Blessed is He who comes

Palm Sunday

Knowing our need to see and to touch, the Church offers our senses a veritable feast during Holy Week. And who doesn’t love a free door gift, right? Catholics are no different. Today, we get to collect and hold our palms at the start of this Mass as we welcome the King of Kings. The palms, explains the liturgist Fr Pius Parsch, are “symbols of our loyalty to Him and of our willingness to do Him homage.” Thursday, we will witness the priest wash the feet of members of the congregation. Friday is when we march to the front to express our reverence and devotion to the wood of the cross, on which hung the salvation of the world. And on Saturday, we will hold candles as we welcome the Light of the World into our midst, into our world darkened by sin and death, now vanquished by our Risen Lord.

For many, these precious sacramentals were painfully denied to us and we had to be contented with the virtual experience of following these liturgical celebrations online. We could see but not touch. We could hear but not feel. These past few years had not just disrupted our routines but they had also been an assault to our sense of humanity. Seeing, hearing, touching, smelling and feeling is part of what makes us human.

But this year, we are back with a vengeance. We have been beaten, bruised, starved, masked, vaccinated, sanitised and deprived, but not defeated. Like the palms we hold, symbols of a martyr’s victory over death, we have survived. Like a Phoenix which rises anew from the ashes of its destruction, we Catholics have been reborn. Our victory is in Christ who faced death without flinching and even embraced it in a wrestle to the end and emerged victorious.

Today, at the start of Holy Week, the liturgy already provides us with a teaser of the ending. Yes, we have heard how our Lord would suffer in the long passion reading according to St Matthew, but we are also given a glimpse of how His passion is also a triumphant procession to victory: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” Hosanna is the cry of the people to God to “save us” and our Lord Jesus Christ is the answer to their pleas because His name, Jesus, means God saves!

The procession we witnessed at the start of today’s liturgy commemorates the procession our Lord undertook when He entered Jerusalem to fulfil His mission. It was one of the few times in His life that our Lord accepted public honours. He only did so on His own terms, upsetting all our expectations of what we think a king should be. The palms which the citizens of Jerusalem held have also taken on a new meaning because of Christ. They are now symbols of martyrdom, a Christian’s true glory and honour. Our Lord received gold, the symbol of kingly power, only as a helpless infant. Now, as a man who has manifested unimaginable power, He chooses the meekness prophesied by Zechariah, repeated in today’s Mass: “Tell the daughter of Sion, Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on an ass, and on a colt, the foal of an ass” (Matthew 21:5) “He is the king of peace,” writes the late Pope Benedict XVI, “and by God’s power, not His own.”

In just a few days, the lauds will turn to sneers: “We have no king but Caesar!” A distressed Pilate puts the question to Jesus, “Are you the king of the Jews?” “My kingdom is not of this world,” He replies. He is Lord not just of a particular people, nor even of “this world.” He transcends all that this world has to offer. He is Truth itself, the very foundation upon which the world rests. “For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.” (John 18:37)

Those who reject the truth send Him to the Cross, the most ironic of thrones for the king to mount. Near the end of today’s passion reading, we hear the chief priests and scribes mock and ridicule Him: “He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the king of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He puts his trust in God; now let God rescue him if he wants him. For he did say, ‘I am the son of God.’” Even in mockery, unwittingly they state a truth which underlies this entire story - Jesus is no mere king of the Jews, feted by people and hailed to be their political liberator. He is so much more. He is “the son of God.” Today, we cry with the people of Jerusalem as we do at every Mass, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” He who has come to save us, has come to die for us and in dying for us, He has come to feed us with His Body and Blood in the Eucharist! Divine Food that is real, not just virtual. So we sing, “Hosanna in the highest.”

This will end in God's glory

Fifth Sunday of Lent Year A

There is something about the popularity of the special genre of zombie or ghost movies which shows not only Hollywood’s, but that of the common man’s fascination with death and what happens after death. We live in a world preoccupied with death; from the morbid images of the zombie genre films, to death metal music, to the oppressive occult practices, to our youth counter-culture, to the older generations preoccupation with preserving life … people are obsessed with death in fearful and hopeless ways.

Death is portrayed quite differently in Scripture. Psalm 116:15 says precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Paul considered death his reward and inheritance. And in John 11 Jesus said, “Lazarus is dead; and for your sake I am glad I was not there because now you will believe.” How can this be? Our Lord loved Lazarus; He wept at his grave, yet He is glad? Can death possibly be a cause of rejoicing? As Christians we do not fear death; we may be sad that we will no longer see the ones we love, at least on this side of the grave, but the “sting of death” has been removed because of the resurrection of Christ, and we know that one day we will all exchange this mortal body for one of immortality.

Our Lord told His disciples that Lazarus was “resting” or “sleeping” and that He was going to “wake” him. For the disciples who remained unenlightened before the Lord’s resurrection, they thought that Jesus was referring to Lazarus having a snooze. Little did they realise that He was speaking of death and the resurrection. In Christ, physical death is merely a shadow as we quietly pass from one life into the next. Death is never final; it is always followed by life. Because He experienced separation from God on the cross, we will never be separated from Him.

Just imagine that scene in today’s gospel. It’s like something out of a zombie apocalypse. It’s not like a fairy-tale kiss bringing a sleeping beauty to life. Lazarus’s dead body had been in the tomb for four days. In the warm climate of the eastern Mediterranean, the dead body would rot and stink. Martha explicitly expressed concern about the stench of Lazarus’s body, what more the decomposition that would have begun to set in. Jesus was unconcerned. As He instructed them to remove the stone that sealed the tomb of Lazarus, the family members of Lazarus and on-lookers would have been appalled by such a morbid request and thought of desecrating the body of a dead man.

Just like what we heard in last week’s gospel, we see in this week’s instalment a spectrum of different responses – this week to the theme of “death”. The disciples tried to dissuade our Lord from going personally to Bethany which is close to Jerusalem because they feared death for Him and for themselves. We have Martha and Mary who had earlier appealed to our Lord to come and heal their brother because they believe that He could postpone death with a miracle. Now, that Lazarus is dead, they saw no need of His presence. His presence now was too little too late! Then we have Mary incapacitated by her tremendous grief because she believed death was the end of the road for her brother. And finally, we have Martha who believed in the resurrection of the dead, but only saw it as a future and ethereal reality that will take place at the end of time. Only our Lord, who feared neither death nor saw it as the end of life, could receive the news of His friend’s death and be gladdened because as He told His own disciples: “this sickness will end not in death but in God’s glory, and through it the Son of God will be glorified.” His vision of death must be ours too.

How can Lazarus’ death bring glory to God and to Jesus? The resuscitation of Lazarus was a prophecy in the form of an action. It foreshadows Christ’s own resurrection, and at the same time anticipates the resurrection of all the righteous. Lazarus’ death and subsequent resuscitation will show that God and Christ has power over death, man’s most ancient enemy – an enemy which we thought to be inevitable and undefeatable … at least until now.

So, the story of Lazarus is to be read not just as another miracle of our Lord, demonstrating His extraordinary power, but also a story of hope for all of us - a hope which does not lie in finding an answer to the mystery of suffering, a hope that is not grounded in a final solution to life’s troubles, but a shining hope in the life of the resurrection - a rebirth - of how even the dead, the seemingly lost can be called forth, they can be liberated once and for all from the bindings of sin, desperation and grief, and be finally set free to live not just a dream, but the reality of immortality, never to suffer pain or death again.

Let’s be honest. We human beings can handle many things that confront us in life, but on our own we will never be able to do much about death. We can accept death and resign ourselves to its inevitability, but we don’t have the power to overcome it. In battling death on our own, even with the help of family, friends and doctors, we will always emerge the loser. But the good news is that there is someone who has overcome death. There is someone who can ensure our victory. Our Lord has overcome death because only God can do so. By swapping places with Lazarus, our Lord offered life to the whole world through His own death and resurrection. Death will still come in unimagined ways, but none of them are the kind of death that separates us from God. Physical death is robbed of its power because in Christ there is life on both sides of the grave.

This is the Good News we hear today. This is the Good News our elect must hear today. Jesus is the resurrection and the life, the source of Eternal Life, not just on the last day, but this very day, in this very place- so let us echo the faith-filled words of Martha as we tell Him: “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into this world.” Let us go forth to live as those for whom death has been past ever since the day of our baptism so that living or dying, our lives are in Christ.

Which class do you belong to?

Fourth Sunday of Lent Year A

I once came across an article which featured a letter from a distraught Singaporean mother addressed to the Central Provident Fund (CPF), Singapore’s equivalent of our Employees Provident Fund. I was once told anecdotally, “what goes in, seldom comes out!” Her request to withdraw S$70,000 to fund her family’s living expenses and treatment for her mentally ill son was rejected. In response to their decision, she wrote a lengthy letter which went viral. What caught my attention was this insightful paragraph: “There are three classes of people in society. One, those who can see. Two, those who can see when shown and Three, those who cannot see even when shown. Which class do you belong to?”

“Which class do you belong to?” A good question to begin our reflexion for today’s gospel. At the beginning of the story, everyone claims to be able to see except the man born blind. But as the story unfolds, we would soon discover that almost all the characters, with the exception of our Lord, suffers from some blindness or other. In John’s gospel, seeing is synonymous with believing. Our Lord uses physical sight as a metaphor for something of even greater importance, spiritual sight, to see with the eyes of faith.

First, we have the disciples of the Lord. They have been the privileged recipients of the mysteries of the Kingdom and witnessed first-hand the Lord’s miracles. They, like so many others, truly believe that they can “see.” It is with this presumed sight that they pose what appears to be a clever theological question with regards to the disability of the man born blind, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, for him to have been born blind?” Addressing the Lord as “Rabbi” is the first evidence of their blindness. The blind man’s sight at the end of the gospel is so much more penetrating. The disciples also presumed that since the man has suffered such a fate, it must be on account of some sin, either his or that of his parents. It is assumed that people reap what they sow; that ‘bad luck’ is a result of ‘bad karma’; wicked folks get what is coming to them. Our Lord corrects them: “Your assumptions are flawed.” “He was born blind so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

The next group are his neighbours and people who knew him as a blind beggar. The sight of the blind man being able to see should have inspired awe at seeing the wonders of God, but instead what arose was incredulity. Then we have the man’s own parents who are summoned as witnesses. They recognise their son and they also recognise the amazing transformation, if not miracle, that has taken place – their son born blind, can now see. And yet, they refuse to acknowledge this out of fear of being implicated in this escalating controversy.

Finally, we have the Jews and the Pharisees who were scandalised by the fact that the Lord had performed a miracle on a Sabbath, in violation of their ritual prohibitions. They have heard the testimonies of the blind man, his neighbours and family members, but still refuse to “see”. They’d rather believe their biased opinion of Jesus than what their “lying eyes” are revealing to them. The story culminates in this parting shot of the Lord aimed at the Pharisees: “Blind? If you were, you would not be guilty, but since you say, “We see”, your guilt remains.”

Yes, all these characters claim to be able to see, but can they really? For our Lord, the real question is whether the lack of seeing is voluntary or involuntary. While the blind man couldn’t help being blind, the others, who could have seen, deliberately chose to be blind. Therefore, their guilt remains. At the heart of this fascinating narrative is a simple but powerful contrast: the man who is blind from birth who sees nothing, but upon encountering the healing Saviour, the Light of the World, sees clearly. On the other hand, the other characters who all claim to be able to see clearly, but at the end of the story expose themselves to be truly blind. They deliberately chose not to see. That is the tragedy!

So, the only character that finally sees, is ironically the man born blind. The gift of sight eventually leads him along a journey of discovery, a path that will lead to a deepened faith. It takes a while before he completely comes to believe. Initially, he obeys without understanding. In the beginning he thinks of Jesus as merely a “man” among others, then when he is questioned, he speaks of the Lord as being a “prophet” and finally, his eyes are opened and he proclaims Him “Lord” and falls down in worship. From hopeless darkness he grows into the purest light of faith, entirely through the power of a gift of grace he never asked for; a faith whose logic he follows obediently; a faith that, like a mustard seed, grows in him until it becomes a huge tree. I believe his story resonates with the personal experiences of our Elect.

The story of the Blind Man is our story. Saint Augustine, commenting on the spiritual sense or meaning of the man’s blindness, simply stated, “This blind man is the human race.” This state of blindness is the Original Sin which we have inherited from our father Adam. And we continue to remain in the state of blindness whenever we choose to sin. My dear Elect, this is what that will happen to you at your Baptism: the washing in the waters of Baptism will remove the stain of Original Sin which spiritually blinds you and gives you new sight to see with faith.

Today, it’s good to be reminded by St Paul that: “You were in darkness once, but now you are light in the Lord; be like children of light, for the effects of the light are seen in complete goodness and right living and truth.” Being children of light is a journey. This is your journey. This is our journey, moving in stages to more perfectly know Jesus, to love Him and serve Him. We admit that our vision remains blurred because of sin. In order that our vision may be restored and made clearer, we need to constantly wash it, not in the Pool of Siloam but in the confessional, receiving the healing grace of reconciliation through the Sacrament of Penance. We know that as we persevere, one day we will see our Lord face to face.

Give me a drink

Third Sunday of Lent Year A

Conversation starters come in various forms, shapes and sizes. From mundane topics like the weather to more animated divisive issues like politics, conversation starters have always played an important role in setting the tone for social interaction - its success and failure has always depended on saying the right things at the right time and in the right company. Who could have guessed that a topic on water and thirst could lead to such profound theological depth in this exchange between the Samaritan woman and the Lord. The hot and dry desert climate must have given the word ‘thirst’ an intensified meaning and made this a “hot” topic.

Our Lord appears on the scene, apparently thirsty, asking for a drink. Pause for a moment to take that in - Jesus thirsts – also one of the last words He utters from the cross. It is consoling to note that God thirsts for us, for our liberation and our salvation. But the story soon ironically evolves into a tale that focuses on the unquenchable thirst of the woman, a thirst that cannot be sated by her unending search for love, acceptance, spirituality, and faith. This would only be possible with Christ.

At one juncture of this long conversation, the Lord would ask the woman: "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water'. The Samaritan woman’s response to Jesus is filled with sarcasm and incredulity, 'Sir, you have no bucket and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?' Our Lord is unperturbed and replies. 'Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.' Who could refuse a promise like this, especially the prospect of not having to lug home a heavy bucket of water from the village well? It is no surprise that she then softens and finally concedes, 'Sir, give me this water.” Did she really understand what she was asking?

The depth of the well is a good starting point to speak of the gravity of the spiritual thirst of the Samaritan woman and that of every soul. In the ensuing debate of which is the greater shrine, the Samaritan one built close to the site of the historical well or the Jerusalem Temple - the Samaritan woman argues the pre-eminence of the Samaritan site by praising the greatness of Jacob, the giver of the well. As far as the Samaritans were concerned that well contained holy water, because historically identified with the ancestor of her race – their national hero. But irony is apparent once again. If we would run a contest for the most passionate and thirsty individual of the Old Testament, Jacob will make the top three. Who else cheats his brother and father for his inheritance, works fourteen years for the woman he loves, wins a wrestle match with the Angel of the Lord and sires the nation that delivers the Messiah?

But then Jacob’s well is unable to solve the ‘unquenchable thirst’ of the Samaritan woman, indeed of every soul. Jacob’s well is a picture of the waters of this world. It speaks of every natural pleasure and ‘painkiller’ for the soul ever invented. Be it the best of technology, most advanced device, latest political ideology, entertainment, immorality, intoxicant or pornography. The waters of this world cannot quench the profound thirst of the human heart. Quoting Jesus ‘whoever drinks of this water will thirst again.’

In 2011, Pope Benedict addressed a crowd of a half million young people in Sydney, Australia, on the occasion of the World Youth Day. He was keenly aware of the spiritual thirst of the many souls gathered there, some who had travelled long distance to catch a glimpse of the Pope, many fuelled by curiosity and the perennial thirst for an answer to life’s mysteries. Pope Benedict told them that "in so many of our societies, side by side with material prosperity, a spiritual desert is spreading: an interior emptiness, an unnamed fear, a quiet sense of despair. How many of our contemporaries have built broken and empty cisterns (cf. Jer 2:13) in a desperate search for meaning?" No doubt about it, our wells are indeed deep! The great catechist then identified the things we are thirsting for: love that endures, opportunity to share gifts, unity based on truth, communion that respects the freedom of the other person. These can be summed up as thirst or longing for three things: goodness, beauty and truth, the three transcendentals. But, said the Holy Father, instead of goodness, beauty and truth, what our society offers is choice, novelty and subjective experience. Those things are not bad in themselves, but to stop there is like substituting the authentic goldmine for a poor imitation, to settle for a depleting source of water rather than for an endless supply of living water from the Source itself.

God created man with the capacity to worship Him and the need to be in fellowship with Him. Science fiction writer, H. G. Wells, writes that every person has a “God-shaped vacuum in his heart - a void that only God can fill.” St Augustine puts it this way, “My soul is restless ‘till it rests in Thee.” As you all know, the life of Augustine is a replay of the life of our gospel’s protagonist, the Samaritan Woman. Behind Augustine is a succession of desperate searches for fulfillment: excessive pleasures, false religions, philosophies, dissipation and distractions—futilities that left him so weary of himself. At the very moment when his yearning led him to desperation, circumstances led his eyes to a passage in Scripture – to the one thing, no, to the one person who could heal his weariness and satisfy his longing thirst, Christ.

The depth of the well proves a challenge to anyone who has no recourse to a rope and a bucket. The well becomes a most suitable symbol of the human soul. But the good news is that you do not need a rope or a bucket to reach the living water which our Lord promises. The well from which this living water flows is the unfathomable depths of God’s love. And so buried deep within us is this spiritual aquifer – it is the place of deep communion between God’s spirit and ours. It lies hidden beneath layers of superficiality, our preoccupations with all things material and tangible, our dalliance with world delights and pursuits, our ambition for power and mastery. Though too deep for us, our wells are never too deep for Him. We only have to ask, “Master, give me this water,” we are assured of a drink from the well of God’s immense riches which promises life and immortality. Thereafter, we shall never be thirsty again.

Heaven keeps us on course

Second Sunday of Lent Year A

Most of us start off our Lenten journey by making big and ambitious resolutions - we will stop smoking, stop drinking, stop watching seedy movies over Netflix, we resolve to go vegan for the next 40 days, we will make sure we attend daily Mass and the list goes on. It’s one thing to feel energised at the start, but it’s another thing to sustain the momentum. This seems to be a reflexion of life too. There are lots of things we set out to do early in life or at significant moments of transition, resolutions to amend our lives and better ourselves, promises we make to God and others that we will be “the better man” or the better woman,” only to find all the initial enthusiasm fizzling out as time passes and as the painful reality sets in.

We soon realise that both Lent and life demand more than just quick spurts of speed to the finishing line. It often feels more like a long distance marathon stretching on-and-on with no sight of the end. How do we sustain our resolve for the long haul? This Sunday’s readings provide us the encouragement needed to persevere, not just for Lent but also for life, especially when the going gets tough, the obstacles seem too daunting, and the end of our trials seem beyond the horizon of our vision.

In the first reading, God promises Abram that he will be rewarded with endless blessings, blessings that will continue to be poured on him in all future generations, if Abram is willing to give up the security of his homeland and the support of his countryman for the unknown. In a fierce and arid land, where he will now become a wanderer and stranger, with no family or even children to support him in his old age, it must have taken great faith on the part of Abram to believe in the words of God. Faith in God’s boundless Providence rather than in our own strength and resources is what is needed to sustain us to the very end. Our strength may give out, our resources may run out, our circle of support may leave us, but God’s fidelity to His promises will never waiver.

From the patriarch’s utterly obedient willingness to leave everything behind - country, father’s house, kinship and familiarity - issues forth the promise of universal blessing. In other words, only when Abram is willing to surrender his limited possessions or blessings, can he fully experience the divine blessing God intends for him. No pain, no gain. This is what the Transfiguration reveals.

In the second reading, St Paul writes to Timothy and exhorts him to “bear the hardships for the sake of the Good News, relying on the power of God who has saved us and called us to be holy – not because of anything we ourselves have done but for his own purpose and by his own grace.” Paul is telling us that sharing in his sufferings and in the sufferings of Christ, we are doing so not to earn salvation (as one would be rewarded for a meritorious act) but as a response to the grace of salvation which “had already been granted to us, in Christ Jesus, before the beginning of time, but it has only been revealed by the Appearing of our saviour Christ Jesus.” This again is what the Transfiguration reveals. That victory stands in the middle of defeat, glory in the middle of humiliation, and life in the middle of death.

Finally, we come to the story of the Transfiguration in the gospel. It is important to note that we would hear this story, told by the different Evangelists, every Second Sunday of Lent. It provides us with a kind of teaser of how the story of Lent ends, a needed motivation, since it is easy to just give up before we even get to hear how the story plays out in the events of Holy Week. As the story of Holy Week progresses, we see how the crowds gradually leave our Lord and turn against Him. Even His own disciples flee at the very end when our Lord is arrested. They will be denied the privilege of witnessing our Lord’s resurrection because they had refused to witness His passion and crucifixion. But though none was there to see our Lord resurrect and emerge from the tomb, here at the Transfiguration they get a glimpse of our Lord’s true glory. This experience of the Transfiguration was, therefore, God’s way of delivering the disciples from a crisis of faith by providing them with a glimpse into the glory of heaven. When we have sight of the finishing line, the rigours of the race become less demanding and we gain a second wind.

The cause of a crisis of faith often arises from the way in which we see people and things around us. Death, suffering, separation seem to be defining moments in our lives. The disciples needed a vision from God’s point of view, to see that in spite of the death sentence hanging over the head of Jesus, God was still with Him, God was still in control of events, God would see to it that in the end, He would be victorious over His foes, even over death. In the Transfiguration, Peter, James and John saw that there was more to Jesus than what they could see and hear and touch; they got a glimpse of the future glory of the Lord’s resurrection. His death would not be the end; it would only inaugurate the beginning of Eternal Life.

An important truth shines forth from the centre of this mystery. Glimpses of this transfigured world are not only good for our mental health but are essential for our salvation. They help us see through the illusions cast by the devil who constantly tempts us with his greatest weapon, which is despair. Our dreams of an earthly utopia, where we will be shielded from all pain, trouble, and disappointment is merely delusional. Unlike utopia, heaven is real. Heaven is not the elusive Promised Land which the patriarchs and Israelites sought for generations, but an eternal reality awaiting us at the end of our earthly journey as long as we remain faithful to God and stay on course. The disciples saw it, or at least a glimpse of it in the Transfiguration. We too see it at every Eucharist where mere bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ, truly, really and substantially. Every Mass gives us an experience of “heaven on earth!” Heaven makes the journey worth travelling. Heaven helps us to see that giving up all our worldly securities is worth the sacrifice. Heaven provides the strength to bear the weight of our tribulations. Heaven keeps us on course, away from the distractions that tie us to this earthly life and its lies. Heaven must exist, or our present suffering will lose its meaning. Heaven must exist, if we are to persevere and keep running till we reach the finishing line.