain of the Lord, where they feasted. It was not just a social celebration but a covenant meal, sealing their relationship with God who had brought them out of Egypt and had blessed them with the Law, food and water.

But the time of the restoration of Israel in Isaiah’s prophetic vision would not only be a time of a New Exodus but also a time of Conquest. The banquet celebrates God’s ultimate victory over suffering and death, where He “will destroy Death for ever” and “wipe away the tears from every cheek” and “take away His people’s shame everywhere on earth.” It will be a banquet which is not only confined to the leaders of Israel as during the Exodus, nor even confined to the Jews. It would be a banquet which the Lord prepares “for all peoples.” And this meal would be held in plain sight and not hidden behind the walls of the Temple where the Jewish performed their rites in secrecy, nor behind the veil which concealed the Holy of Holies.

What the Old Testament promises, the gospel fulfils and we see this in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ. Our Lord Jesus often finds Himself in the middle of a feast. He also seemed to enjoy a hearty meal and did not refuse any opportunity to dine with His hosts and guests. Table fellowship among the Jews was a big deal. Pharisees did not dine with people whom they regarded were below their stature because they saw each meal as “eating with God.” This is where our Lord was subject to their ire because He frequently feasted with disreputable folks like tax collectors and sinners. He concluded His public ministry and inaugurated His passion with a meal. The communal meal did not only provide our Lord with an opportunity to provide teaching to those who were in attendance but was also the subject of His teaching parables. Today’s parable of the wedding feast is one such example.

Notice that Isaiah’s covenant meal has now morphed into a wedding banquet in our Lord’s parable. We already see the typology of a wedding and marriage in the Old Testament writing of Hosea, Isaiah, Jeremiah and the Psalms. The covenant between God and Israel is often described as a marriage and Israel’s apostasy is seen as infidelity of the bride towards her spouse. Our Lord now strings together these related themes of an eschatological or end times banquet, a covenant meal and a wedding feast in this compelling parable of judgment.

Our Lord describes the Kingdom of Heaven as a wedding banquet thrown by the king for his son to which the king’s subjects are invited. Two groups emerge - those who actually attend the feast and those who do not. Perhaps the most important feature of this parable is the invitation. Though this is a wedding banquet, the bride is significantly missing from the narrative and the bridegroom, the son of the king, is not an important character in the storyline even though the banquet is held in his honour. This would suggest that the focus is not on the wedding between the bride and the bridegroom but on the king’s invitation.

The focus of the parable seems to be on the response made to this invitation, rather than on the feast itself. A rejection of a king’s invitation to such an important event was unimaginable because it would be political suicide and yet we find the invited guests turning down the invitation not just once but twice and on the second instance, even abusing and killing the king’s emissaries that had been sent to them to persuade them to reconsider the invitation. The first time could be seen as a grievous insult, but the second rejection was an outright act of rebellion. One can then understand the king’s violent response in putting down this rebellion.

When the first group of invited guests were “found to be unworthy”, that is they failed to respond to the invitation, the king sends a second set of servants to gather “everyone.” The Greek word translated into “everyone” suggests “outsiders”, those at the fringes of society. But even though the king seems to have lowered the bar in terms of who gets to attend his son’s wedding banquet, it does not mean that all and sundry would get to enjoy the “sumptuous banquet” of “rich food” and “rich wine.” One man was expelled because he was not wearing the proper attire. Could we be excluded from salvation for one such petty reason as improper dressing? Perhaps, we can find a clue to this symbolism when we heed the words of St Paul that we too must, “clothe ourselves with heartfelt mercy, with kindness, humility, meekness and patience. Bear with one another and forgive whatever grievances you have against one another.” (Colossians 3:12-13)

We finally come to the final saying of our Lord in this passage: “For many are called, but few are chosen.” To describe it as cryptic would be an understatement. It is definitely not suggesting that salvation is for an elite few. Personally, I am comforted by such passages as 1 Timothy 2:4, where Paul says that God “wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of truth.” So, what does this sentence mean? Saint Jerome says that, “The chosen are those who accept the call and do not reject the invitation, like the first guests, or who do not accept it fully, like the man who comes to the dinner but does not dress in the proper manner.”

Our God came to earth and became one of us in the person of Jesus Christ to prove His love for us and to extend a personal invitation to each and every one of His sons and daughters, to come and join Him at the banquet table that He has prepared for us in His heavenly Kingdom. It is an open invitation. Salvation is not something we earn. It is an invitation that we are free to either accept or reject. Merely claiming that we have received the invitation is no guarantee that one is able to partake in the wedding feast of the kingdom. That invitation must be accepted, not just on our own terms but on God’s terms. So, it is crucial to remember that salvation won by Jesus for the sake of all is not applied automatically; it requires that to attain Eternal Life each individual must, to the extent of his or her understanding, accept and live in the grace won by Christ. We must take care to “clothe ourselves with heartfelt mercy, with kindness, humility, meekness and patience.”

Forgiveness and Generosity

Twenty Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

One of the hardest things for a priest to do is to ask his congregation for money. You may somewhat understand this if you acknowledge that it is extremely hard to beg and grovel. It is demeaning. It always seems that there are so many strings attached to any act of giving. I have to be prepared to return the favour in some way or another because when people give, they always expect something in return. Even when the favour is not called in immediately, it emerges whenever special requests are declined. Accepting a gift from someone ends up like owing the person a lifetime of favours which can never be satisfactorily repaid.

Why would I raise the issue of generosity when our readings speak of forgiveness? This is because generosity is necessary for forgiveness. “Giving” is the root word of “forgiving.” It’s almost safe to say they come from the same “root.” A popular Arab saying suggests that a forgiving person is “karim”, generous. Generosity and forgiveness come from one source: “compassion.” Forgiveness is a sign of largesse, an act of generosity. Unforgiveness, on the other hand, rises from a calculative attitude that is unable to let go of what is due or what we believe to be due to us. True forgiveness is basically an act of bestowing and receiving generosity from another. Lack of forgiveness is one manifestation of self-absorbed non-Christian living and the reading from Romans reminds us that we should not live for ourselves.

If you can’t see the connexion, our Lord’s parable in today’s Gospel passage perfectly illustrates this point. In the parable, we see two instances where a debt is owed. In the first case, the servant brought before the king owed a huge amount of money. In the second circumstance, the servant wanted to collect a paltry sum from a fellow servant. Looking simply at the amounts owed, one sum is gargantuan and the other is miniscule. If one were to find a suitable analogy, it’s like comparing a national debt with what you owe on a month’s unpaid utility bill.

When we hear this story, we have a reaction equal to the other servants concerning the injustice of the situation. The king acted generously while the wicked servant exacted what was his due even when he could and should have forgiven the small debt owed to him by a fellow servant. A sense of right and wrong cries out against the calculative attitude of the unjust servant. The issue is not so much about the incomparability of the money owed as it is the lack of generosity on the part of the first servant. He was forgiven so much, why did he forgive so little?

If the wicked servant had really understood this generosity he would have been willing to forgive the debt of his fellow servant. The Lord presents the two cases as if they were parallel. That is, the issue is not really about money but our willingness to forgive in the same manner in which we have been forgiven. What is our attitude when we have accepted forgiveness from another? Are we willing to do likewise when we need to forgive? One thing that is evident in the parable is that genuine forgiveness entails generosity on the part of the forgiver and the forgiven.

If we are able to understand the connexion between mercy and generosity, giving and forgiving, we will then understand that Peter’s question at the start of today’s passage is actually the wrong question: “Lord, how often must I forgive my brother if he wrongs me?” Peter thought that forgiving seven times was being sufficiently generous. Our Lord counters with His own number, “seventy-seven times”, or in some translations, “seventy times seven.” The number isn’t important. We are not witnessing a back-and-forth haggling between Master and disciple. Our Lord is merely reminding Peter and all of us that mercy is never a matter of accounting. Don’t look at our calculator, rather look at the blessing we’ve received from God and which we are now called to share with others. God’s blessings and mercy outpaces any calculator. Our forgiveness should be given in abundance – it’s one thing that’s truly free. It costs us nothing to give it away. And the supply is endless. In fact, the more you give, the more you receive. Perhaps nothing can better describe the faithfulness and mercy of God, and the depths of His love to send His only Son to sacrifice once and for all for the forgiveness of our sins.

Perhaps it is hard to forgive because we have been expecting in the human that which is found only in the divine. Admittedly, it is hard to forgive when the faults of our enemies are so clear to us and the pain of the injury we have suffered at their hands run deep. The parable tells us to focus elsewhere - not on the failings and limitations of man but on the immense mercy of God - the ocean of God’s mercy. The Lord made this promise through St Faustina “whole ocean of graces upon those souls who approach the Fount of My mercy.” The image of God’s mercy as big as an ocean is actually scriptural.

The prophet Micah cries out to God and implores His mercy on the people: “You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea” (Micah 7:19). On Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, Jews according to their custom would cast breadcrumbs or empty whatever valuables they have in their pockets into a body of water, as a symbol of casting their sins into the ocean of God’s mercy. No matter what rubbish or emotional baggage or hurts or resentment we choose to cast into that sea, we know that we will never be able to plunge its depths or displace its waters. God’s mercy will always be bigger than my sins, than my emotional baggage, than my pains and hurts. If God can show such great incalculable mercy to me, though unworthy, could I not afford some level of mercy to my neighbour whose debt comes nowhere close to what I owe God?

It’s by the grace and providential hand of God our sins are cast into the depths of the sea. A sea of forgetfulness is akin to God’s memory of our wrongs. The world continues to live under the curse of sin. We continue to hurt each other and be hurt by others. We will never fully escape it, nor its effect on our ability to shake sin completely this side of heaven. One step, one confession, one day at a time, we will become more like the person God created us to be. It’s a change God makes in us because long before we breathed our first breath of earthly air, He chose us. In Him will we always find not only an ocean of mercy but an ocean of love.

Patience is Divine

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

After having listened to complaints from parishioners for the past nineteen years, I’ve come to realise that one of the most common requests is that I should summarily reprimand and dismiss all the ‘troublemakers’ in the parish. However, my usual reply is that if I were to act on every complaint, including the complains I get about the complainers; then I would end up sacking over 90% of the people in the parish! I guess this phenomenon goes beyond the parish. We seem to have a natural human desire to root out and destroy all that troubles us. We want to look for the final solution to all our problems. But in attempting to get others cancelled, we end up cancelling ourselves. Or in wanting to destroy evil, we end up wreaking more destruction. Perhaps, the best example is found in Hitler’s Final Solution – millions of Jews and others had to die in this mad search for perfection. The very defenders of peace eventually turned into the greatest perpetrators of violence.

Strangely, it is not the Hitlers, the Pol Pots, the Maos or the Lenins of this world that are solely guilty of such horrendous crimes. The trait is also present with many well-intentioned activists, visionaries who believe that it is incumbent upon them to fix the problem wherever and whenever they see fit, whether it be in society, the Church or the world. Some people just can’t stop themselves from meddling. We have to fix it; get rid of the undesirables. Do it our way. The problem with 'people with a cause', is that they often do more harm for their cause than if they did nothing at all. Trying to bend the world or reform the Church or shape others according to the way they see it. So they spend a great deal of effort and time trying to control what can’t be controlled. Even though their original motive may have been noble, they actually make things worse, whilst trying to make them better. Instead of building God’s Kingdom, they end up building their own. We mess things up when we choose to get in God’s way.

Today’s parable is bent on frustrating these would-be Saviours of the world. The message goes against the grain because it seems to be soft on evil. In response to the servants’ desire to root out the darnel, to fix the problem, the Master orders, “Let them both grow till the harvest.” This is a stunning proposal: Just leave the weeds alone? You mean, “Let them have their way?” On the surface, the parable seems to be calling for passivity in the face of evil or worse, the tolerance of evil. Why would the master say what he said to his servants?

The counsel of our Lord is prudent. It is a reminder that life can be messy and we need not and should not, play God or vigilantes. Since this is God’s Kingdom, He should be in charge. He sets the agenda, He lays out the path, and He determines the deadline. The problem is that the difference between the wheat and darnel is not always going to be obvious, and that there is potential danger of mistaking the good for the bad, the will of man for that of the will of God.

Whether we would be willing to admit it or not, both wheat and darnel may be mixed up within every person. Goodness and evil, love and hate, prosperity and adversity, joy and sorrow all are so intimately intertwined. We may risk getting rid of the good in our zealous desire to root out the bad. Destroy the possibility of evil and you also destroy the possibility of goodness. What may seem to be a mess may actually be God’s way of providing a solution. The perceived curse is actually a blessing.

The patience of the farmer in letting the darnel grow on until harvest time, exemplifies the infinite mercy and wisdom of God toward sinners. The parable reminds us that sinners are to be dealt with patiently, it offers us assurance that in the end God’s way will be victorious. That one day “the virtuous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father”. The darnel could not change its nature, but the sinner can change his ways and God gives him every chance and every help to do this, up to his last moment of life. But in the end, there will be Judgment. God is never soft with evil or sin, but He is ever patient in providing opportunities to the sinner to repent. The sinner who chooses not to repent, however, will have to face judgment because the God of Mercy is also the God of Justice. Without Justice, His mercy would be vacuous.

We must learn a double lesson of patience from this parable. First, to be patient with those who make our spiritual progress more difficult for us—they are actually helping us to be better Christians if we bear with patience the injuries they inflict on us. Second, we must try to imitate the patience God shows in His dealings with sinners. Such patience, however, can never be interpreted as mere passivity. I don’t think God wants us to wait ‘patiently,’ twiddle our thumbs and do nothing. We should never tire of striving against evil. While we must not approve of evil deeds or sins of others, we must still look on them as our brothers and sisters and do all in our power to put them back on the right road to heaven. We can do this by our good example, and by fervent prayer for their conversion. Always remember that it is an act of mercy to admonish a sinner and correct error.

When you take a closer look at what is happening in the world, in society, in your family or even in the Church, do not panic when you only perceive chaos. God remains in charge. Everything may seem to be getting completely out of control. But God remains in control. God does not only tolerate the messiness but in fact subverts the messiness and uses it as the raw material of His Kingdom. He often chooses and uses the defective, the rejects, the marginalised, the sinners to be His instruments of grace.

We long for the time when the Kingdom will be complete, but that perfection would not be found in any earthly or human constructed Utopia. For now, we have to recognise that this is the way that God creates and works, and brings good life. God allows the mess. He demonstrates the value of the mess through the death of His Son on the cross. At the moment of the crucifixion, it becomes clear that evil is utterly subverted for good. The Kingdom is built on the blood of martyrs, rather than on success stories. Let us never forget that persecution cannot destroy the Church, it can only make her stronger.

God is revealed in our humility

Twenty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

It used to be quite easy to define virtue and to recognise a virtuous person. Virtue is moral excellence, goodness and righteousness. A virtuous person is one who possesses all these qualities. But in our society where social media and reality TV have become effective platforms of self-expression, and which have accorded everyone and anyone an opportunity to be a celebrity, true virtue has evolved into virtue signalling. What is virtue signalling? Virtue signalling is to be distinguished from real virtue. It is a performative action to broadcast to the world that "I am a good person.” Without realising it, most of us have a propensity to virtue signal. Thank God, I am blessed to have a close friend who is a reality checker and truth-sayer. He is all too willing to burst my delusional bubble and alert me if I am trodding down the path of self-promotion.

Today’s readings exalt the virtue of humility, not the superficial type of virtue signalling that many of the religious leaders were practising, but the real hard type that comes with a hard-line Christ and a tough form of Christianity. We all know that humility is a Christian virtue but many are often confused as to its meaning. Many people believe humility means self-denigration; in other words, being very critical of oneself, one’s own talents and achievements. The irony is this: whenever we put ourselves down, we actually expect to receive more praises for our achievements. Such humility is undeniably false humility and false humility is a mask for pride. The parable in today’s gospel is not just a lesson for a disguised narcissist to present a false front of self-effacement but rather speaks of every man’s relationship with God, the foundation of true humility.

The setting for today’s gospel is that of a Sabbath meal. As usual, the movements and speech of our Lord were under the scrutiny of both fans, as well as detractors. But in today’s gospel, our Lord would turn the tables on them. He is the One who is the careful observer. He makes a careful and poignant observation about the public behaviour of the Pharisees, who though wishing to be seen as self-effacing and altruistic, were actually quite ambitious and self-serving. After witnessing their jockeying around for the coveted seats, our Lord began to teach.

Our Lord raises two important points, one for the guests and another for the host. Firstly, He warns the guests against an undue sense of superiority. On the one level, His suggestion was a simple and universal advice on etiquette: never presume to take places of honour less you suffer the embarrassment and humiliation of being relegated to a lower position. But here, our Lord was not merely concerned with good manners nor should His sayings be reduced to advice about social graces. Rather, it is clear from the subsequent verses that our Lord was trying to lift the attention of His audience from etiquette to eschatology; not just places at the dining table, but places in the messianic banquet. Of greater concern than their social status in the eyes of others, was their good standing in the eyes of God.

The key to truly gaining honour and earning the pleasure of God lies in humility. As the first reading reminds us, “the greater you are, the more you should behave humbly, and then you will find favour with the Lord, for great though the power of the Lord is, he accepts the homage of the humble.” The person who asserts his or her own importance has already been rewarded with the fleeting and dubious dignity that self-assertion brings. But a single moment of limelight may cost one to suffer a lifetime or even worse, an eternity of derision. Once again, the sin of presumption is their undoing. Again, Ecclesiasticus warns us, that “there is no cure for the proud man’s malady, since an evil growth has taken root in him.” The honest person, however, who recognises the greatness of God as well as his or her own lowliness and needs, will one day share the honour of union with the Lord at the heavenly banquet that never ends.

After having admonished the guests, our Lord turns His attention to the host. No one is spared, not even the good host who had just feted the Lord. Most likely, the Pharisee into whose home Jesus had been invited, had invited others like himself: friends, relatives and those with wealth whose presence would reflect well on the host and his household. All those invited would have been able, and indeed, would have been expected to reciprocate the favour by inviting the host to dine at their respective homes. In the light of this social give-and-take, Jesus’ advice must have seemed shocking and even ridiculous. To invite the beggars, the crippled, the blind and the lame would be to entertain those from whom one could expect no recompense or reciprocation. Such persons would not have brought prestige to the household by their presence. In fact, they would have brought shame to the host, who would be seen as associating himself with the dregs and outcasts of society.

What is the common denominator that links both advices, the first to the guests and the second to the host? Both humility and giving should take the focus off ourselves. It’s not about us. The focus should always be on the Lord. Christianity is about Jesus Christ. He is at the centre of God’s salvation. Christianity is about following Him and declaring our allegiance to Him. It is making Christ known and not just self-promotion. Christianity is not about us. It has something wonderful to say to us, but it is not first and foremost about us. It is not man-centred but God-centred and Christ-centred. This is foundational and basic to the practice of the virtue of humility. This is precisely what is so wrong with the cult of personality - it places man on the pedestal and makes him larger than life, in fact so large as to eclipse God.

Christian humility doesn’t call one to demean oneself for its own sake. Any performative act to showcase one’s humility is hypocrisy and it is quite the opposite of what humility stands for. True humility is a call to recognise one’s total dependence on God and leaves the matter of rank and reward completely to Him. The humble man finds favour with the Lord, not because it is a form of reward, but because the humble man allows God to do what he himself cannot do. The humble man veils himself so that the glory of God may be revealed. Therefore, to take the lowest place is never just to earn honour, respect or even praise from others. To take the lowest place, would be to find ourselves in that very place where Christ had chosen to sit, He who is God, assumed the lowest position of a worthless slave. To give without expecting anything in return would mean that we do not serve, or give, to derive some earthly gain and benefit from our investment, but rather, be assured that what often seems to be a thankless job, will receive its reward from God in heaven.

Sic transit gloria mundi

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Recently, a social commentator, whose podcast I follow, drew my attention to the link between culture of death which underlies two increasingly normalised evils of our times - abortion and euthanasia - and two prevalent philosophical positions, nihilism and hedonism. A simple explanation for nihilism is that it is the position which perceives life as purposeless and meaningless, whereas hedonism regards personal satisfaction and self-fulfilment as the only criteria to measure the worth of anything. It is interesting how we see these two modern destructive positions in our first reading and the Gospel.

The first reading taken from the Book of Ecclesiastes opens with these iconic words: “Vanity of vanities, the Preacher says. Vanity of vanities. All is vanity!” In modern English, the word vanity means an excessive pride in one's appearance, qualities, or achievements. But it may also refer to something that lacks value, that is worthless or trivial. This is the most ancient meaning of the term, and the one that is intended in this passage. This is not the kind of message that you would expect from holy scriptures. In fact, the Book in its entirety is somewhat discouraging as the author constantly emphasises the vanity or futility of created things. If you didn’t know better, you would actually suspect that the author is your typical text-book nihilist who has come to this cynical outlook after having lived a life of hedonism which ended in shattered dreams and failed projects.

The author, presumably King Solomon who had acquired great wealth and fame and enjoyed countless pleasures, waxes lyrical as he dismantles the purpose of his youthful pursuit of knowledge, riches and pleasure, which doesn’t seem to bring him any closer to the elusive goal of happiness and personal achievement. If one were to just confine our reading to this bleak rumination of an obviously disillusioned man, we too would be sucked into a quagmire of despair. If all efforts at striving are futile, why bother at all?

The doom-and-gloom conclusion the Preacher reaches at the end of our reading, points in two directions. First, it reminds us of what this Sunday’s Gospel teaches: that you can’t take it with you. No matter how much wealth you accumulate in this life, it will die with you. In the end, there’s no rich or poor person after death. Second, Ecclesiastes brings us face to face with the deepest questions that we should be asking, struggling with and seeking answers for. In fact, the Catholic philosopher, Peter Kreeft, says that Ecclesiastes is the question to which the whole Bible responds. He says, “It is divine revelation precisely in being the absence of divine revelation. It is like the silhouette of the rest of the Bible.”

But thank God, our lectionary matches and juxtaposes this reading with both the second reading and the Gospel. Read in the light of these two other passages, Ecclesiastes is not nearly as bleak as it may seem at first glance. It is a necessary meditation, nevertheless - for how can one learn to appreciate the invigorating power of light unless we have experienced the alienating pain of darkness? How could we hunger for the endless joys of heaven unless we have seen or tasted the pains of hell? From that low point of desperation, we can turn to God, seeking the answers to our longing for meaning in His Word, in His Son, in His Sacraments. We will find that life is far from the nihilistic meaninglessness the Preacher finds. Instead, we are made for a beautiful, eternal communion with God where we will find our ultimate fulfillment.

The message of the Preacher in the first reading seems to find a striking parallel with the parable of the Foolish Rich Man in the Gospel, but with one significant difference. The most significant difference is that Jesus Christ, Divine Wisdom and not just another wise philosopher, could speak authoritatively of a future life with our Heavenly Father while the authors of the Old Testament books, including the supposedly wise philosopher king who authored Ecclesiastes, could not. Whereas the Preacher seems to be mulling and venting over the perplexity of life, which our Lord also reiterates in His parable, our Lord and St Paul in the second reading are actually stressing that we should be concentrating more on our eternal destiny. As St Paul wisely exhorts us: “Let your thoughts be on heavenly things, not on the things that are on the earth.”

The Gospel gives us not just one but two examples of a disordered relationship with material goods, one drawn from real life and the other, a parable. They share a common theme, namely, a disproportionate attachment to material things upends one's sense of tranquillity and order, and can misdirect one away from Eternal Life. In the first instance, a man approaches the Lord with a complaint that he is being treated unjustly in the matter of an inheritance. It is easy to empathise with his dilemma as we all know how it feels to be the victim of injustice.

Rather than solving this man's problem, our Lord deflects it with a parable. It is the story of the "rich fool." The Biblical meaning of "fool" is one who rebels against God or who has forgotten Him. The man of the parable is so concerned with maintaining his wealth that there is no place for God in his life. He will die that night, and despite his possessions, he will appear before God empty-handed. This is why St Paul in the second reading exhorts us that “you must kill everything in you that belongs only to earthly life: fornication, impurity, guilty passion, evil desires and especially greed, which is the same thing as worshipping a false god" (Col 3:5). Our true treasure is being a child of God, having received new life in Christ. In the end, “there is only Christ: He is everything and He is in everything”. All other treasures are transitory and barren, and will one day fade away.

As foolish men surround themselves with trophies of their achievements and build monuments in honour of their conquests, wise rulers throughout history have often taken care to surround themselves with salutary reminders of their own frailty and the transitory nature of power. The Pope is no different. There is a Latin expression that was once spoken at the coronation of Popes, “Sic transit gloria mundi”, which means, “Thus passes the glory of the world.” The last Pope to have heard it would be Pope St John XXIII.

As the new pontiff was carried around St. Peter’s Basilica, sitting in his sedia gestatoria, his portable throne, the procession with all its pomp and pageantry, would stop in three different places. At each stop, the priest, holding a burning flax, would chant to the pope “Pater Sancte, sic transit gloria mundi!,” “Holy Father, thus passes the glory of the world,” reminding him—and the rest of the Church—of the transitory nature of worldly honour and glory. So that amidst all the pomp owed to the dignity of their sacred office, the Supreme Pontiffs might not forget the humble origins of the papacy in the Galilean fisherman, who betrayed Christ out of fear of the washerwoman. Everything in this life passes away — only God remains (as St Teresa reminds us in her prayer), and because of this reason, only He is worth struggling towards.

So, my dear brothers and sisters, heed the words of St Paul: “Let your thoughts be on heavenly things, not on the things that are on the earth, because you have died, and now the life you have is hidden with Christ in God.”

Pruned to bear even more

 Fifth Sunday of Easter Year B

We often have the impression that St Paul’s transition, from a zealous persecutor of Christians to become the Church’s greatest missionary and preeminent theologian, founding countless churches in the process of his arduous journeys and tireless preaching, was easy and uneventful after the initial dramatic event of his conversion on the road to Damascus. The first reading taken from the Acts of the Apostles debunks this myth and gives us an entirely different picture.

The indifference, cold reception and even opposition which St Paul faced in the early Christian community and with its leadership is understandable. His motives were still unclear and his conversion still a subject of doubt and questioning by those whom he had once hunted and persecuted. Given the negative reception he received from the Christian community in the early years of his new found faith, many of us would have wondered why he chose to stay, what would have motivated him to persevere, even tolerating insults and putting up with humiliation at the hands of fellow Christians. I believe that many would have walked out for a much lesser offence. I’m sure you’ve heard a number of anecdotal stories from ex-Catholics who cite hurts, hostility and inhospitality as some of the reasons for leaving the Catholic Church.

Was there something the Church could have done to prevent their leaving? Could the Church learn how to be more hospitable and accommodating, less demanding? Now, there is nothing wrong with hospitality. Having a welcoming spirit is always welcomed. But should hospitality compromise the truth? Should this mean that we have to insulate and protect all our members and bubble wrap them and their feelings to keep them from being hurt or offended? Should we make Christianity less demanding and more accommodating?

I believe you already know the answer and it’s an unpopular one. Let us look at the person of St Paul or Saul, as he was known in our first reading. The experience of St Paul, being rejected by his own community and later subjected to all kinds of trials and hardship, was not just a natural outcome of his sudden conversion, but a necessary part of his spiritual journey. His conversion did not end on the road to Damascus; it had only begun. It is as if every branch that bore no fruit had to be cut away, every stalk that did bear fruit had to be pruned to make it “bear even more.” These experiences would eventually shape his mission and preaching. He would rather risk being unpopular and even being beaten, then to bend and soften the gospel to accommodate the sensitivities of his audience.

St Paul’s resilience could be in part, be the result of his understanding and assimilating today’s gospel into his life. Our Lord, in introducing Himself as the Vine and we the branches, explains that there are two necessary conditions if we wish to bear fruit from this relationship. The first condition is to “remain”, or in some translations “abide”, in Him. Cut off from Him, we are nothing and we “can do nothing.” Our strength, our fecundity, our effectiveness, wholly depends on Him and is derived from Him.

But there is a second condition to this Master-disciple, Vine-branch relationship. Remaining is just the first prerequisite but there is the second element of pruning. In fact, pruning and remaining corresponds with the two-fold invitation of our Lord to all potential disciples: “Repent and believe in the gospel;” and in another place, “deny yourself .... and follow me.” In the traditional description of the three stages of spiritual development, the purgative, the illuminative and the unitive, the purgative corresponds with the pruning and the remaining corresponds with the illuminative and unitive stages. But pruning is not just meant for some, for beginners on the spiritual journey. It is meant for every one and needed for every stage of our spiritual journey. Listen to what our Lord says: “Every branch in me that bears no fruit he cuts away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes to make it bear even more.”

Notice that it is not only those who are barren, who are fruitless, who would need pruning, but also those who are bearing fruit, because such pruning will allow them to “bear even more.” When the pruning stops, even when a tree starts to bear fruit, it may soon become barren unless the pruning continues. We see in this wonderful analogy, the necessity of pain and suffering in nurturing growth. Pain is to a disciple’s spiritual growth, what pruning is to the development of a fruit on a tree. Pruning is not a punishment for a Christian; it is a reward. Spiritual pruning enhances spiritual growth by removing whatever inhibits spiritual growth. As Victor Hugo wrote, “adversity makes men, prosperity makes monsters.” When children are shielded from adversity, they end up becoming spoilt entitled brats.

But isn’t freedom from pain and suffering the ultimate goal of Christian life? In fact, many Christians pursue Christian discipline precisely because they wish to be blessed by God and be preserved from trouble and danger. I believe most Christians have gotten it wrong in this area, which explains how common it is for Christians to complain that God has been unfair to them - good people seem to have it tough whereas bad people seem to flourish and do well. Such complaints betray a misconception in theology, especially in understanding the place of suffering in a Christian’s life.

Freedom from pain and suffering is a promise of a Christian’s future glorification; but pain and suffering are a part of his present sanctification. No pain no gain. In this life, the cross is a necessary part of our spiritual journey. The pain of spiritual pruning is not the result of a malicious and sadistic God who loves watching us suffer, rather such pain arises from our inordinate attachments, our inability to let go of the things which inhibit our spiritual growth. When these things which we are attached to are removed from our lives, we are enhanced, not diminished. Whenever the Lord prunes us, we lose a part of ourselves, but it’s the part we can do without - our pride, our stubbornness, our selfishness, our greed, our ambitions, our need for approval. But in doing so, our attachment to Him the Vine, becomes strengthened and because of the tightening of this bond, we are enriched in virtue and grace.

So, the next time you encounter adversity or difficulty, do not resist or run away or complain. Instead, welcome it as a blessing. Obediently and patiently submit to the pruning hand of the Vine Dresser. Don’t just settle for what is easier, more convenient, more comfortable, less demanding. Rather, give to God your best and your greatest – Deo Optimo Maximo – knowing that whatever He has pruned from your life, will not make you poorer but richer, it will not make you weaker but stronger, it will not make you smaller but greater. As how the Lord promised St Paul: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor 12:9)

Breaking and Building

Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 

It’s quite tiring when you have to deal with incessant critics. There are loads of people who make it their life’s mission to criticise and find fault with others, few actually offer any solutions and even fewer would volunteer to make things better. Just like a house of cards, it is far easier to tear people down than it is to build them up. 

 

Today’s readings remind us that our duty is neither to maintain, defend and validate sick and evil behaviour and systems; nor should we be constantly tearing people and structures down just because they are not perfect. Yes, some things require dismantling. But there is also a corresponding obligation to build up and make things better. So, Christian growth requires a simple two-step approach - break and then build. 

Before we can “build back better”, it is necessary for us to break and tear down. It is quite alarming to think that it would be necessary to dismantle and destroy things before you can make a change. Sounds destructive, a favourite pastime for anarchists but not for ordinary folks. It would be destructive if we intend to destroy that which is good. But what is being destroyed here is actually vice - the ugly, sinful, unhealthy, destructive, and self-destructive behaviour that has warped our character. So, when you destroy what is destructive, you are actually being constructive. This is good: you’re negating the negative, destroying the destructive. 

This is what the prophet Isaiah is envisaging in the first reading. Using the metaphor of a vineyard that produces sour grapes, to represent Israel, the prophet speaks of the Lord having to make a radical transformative decision to tear down and undo everything, so that He can make a fresh start. The destruction is not punitive. The destruction is not final. It is therapeutic. It is meant to remedy the sickness that has taken hold of the moral root of the nation. 

We see a similar theme in the gospel. While clearly standing in line with Isaiah, our Lord offers a new and surprising twist to the story. He introduces a new set of characters – the tenants. Once again, it is the fate of the vineyard of Israel that is in question. However, here it is not the vineyard itself or the vine of Israel that is judged, but the wicked tenant farmers to whom the vineyard had been entrusted. The effect of Jesus’s reframing of the story is to shift the emphasis: it is not that the vineyard is failing to produce grapes, but it is the tenants who deny the vineyard’s owner his due and treat his emissaries (and son) violently. If the vineyard is a symbol of Israel, the tenants represent the religious leadership. 

The parable highlights one of the most common sins committed by leaders: the refusal of leadership to assume responsibility when things go wrong, to excuse themselves from all guilt by pushing the blame on the system. We often hear that a problem is systemic, which means that the problem is with the system and not with the persons in charge. Of course, no system is perfect but systems, we must remember, are amoral. It is the people who are involved in making decisions and acting upon these decisions who should be taking responsibility. If no individual wants to assume responsibility, can any system be reformed? 

But note that the parable also shows us that before radical steps are taken to tear down systems and structures, which includes removing individuals from offices of power and influence, there must be efforts at fraternal correction done with both patience and charity. The landowner sends his servants and then his son to reason with the wicked tenants, hoping to change their minds. The tenants are only removed after all reasonable efforts at reconciliation have been exhausted. 

But “breaking” is only the first step. If we merely stop here without any concrete plan to build back better, then our actions would truly be destructive. Constructive criticism is good. It is even necessary if we wish to make progress in spiritual life. But when criticism stops at highlighting the faults of others without providing a path of redemption and rehabilitation, then such criticism remains destructive and obstructive to growth. 

After tearing down the web of sin, we must be ready to build back, and we do so by building and cultivating virtue – the habit of good. You begin replacing the rotten stuff with good stuff. Each and every day, you come out of yourself to do a few little acts of kindness, of generosity; you give a bit of yourself to make someone else happy. St Paul provides us with an excellent blueprint in the second reading, “if there is anything you need, pray for it, asking God for it with prayer and thanksgiving and that peace of God, which is so much greater than we can understand, will guard your hearts and your thoughts, in Christ Jesus.” Notice that the wicked tenants in the parable were motivated by envy which eventually leads to their destruction. The remedy for envy is gratitude. Every day, our lives must be filled with prayers of thanksgiving, a reminder that all is grace. There should be no room for envy and resentment, but only gratitude and appreciation for everything that we have received from God. 

St Paul, adds this final advice to us, “fill your minds with everything that is true, everything that is noble, everything that is good and pure, everything that we love and honour, and everything that can be thought virtuous or worthy of praise.” How often should we do this? St Paul tells us, “keep doing all the things that you have learnt from me and have been taught by me or have heard or seen that I do.” In other words, doing good must be a life-long commitment – no time for slacking off – we must keep on doing good, we must keep on loving and showing honour, we must keep on doing everything virtuous and worthy of praise. The moment we cease building back, we may end up tearing down the good that has been done. 

Ultimately, all our efforts in breaking with sin and building back with virtue would be in vain, if Christ is not made the foundation of our lives. For He is “the stone rejected by the builders that became the keystone.” Remember, “unless the Lord builds the house, its labourers labour in vain.” (Psalm 127:1) No amount of good deeds, good thoughts, or good words on our part would be able to remedy the destruction wrought by sin unless we allow the Lord to use us “like living stones, being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 2:5)

"Courage! It is I"

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

At some point or another, we all encounter things in life that cause us to be afraid. Whether it’s a sudden unemployment, making a life-altering choice, or a sudden illness, fear is a fact of life. But this current global pandemic has raised our fears to new heights: we read with alarm the uptick of new cases, the ominous warnings of further lockdowns and the economy crashing, we live with the constant anxiety of getting infected or infecting someone else. There’s panic in the air and anxiety in our bones. Staying indoors, hibernating for the rest of the year until we find a cure or vaccine, and getting ourselves tested do not seem to be viable options.

Although fear is a natural, healthy response to danger, how can we resist giving in to panic or allow fear to overwhelm us to the point of paralysis? The answer begins with an old-fashioned word that seems remarkably relevant today: courage. This is what the Lord says to His disciples as they cry out in fear, mistaking Him for a ghost, “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.”

The traditional name we Catholics use to speak of courage is “fortitude.” The Catechism of the Catholic Church (#1808) teaches that “Fortitude is the moral virtue that ensures firmness in difficulties and constancy in the pursuit of the good. It strengthens the resolve to resist temptations and to overcome obstacles in the moral life. The virtue of fortitude enables one to conquer fear, even fear of death, and to face trials and persecutions. It disposes one even to renounce and sacrifice his life in defence of a just cause.”

One of the greatest myths about courage or fortitude is that it means not feeling afraid. If ‘I were brave and courageous, I wouldn’t feel anxious, panicked or worried,’ we might think.  But fortitude isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the willingness to be present and respond in spite of fear.

It means we have the capacity to see clearly and act prudently during a crisis. It means we have enough wisdom so that we don’t freak out when things go haywire—or, perhaps even more importantly, so that we don’t shut off in denial and pretend everything is okay.

Fortitude or courage, however, is not a licence to be stupid or to act recklessly. For example, in the current pandemic, although there is still a polarising debate about the efficacy of wearing masks and observing social distancing, blatantly choosing to defy public health advisories, is no proof of your faith or even courage. It may actually be evidence of stupidity, pride and stubbornness.

The cardinal human virtue of fortitude flows naturally from the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity. When we believe the promises of God (faith), and have confidence not in ourselves but in the strength of Christ (hope), and we are motivated by love (charity), we will find ourselves filled naturally with the virtue of fortitude. This is what we see in St Peter’s initial response when he requested our Lord to grant him the ability to walk on water. But notice what happens when he is no longer anchored in faith to the Lord, when he gives in to despair, that is, he senses that the problem which he is facing is too big even for the Lord to resolve. Peter begins to sink. Like St Peter, cut off from the Lord, we too will sink.

I do not know about the rest of you, but these days I often feel as if we are in the same boat with the disciples and Peter. It seems as if we are in a middle of a storm, there is so much uncertainty, there is so much turbulence. Life seems to be spinning out of control and so many of us are worried about the future, our personal safety and that of our loved ones. It doesn’t help when our country is also in the middle of a political maelstrom. It practically feels like we are in the middle of chaos. Like the disciples, we find ourselves on very unstable grounds, filled with so much worry and uncertainty. Just like Peter, we experience good days and bad days: one moment we are confident and comfortable, and the next moment, we seem to lose our footing and feel like we are slipping and sinking into the deep.

But even in the midst of so much uncertainty and confusion, there is hope. Our Lord assures us, “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid!” As our world seems upended with one crisis followed by another, and we hear a cacophony of voices providing us with ominous predictions of the future, filling us with uncertainty and confusion, there is only one voice which matters. It is our Lord’s, “Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid!”  Trust Him when He says this. Our Lord is there to catch us and raise us up when we fall. He is our hope. He is our salvation. He is the calm in the storm.

Yes, to have courage or fortitude does not mean that we will not experience fear. Yes, at one time or another we will be afraid of sinking, we will be afraid of failing, we will be afraid of dying. But we have courage because we know with certainty that Jesus is there to catch us when we fall, to forgive us when we fail, and He has conquered death by His own death and resurrection. With Him, we can face every storm with faith, with hope, with charity, and with fortitude. “The Lord is my strength and my shield. I trust Him with all my heart.” (Psalm 28:7)

Give them something to eat yourselves

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

After an exhausting day of public ministry, our Lord decides to withdraw and retire to a deserted place, hoping to escape the fawning crowds, recover from the fatigue and have time to commune with His Father. But instead of prayerful rest, He is confronted once again by the crowds who continue to trail Him and who refuse to leave Him alone. Instead of annoyance, Saint Matthew tells us that the Lord took pity on them. Saint Matthew’s words describe the tenderness and love that characterises a true Shepherd’s heart. We may sometimes sound tiresome even to our loved ones, especially when they have to put up with our whining, complaining and demands, but here’s the good news: God never tires of us. Here our Lord understood the hunger of the crowds and instead of just turning them away, He acts and He invites His disciples to do the same.

But there is a problem - a problem of limited resources and colossal needs, the perennial problem which plagues humanity. The Lord’s disciples point out this conundrum to the Lord and suggests this solution, ‘This is a lonely place, and the time has slipped by; so send the people away, and they can go to the villages to buy themselves some food.’ Logical and practical. But our Lord is adamant and counter proposes, ‘There is no need for them to go: give them something to eat yourselves.’ What a challenge? It would have been so much easier to just say, “This isn’t my problem”; “I can’t be the saviour of the world; I can’t solve every problem”; “People just have to learn how to take care of themselves.” But the Lord would not have any of these excuses. Instead, He enlists His disciples in the work of feeding the multitude. Our Lord, being God, could have done this on His own without their help but He chose not to. Instead, He deliberately chooses to involve them in His miraculous feeding.

They then retort with this reality check - they only have five loaves and two fish, to be shared among 5,000 men (not counting the women and the children). The feat, as noble as it sounds, is simply impossible! This problem would certainly resonate with those who are responsible for assigning seats for Mass every Sunday. They have to crack their heads in order to find solutions to accommodate the thousands who want to come to Church every week and to match this figure with the limited number of seats.

The juxtaposition of our Lord’s response and the disciples’ reaction presents us with two very different visions – a human and a spiritual one. The human vision recognises the problem, but assesses it based on these considerations – one’s ability and capacity to help and the availability of sufficient resources. There is nothing wrong with this. All good planning involves looking at what we possess before we commit to a project.

But our Lord provides us with another vision. A vision where He is fundamentally present and in charge. And when He is present, everything changes. Remember, that the Lord Jesus Christ is God, who is capable of not only performing miracles but there is nothing which He cannot accomplish or do. If disciples could not see beyond their inadequacies, our Lord is not limited in His vision. He sees the hunger of His people. He sees beyond the physical and material needs of persons. These things are important and necessary but man’s greatest need is spiritual. Our Lord can heal our bodies and fill our stomachs, but that is only a stopgap measure. What mankind needs more than a miracle worker or a philanthropist is a Saviour, because our greatest problem is not poverty, hunger or war, it is sin. And the Saviour chooses to enlist us in this grand work of salvation.

But what kind of people does He use? You would imagine that He would zoom in on the gifted, the resourceful or the rich. But He doesn’t. Instead, He takes anyone who is willing to risk sharing and trusting. In other words, any of us could be candidates of this grand scheme of His. How do we enlist? By yielding our littleness to the Master to use as He pleases. Our Lord tells us, “Bring them here to Me!” That’s the key! Give your inadequate resources and abilities to the Lord. The insufficient becomes more than sufficient when surrendered to Christ! We may think that we have nothing to offer, but the truth is that, all of us have something to offer – it’s just that it is inadequate. Jesus doesn’t ask you to give Him what you don’t have. He asks you to give Him what you do have. What Jesus did with this meagre supply of bread and fish is what He will do with us, warts, limitations, brokenness and all. If He can feed a multitude with that meagre ration, imagine what He could do with us.

So, the next time you receive an invitation to give something of yourself, do not just look at what you do not possess, look rather to what you do possess, humble and insignificant as it may seem to you. That is enough. Pope Francis reminds us: “the Lord makes us walk on his road, that of service, of sharing, of giving; and if it is shared, the little we have, the little we are, becomes riches; for the power of God—which is the power of love—comes down into our poverty to transform it. So let us ask ourselves this evening, in adoring Christ who is really present in the Eucharist: do I let myself be transformed by him? Do I let the Lord, who gives himself to me, guide me to going out ever more from my little enclosure, in order to give, to share, to love him and others?”

Fan into flame the gift God has given you

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

One of my favourite memes which I often send to friends after a busy and tiring day is that of this chubby boy slump over his desk with his head resting on folded arms, with the following caption, “This is me every day, and not just on a Sunday.” Weariness and exhaustion in life are all too common. We go to work day after day, drive forty minutes plus, pick up the kids from school, drive home, make dinner, help with homework or send them for tuition, and maybe live with someone we barely talk to, only to start it all again tomorrow. Sounds familiar? Yes, even the most extroverted and highly motivated would arrive at a point in life where they are almost on auto-pilot, repeating mindless and meaningless routine. If this is true of your personal life, can our spiritual life be any different? It is at this stage that for many, faith no longer makes sense. In The Everlasting Man, G. K. Chesterton has his finger on the problem: “Pessimism is not in being tired of evil but in being tired of good. Despair does not lie in being weary of suffering, but in being weary of joy.”

The early Church fathers had a name for this affliction – acedia, which later got translated into “sloth”, one of the seven deadly sins. The association with sloth unfortunately leads many to equate acedia with pure laziness. But there is more to it. The Catechism teaches us that: “acedia or spiritual sloth goes so far as to refuse the joy that comes from God, and to be repelled by divine goodness” (# 2094).  Dorothy Sayers, who wrote an entire book on the subject, describes it as “a sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.” In short, “sloth” does not mean inactivity but rather apathy. Instead of finding anything exciting, we get bored with everything.    

What do we do when apathy sets in to our faith life? The problem and remedy seems to be addressed by this week’s readings. Faith is the motif in each reading. The seldom-referenced prophet Habakkuk had grown frustrated with the lack of faith evidenced in his people's behaviour and responsiveness to God. They had grown spiritually slothful and now the prophet himself is tempted to follow suit. But God assures him, however, that his prayers are heard and God never disappoints. Perseverance would be the first remedy to acedia. We should keep praying, even when we don’t feel like it. We should keep going for mass and confession, even when we seem to get nothing out of it. As the Lord assured Habakkuk, “if it comes slowly wait, for come it will, without fail,” because “the upright man will live by his faithfulness.”

Similarly in the gospel, when the disciples learned more about the demands of discipleship, they feared they did not have the faith to meet the challenges that came with it. The heaviness of discipleship weights down on them. To that end, they beg, “increase our faith,” a frank admission their profound lack.  But the problem is that faith is not quantifiable. Nevertheless, it is the power that inspires us, helps us to persevere, enables us to struggle and not lose heart, and keeps us ever mindful of God’s abiding presence. That is why our Lord uses the images of the mustard seed and the mulberry tree to graphically illustrate the power of faith, even the tiniest spark of it, can move the unmovable and accomplish what appears to be impossible.

At first glance, it might appear that the Lord was being sarcastic. But this was not His intention. In fact, He clearly knew and understood their weaknesses, but He also wanted them to understand that even a little faith goes a long way. His parable about the servant seems to say that faith is not a reward for the spiritually proficient; rather, faith is the requisite for every disciple. And when we have faith, we are merely doing our job as disciples and should seek no reward.

Yes, even a little faith can go a long way. Faith begets faith. Or, as St. Thomas Aquinas noted, “Faith does not quench desire, but inflames it.” True faith is like a small snowball poised at the top of a long slope, waiting to be pushed so it might then grow as it picks up speed. But that snowball is always first formed and moved by God. Faith is first and foremost a gift from God. But faith is also a response. When we respond in obedience to God and His gift, faith grows. This is because faith is also a habit, a power or capacity that gets stronger when it is exercised and atrophies when it is not.  So faith is like a spiritual muscle.  The way you develop faith is, to exercise it regularly and to do so against ever increasing resistance. Don’t expect faith to get easier. It necessarily gets harder because the only way faith grows is to be challenged.  If you ask for faith, know that this means giving the Lord permission to put more weight on the bar.  If we wish to grow in faith and resist the vice of acedia or spiritual sloth, we must be ready to discipline ourselves. For, as St. Paul says, “God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power and love and self-control (2 Timothy 1:8).”

That brings us full circle back to St Paul in the second reading and the wisdom he shared with his friend and colleague, Timothy. As he reminded Timothy, our faith must be tended, stirred and fed like a flame. Our Christian faith can be likened to hot coals which would make a fire when fanned but become cold and useless if left alone. Many of us Catholics were baptised as infants, thus becoming Christians before we knew anything at all. Many of us grew up without properly tending that initial spark of faith that was given to us at baptism or we had allowed the pressures and distractions of life to reduce our faith to cold ashes. The result being so many have left the faith of our childhood, the faith of our parents, believing this is no longer relevant.

How do we fan into a flame God's gift of faith that has been kindled within us? Fanning our faith into a flame implies that we respond to the grace of God in us. It is achieved through daily communion with God in prayers, taking time to prayerfully study His Word and frequenting the Sacraments of Penance and the Holy Eucharist. It means reading good spiritual books and attending good formations to deepen our faith. Being immersed in a faith community and community life, is essential for our growth in faith.  As we open our hearts to God in these ways, He strengthens our faith, allowing the seed of faith planted in us to blossom. But when we cease doing these things, we would soon find our enthusiasm for anything spiritual diminishing.

Most of us need an occasional shot in the arm to keep our faith strong and vibrant. But this does not mean that we should be constantly searching for extraordinary experiences that give us an emotional high. Growth in friendship with God does not happen only in the special, uplifting moments. It is through our daily efforts to be faithful to God, to live our faith in the everyday, with the help of the Sacraments, that our bond with God is strengthened.

Yes, we need to fan into flame the gift of faith God has given us. But in order for it to really catch fire, we need to step out in faith. Every step of faith that we take is like the oxygen added to the fire to keep it blazing! Our effort, feeble though it may seem to us (like a tiny insignificant mustard seed), works like a bellows blowing air onto the fire until it is a blazing bonfire. So, let us fan the flame of the Spirit. Let His fire burn away all doubt and hesitation, all sloth and apathy, so that you can become a beacon of faith, hope, and love for the people around you. As Pope Francis constantly reminds us – what the Church needs more than ever today, are joyful witnesses full of enthusiasm rather than someone who had just walked out of a funeral.