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)

The Lord is my Shepherd

 Fourth Sunday of Easter Year B

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are witnesses to this

 Third Sunday of Easter Year B

Before our Lord ascended into heaven, He gave His Apostles several enduring mandates, commanding them what to do until He returned.  We’re most familiar with the one in St. Matthew’s Gospel, which the Protestants fondly label as the Great Commission. So much ink and words have been expended on that passage, to the point that it gives us the inaccurate impression that those were the only last words of our Lord to His disciples before His Ascension, and therefore, the only words that mattered. The trouble is that this obsession, with the last chapter of St Matthew’s Gospel, ignores the final words recorded in the other gospels. Furthermore, the event of the Ascension is entirely missing from St Matthew’s Gospel. In fact, only St Luke records the Ascension with precision at the end of his gospel and at the beginning of his second volume, the Acts of the Apostles.

Today, we have Christ’s final mandate in St Luke’s version: ‘So you see how it is written that the Christ would suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that, in his name, repentance for the forgiveness of sins would be preached to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses to this.’ The lectionary does a marvellous job at showing how the prophetic words of Christ at the end of the gospel would be fulfilled in the Acts of the Apostles, with St Peter and others giving witness to the gospel and calling their audience to repentance.

Let us zoom in on the last words of Christ: “You are witnesses to this.” What are the disciples called to be witnesses to? There is a certain ambivalence which may be intentional. First, this could mean that they are called to be witnesses of the gospel in its entirety. Or they could be called to be witnesses to the resurrection. Or it could be referring to what our Lord had highlighted in this mandate. Or it could be, all of the above.

But notice that our Lord is not making an exhortation here, instructing His disciples to become witnesses. He did not say, “You shall be my witnesses.” Our Lord is merely stating a fact: “You are witnesses to this.” He is not telling them what they need to do but reminding them of who they already are: witnesses!

So, what does it mean to be a witness? In a recently discovered manuscript of Archbishop Wojtyła, who later became Pope St John Paul II, he attempts to unpack the meaning of being a “witness.” He sets out his argument by making several points.

First, St John Paul II tells us that to be a witness means, being in union with Christ. It is relational rather than functional – our relationship with Christ is fundamental to the job that we must do. St John Paul II explains that to be a witness, to testify for Christ, means “uniting oneself to Christ to “see the Father” (cf. Jn 14:9) in him and through him.”

It is interesting to note that first aspect of witnessing is not something which we immediately associate with the work of evangelisation, which is to share the gospel with others, but to “see the Father” by uniting oneself to Christ, “in Him and through Him.” How could we possibly witness God’s love to others if we are unable to see Him through the lenses of Christ? The first step of witnessing requires our complete union with Christ and how He sees the Father. We recall the first calling of the disciples. They were called to “be with” our Lord before they were sent out to be “fishers of men.” A relationship with Christ always precedes His mission. If the former does not precede the latter, then our nets will remain empty and all our efforts fruitless.

Second, St John Paul II teaches that in order to be a witness, it means one must be able “to read in Christ the mystery of man.” Christ is the perfect man and if we wish to be human, then we must imitate Him. Witnessing is not the product of skilful words and eloquent speech, nor is it to be found in the method of delivery. These things are useful but they are not the most crucial thing. To be most effective and convincing, the messenger must become the message.

Witnessing ultimately means imitation. In a world which glorifies innovation and being original, the Christian call to witness goes against the current. If we are to be witnesses, we are called to imitate and not innovate. We must ultimately imitate Christ in every aspect of His life, speech, action, preference, demeanour and orientation. To be a Christian means to be a “Little Christ” or another Christ. If people are drawn to our preaching, it should be because they are drawn to Christ, we can take no credit for it. In fact, the cult of personality where so much emphases are given to the charismatic and colourful personality of the preacher or pastor, should be anathema to the Christian religion. To be more Christ-like, means dying to ourselves.

Lastly, St John Paul II highlights the sacramental dimension of witnessing. He writes, “It is the sacramental dimension through which Christ himself acts in a human being who opens himself to his action in the power of the Spirit of Truth.” If our witnessing is to bear fruit, it is not just a matter of uniting ourselves with Christ or imitating Him. Witnessing is not solely a human effort. It is always God’s initiative. It is allowing our Lord to work through us and in us, and it is for this reason that He left to the Church the sacraments, efficacious channels of sanctifying grace. Our work of evangelisation can only bear fruit, fruit that will last, if it draws its power from the fount of grace, which is made available to us through the sacraments.

The Acts of the Apostles, which is staple reading throughout the season of Easter best illustrates the above points raised by St John Paul II. We see the public ministry of the apostles flourishing, precisely because they were in total communion with Christ in His ministry, preaching and even suffering. One gets the impression, when reading the stories of the apostles is that, you’ve heard it all before. Where? In the gospels! The Apostles were copies of Christ, they gave witness through imitation, drawing others to Christ instead of to themselves. And finally, we see the early missionary communities, who were communities at prayer, communities at worship, communities which were built on the solid foundation of the sacraments. They understood that without the sacraments and active prayer life, their work of evangelising would fail. In fact, their worship would be the primary source of evangelisation, drawing so many to embrace and celebrate the mystery of Christ.

We often speak of Lent as a penitential season, an opportune time to repent. But repentance is not just something we do during Lent only. It extends into Easter and beyond, into the ordinary seasons and the cycle of life. For the gospel of repentance is not just merely calling out the sins of others. That’s a first step and a necessary one too. But repentance also is an invitation to conform our lives to Christ, and be witnesses of repentance by submitting to it daily, so that “God’s love comes to perfection in us.”

God’s mercy is stronger than our misery

Second Sunday of Easter

This Sunday is uniquely confusing because it’s known by many names. It’s always much easier to deal with someone or something when you only have to contend with one name. Today is the Second Sunday of Easter. It is also known as the Sunday within the Octave of Easter. In the extraordinary form and in the pre-1969 calendar, it was also called Low Sunday (in relation to last Sunday, Easter). And since the pontificate of St John Paul II, who had a strong devotion to the Divine Mercy, it has received this eponymous title - Divine Mercy Sunday.

But my favourite name for this Sunday is derived from the opening words of the introit, the entrance antiphon for this Sunday. Quasimodo Sunday. It is taken from 1 Peter 2:2 and in Latin, it begins with these words: “quasi modo geniti infantes” or in English, “like newborn infants.” This is the full text of the antiphon: “As newborn babes, desire the rational milk without guile, that thereby you may grow unto salvation: If so be you have tasted that the Lord is sweet.”

The name Quasimodo Sunday may not be familiar to most of you but the name is not unfamiliar. Sounds like an oxymoron, right? Well, if you recall Victor Hugo’s novel, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” you will remember that the main protagonist’s name is Quasimodo. For those not familiar with the storyline, this tale of love, chivalry and strange beauty is about this unlikely hero, the severely deformed hunchback, with a pristinely beautiful and innocent heart and soul, who lived in the rafters of Paris’ Cathedral.

In Hugo’s novel, Quasimodo, rejected by his parents for his deformities, is abandoned inside Notre Dame Cathedral, at a place where orphans and unwanted children were dropped off. Monseigneur Claude Frollo, the Archdeacon, finds the child on “Quasimodo Sunday” and “called him Quasimodo; whether it was that he chose thereby to commemorate the day when he had found him, or that he meant to mark by that name how incomplete and imperfectly moulded the poor little creature was,” Hugo wrote.

In a strange way, the character Quasimodo, who risked his own life to save another whom he loves, is a type of Christ. And like Quasimodo, Christ also appears before His disciples today, arrayed not in gold and resplendent garments, but carrying the trophies of His victory on the cross - His wounds. But unlike Quasimodo, our Lord was not born with these deformities, for He is the unblemished Paschal Lamb. These are the scars of the torture He endured for our sake. Instead of an unscarred and unblemished appearance, He chooses to retain His ugly wounds as a sign, not of His failure, but of His victory over sin and death. His wounds are supremely beautiful because they are visible marks of His love for us, the receipt for the price He had paid for us, the booty of a cosmic battle which He had fought and won for us.

On this Sunday, Catholics are called to remember the newest members of the Church, those who were baptised, received into the fold of the Catholic Church, confirmed as adults and who received their First Holy Communion as full members of the Church. So, the words of the antiphon have special significance for these. The website, the New Liturgical Movement, writes:

“It counsels the first communicant or the convert, likened to a newborn child, to desire the milk of the mother, to receive that nourishment and grow. Properly disposed, the new communicant doesn't need to be told this. But the rest of us sing about this as a reminder that there are children among us who need to be cared for, and that we all should preserve the spirit of the children of God and remain humble and submissive to the Divine Will.”

Yes, in a way, all of us are incomplete and imperfectly moulded. We desire and hunger for the sacramental milk which only our Mother, the Church, can give. We have been deformed by sin, poor orphans abandoned and languishing in this Valley of Tears, waiting to be picked up by our Heavenly Father and to be adopted by Him. In His mercy, He has given us His only begotten Son, the Divine Mercy, not only to be our companion but to exchange places with us. Our Lord Jesus, the sinless and perfect Son of God, Beauty ever ancient ever new, chose to take our ugliness upon Himself in order to confer upon us the beauty of sanctifying grace. He took our sentence of death, in order to grant us the repeal of life. He has done this through the Sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist, symbolised by the water and blood which flowed out through His wounded side, the source being His Most Sacred Heart beating in love for us.

But St Faustina also saw in that gushing spring of water and blood something else -  grace and mercy. This is what she wrote: “All grace flows from mercy, and the last hour abounds with mercy for us.  Let no one doubt concerning the goodness of God; even if a person’s sins were as dark as night, God’s mercy is stronger than our misery.” (Diary of St. Faustina, number 1507) Even the ugliest Quasimodo's in this world can be potentially the most beautiful beings seen through the lenses of grace and mercy because “God’s mercy is stronger than misery!”

In Victor Hugo’s novel, as a group of old women hunkered over to examine the little monstrosity that had been left near the vestibule of the Cathedral, one of them remarked, “I'm not learned in the matter of children ...but it must be a sin to look at this one." Could this remark be referring to us too? This is who we were, inheritors of Original Sin, prisoners and victims of our own sinful misdeeds, deformed by our iniquities, that it would be a sin for anyone to look at us. But then, God looked upon us, not with vile disgust or hatred but with love and mercy, and His “mercy is stronger than misery.” God offered us atonement and pardon for our sins. God offered us His incalculable mercy by offering us His son to take our place on the cross. As Saint Paul assures us, “God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor 5:21). We have seen this God, we have tasted Him, we have been redeemed and saved through His grace and mercy and we can proudly acclaim that we have tasted the Lord, and can testify that He is sweet!

From a Chicken to a Rooster to a Phoenix

Easter Sunday

In the West, it is common to find an ornamental rooster perched on top of a weathervane. Equally common, but lesser known and not so noticeable, would you find this bird placed on top of the steeples of churches. There are many anecdotal, and perhaps even apocryphal stories of how the bird got there, ranging from how one Pope decreed it to be placed on church tops as a symbol of Saint Peter’s betrayal, to how Protestants used it to distinguish their churches from those of the Papist faith, which they despised. Neither accounts can be wholly verified. If we could, perhaps we have found a basis for ecumenical agreement - the rooster!!!

Today, I would like to speak of this bird as forming two book ends, or some scripture scholars would say, the inclusio and conclusio, to the story of Christ’s death and resurrection. A rooster’s crowing stands at one end - it would mark the beginning of our Lord’s Passion, the point where Saint Peter denies our Lord and flees the scene. And similarly it would be at cock crow, or as the gospel passage says, “very early” on Easter morning, when Peter will return to the tomb, this time running in haste to verify the report of the women.

After Peter’s denial something changed. Something died in him. It was a turning point moment for Peter. Peter’s own bold confidence and strength were killed. He knew he was sand, not “the unmovable rock.” He realised that he is not a noble rooster strutting around in pride but a cowardly chicken, scurrying for cover. That’s why he went outside to weep after his denial. He ran away because he knew what and who he was. A sinner in need of forgiveness! But this would also be the beginning of Peter’s conversion. His cowardice would awaken him to realise that he was not self-reliant. He was not a self-made man. Never was. Everything about him depended upon Jesus, His Lord and Saviour.

That is why Peter ran to the tomb on Easter morning. He had to know and to see for himself that Christ had risen from the dead. On the night of his betrayal, he fled the scene and hid himself. He did not even witness the Lord’s execution but heard reports of it. Now that he had received news from the women who went to the tomb, that His Lord may actually be alive (or the body stolen), nothing could keep him from running like a little child filled with excitement and hope. Is it true? Could it be true, what our Lord had promised He would do, that is, He would rise again on the third day?

So, the rooster is not just a symbol of Peter’s failure, it is also a herald of Christ’s triumph. Just like the ambivalent cross, once a symbol of shame and failure, but at the hands of the Lord, a symbol of Christian glory, the cowardly chicken on Thursday night is transformed into the majestic rooster on Easter morning. Yes, the rooster is the symbol of Peter, not just of his failure but also what happens to every Christian because of our Lord’s resurrection - like Peter, like a rooster we are called to be heralds announcing the dawn, announcing the arrival of the day after the night, the arrival of good after bad, life after death.

But there is something more to be said about the rooster on this Feast of all feasts. The cock on the weather vane always faces into the wind, so it’s a symbol of the way Christ faces into the sins and dangers of the world. Our Lord invites us to share the same direction, the same orientation. We are to stand with Him, even if it means standing against the world and its distorted self-aggrandising, self-absorbed values. The key to this experience is following the Way of Jesus and abiding in Him always, even if that Way ultimately leads to the cross. It is at this moment that we realise that the innocuous rooster is actually a magnificent Phoenix, another symbol in the early Church of Christ. Just as a Phoenix is reborn and rises from the ashes of its destruction, Christ too has risen from the dead. If we have chosen to die with Him, we will then rise to new life with Him.

It is for this reason that Saint Augustine calls us an Easter people and Alleluia is our song. Pope St John Paul II tells us, “Do not abandon yourself to despair. We are the Easter people and Hallelujah is our song.” We are the Easter people who believe that the cross transformed all suffering and pain, and the Resurrection secured the promise of eternal life. As St. Augustine sums up the idea of being an Easter People: “Let us admire, congratulate, rejoice, love, praise, adore; because through the death of our Redeemer we are called from darkness to light, from death to life, from exile to home, from grief to everlasting joy.”

Yes, today on Easter morning, if you have heard the rooster’s crow, know this, though it reminds us of our failures, our betrayals and our sinfulness, that we are a Good Friday people who turned our backs on the Lord, we would also hear in that very same cock crow, the grace of God to sinners. The rooster is both an image of Peter’s failure, our failure, but also Jesus Christ's triumph. This Easter don’t just walk. Don’t put it off till tomorrow. Don’t hesitate at the door. Don’t hide like chickens. But run, run with the love of Saint Mary Magdalene, run with the zeal of Saint John and enter the empty tomb with the courage of Saint Peter. And like a rooster bursting with joy as it welcomes the Dawn, shout at the top of your voice, “Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!”

Feast of Feasts

 

Easter Vigil

While it has always been understood, theologically, that Easter—the Resurrection of the Lord—is the greatest feast of the Church, more attention has actually been given to Christmas. Christmas seems to have been made for children. Let’s be honest, most of us grownups love it too! Eventually the discovery by the child as he grows up, that Christmas was not the feast-of-feasts comes as a shock, and met with disbelief; but it is true nevertheless. I guess this is more shocking than discovering that the gifts you received every Christmas wasn’t brought by Santa.

Saint Paul tells us that “if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Cor 15:16-17). Strong words but Saint Paul’s statement is undoubtedly true. Without our faith built on the solid foundation of the Resurrection, it would merely be a house of cards, tittering on the brink of collapse and destruction. For who needs another religion with good ideas and concrete advice for moral living. Any self-help book from your local bookstore can do the job.

But our Lord’s Resurrection is the sine qua non of Christianity, it is absolutely necessary. A Christianity without belief in the Resurrection would no longer be Christian. Essentially, if it were not for the resurrection, all the other things that our Lord did and said, including His birth, would not be efficacious for our salvation. Hence, all events lead up to, all our beliefs revolves around, and all things can be traced back to His rising from the dead.

The same could be said about tonight’s liturgy which is described as the Mother of all Vigils. What we celebrate and how we celebrate tonight’s liturgy has great bearing on our faith and vice versa. The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that belief and liturgy are tied up together: “When the Church celebrates the sacraments, (and, here, the Easter liturgy is particularly important) she confesses the faith received from the apostles—whence the ancient saying: lex orandi, lex credendi. The law of prayer is the law of faith: the Church believes as she prays. Liturgy is a constitutive element of the holy and living Tradition” (Catechism of the Catholic Church §1124). This teaching is forcibly illustrated in the liturgy of the Easter Vigil, the climax of the Paschal Triduum, the Christian Passover. Tonight, we witness how our Christian faith is beautifully mirrored and expounded in our liturgy.

But first the context. The Passover was so central to the religion of the Jews because it represented the deliverance of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, as well as the beginning of their formation into the People of God. Now, because of the resurrection, we Christians through our baptism which is a sharing in our Lord’s death and resurrection, are formed into the people of God’s Son. This resurrection is the true Paschal festival, at once, final and forever. We are now delivered from a much greater evil than Egyptian slavery. At least the slave’s suffering comes to an end in the death of the slave. But we are now enslaved to something far worse than the Egyptians - we are enslaved to sin, and unless it is compensated for, and then repented of, would lead to a slavery that would last forever, even after death!

But the good news that rings out through every part of tonight’s liturgy is what Saint Paul declares in the second reading and this is what we will witness at the baptism of the candidates arrayed before us: “When we were baptised in Christ Jesus we were baptised in his death; in other words, when we were baptised we went into the tomb with him and joined him in death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the Father’s glory, we too might live a new life.” Saint Paul is saying that our Lord’s resurrection is not just an event which solely affected Him but one which has affected the entire Church and her members, those of us who are baptised in His name.

Tonight we reaffirm our ancient faith, the faith proclaimed by Saint Paul in his epistle: “If in union with Christ we have imitated his death, we shall also imitate him in his resurrection.” Christ has robbed death of its ultimate sting. Though none of us are immune to death, none of us can stay and hold back the ravages of time and ageing, none of us can completely insulate or vaccinate ourselves from every disease or pandemic, we know this to be true: Death has no power over us anymore, because when a person dies to sin in his baptism, “his life now is life with God; and in that way, you too must consider yourselves to be dead to sin but alive for God in Christ Jesus.” And this is what Saint Paul is trying to tell us. How could someone fear death, if he is already dead?  But when you die in Christ, it also means that you are “alive for God in Christ Jesus,” and since God is deathless, we too share in His immortality.

This is what we see in the story of Israel set out in the readings of the Old Testament heard today. God brings light out of darkness, freedom out of slavery, posterity out of barrenness, quenching satisfying water out of thirst. The New Testament adds this crowning couplet to the list - God brings life out of death. In the Exultet, the solemn Easter proclamation the deacon or priest intones at the start of our Vigil, the Church shows us how God turned every seeming sin, failure, mistake and disaster in our favour. The resurrection, one gets the feeling from the way the Exultet is worded and sung, was so great, it overcame all the past.

Yes, we all love Christmas, no denying this. But today, we affirm that Easter is bigger than Christmas. As the Catechism teaches: “Therefore Easter is not simply one feast among others, but the ‘Feast of feasts,’ the ‘Solemnity of solemnities,’ just as the Eucharist is the ‘Sacrament of sacraments’ (the Great Sacrament). St. Athanasius calls Easter ‘the Great Sunday’ and the Eastern Churches call Holy Week ‘the Great Week.’ The mystery of the Resurrection, in which Christ crushed death, permeates with its powerful energy our old time, until all is subjected to him.” (CCC 1169)

It was at Christmas that our Saviour was born to us. It was on Good Friday that He died for us. But it is at Easter, that He broke the chains of death and rose victorious and we know that our faith is not in vain, our good works and attempts to grow in holiness is not futile, that we would not have to remain perpetual slaves to sin and victims of death. And for this reason we can acclaim at the top of our voices: “Alleluia! The Lord is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!”

Stat crux dum volvitur orbis

 Good Friday

At the height of last year’s pandemic and on the eve of Holy Week, our Holy Father, Pope Francis drew the world’s attention as he gave a special Urbi et Orbi blessing to the world. The scene was surreal. In the darkened and empty plaza in front of the Basilica of St Peter, the solitary figure of this pope walking up the steps leading to the basilica and pausing to pray before the miraculous crucifix of the Church of St Marcellus that had been specially brought there for this occasion. Many were moved and touched by the words of the Pope as he addressed his flock and the world, with words of faith and hope in a time of unprecedented turbulence. But perhaps what spoke loudest was the powerful image of the Holy Father standing before the crucifix. As the entire world seem to spin in the maelstrom of this pandemic, with no remedy or solution in sight, our Pope holds on to the one thing that remains steady, unmoving and firmly grounded – the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. One commentator noted this scene with this penetrating and insightful phrase, “the cross stands while the world turns.”

‘Stat crux dum volvitur orbis,’ ‘The cross stands while the world turns’, is the English translation to the Latin motto of one of the strictest religious orders in the Church - the Carthusians. It is often said that the Carthusians are the only religious order in the Catholic Church that can boast of having never been reformed because it has never been deformed. Perhaps, this is the clearest testimony to the veracity of their motto: “the cross stands while the world turns and revolves.” The world changes but the Carthusians remain steadfast to their original spirit and vision.

Yes, the cross stands, unmovable, strong, solid, firmly grounded like a peg that holds the tent from being blown away by the wind or an anchor that keeps the ship from going adrift. Everyone understands the need for stability, even in a world that promotes rapid change. If nothing remains constant in the midst of change, everything descends into chaos. The cross is like a single coordinate point in the map of life, while other things are moving, shifting and changing, this point remains fixed, providing us with the needed reference point to guide our orientation and chart our direction. The cross stands erect, unshaken even in the midst of the tumultuous storms of life and the crisis which trails every moment of transition and change.

Rather than seeing the cross as an object to be feared or to be avoided at all cost, the cross is perhaps the most consoling symbol of our Christian faith. Of course, the cross alone provides us with little to no consolation. In fact, it should invoke horror and derision. But because of what our Lord did today, Good Friday, we will never be able to look at the cross in the same way again. As the priest unveils and shows the cross, he intones the chant: “behold the wood of the cross, on which hung the salvation of the world.” We are asked to behold not an empty cross. Our gaze and attention is drawn to the One who hangs on the cross, the One who is the “Salvation of the World”! Christ is our Rock, Christ is our Anchor, Christ is the axis of the World, He stands steady and unmoving even as the world revolves and turns.

In one of the most poignant scenes in the movie Captain America- Civil War, where our hero is at the funeral of his old beau, sitting beside him in the church is the niece of his former girlfriend. The niece reminisces and shares a quote from her auntie Maggie, a quote that would help our hero come to the enormously difficult decision that would end in alienating his friends and setting the whole world against him:

“Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move'.”

That is what our Lord did, and that is what Christians are called to do. Good Friday is the day when our Lord took a stand and when we too are asked to take a stand with Him by the cross. If you want everyone in the world to like you, then you can’t take a stand. You will be shifting and swaying with every changing fad or fashion, you will be moving with the crowd. But the moment you take a stand, the moment you have principles and are prepared to defend them, be ready to be hated. That is the cost to pay for standing up for the truth and for what is good.

But we know that we are not alone. We have an anchor that holds us firm and solid through any storm. It doesn’t mean that the storm will pass quickly, or that we won’t suffer from it. What it means is that we have a firm and sure foundation, and the One to whom we hold tight has gone before us and prepares a place for those who trust in Him. We know that though the wind is raging all around and even though the waves may rise to the point of sinking our ship, there’s a place of stillness in the storm. And you can find it in the One who hangs from the cross. Yes, the cross stands steady, while the world spins and shifts and revolves.

On the cross, it appeared that God had been vanquished. As ever so often, humanity and goodness appeared to have been crushed. Our Lord was killed, and yet the cross endures. It stands because it is sustained by what does not change.

‘The cross stands while the world turns’. The world may revolve. Fashions come and go, and public opinion rushes from one event to another. Sometimes Christianity itself falls out of favour. But we are assured that when we stand on the side of right, God stands with us. The cross is the sign of a divine fidelity to us that can never be destroyed. And that is why in the midst of suffering, confusion and turmoil, the cross is to be embraced and not avoided. This is because the cross is the necessary doorway to eternal glory – there is no other way in. There is no shortcut, there is no happy ending, in any ordinary sense. Death precedes glory, and the cross before the crown.

There is a second part to the Carthusian motto which is often omitted in popular quotes and lengthy discussions, “et mundo inconcussa supersto”, which translates “and steadfast/unshaken I stand on top of the world”. So, here’s the full saying:

 

Stat crux dum volvitur orbis

et mundo inconcussa supersto

The cross stands while the world turns

and steadfast/unshaken I stand on top of the world

Let us hold firmly to the cross, the only thing which stands steady in a changing world, in the midst of chaos, death and destruction, and we can proudly declare with our Lord, “steadfast unshaken I stand on top of the world.”