An Ass and a Colt

Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord

The gospel reading before the procession sets out the familiar scene of our Lord’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. The lectionary provides us with slightly different versions of the same event and we are treated to St Matthew’s version this year. If you suffer from some pedantic streak like me, a connoisseur of the minutest and sometimes seemingly most insignificant details, you would notice a certain anomaly in the text. It is the mount of our Lord. It is not a single animal as mentioned in the other parallel text but two! The reason for the omission of a second beast in Mark and Luke could be due to neither quoting from the prophecy of Zechariah. Matthew, however, in fulfilment of the prophecy of Zechariah, which he quotes, and our Lord’s own prophetic instructions to His disciples, has the disciples bring an “ass and the colt.” I’m not sure about you but the thought of having two steeds instead of one strikes me as funny. Imagine our Lord straddling two animals like a circus performer.

Before we examine this seemingly strange phenomenon of having two animals, let us have a closer look at the original text in Zechariah 9:9. It is a messianic prophecy which speaks of the King (the Messiah) coming to His people in humility riding on an animal. The expression is easily explained as a common type of poetic emphasis used in Old Testament times. The Messiah sits on an animal. It is an ass. More than that, it is a colt, the foal of an ass, meaning very young. Therefore, most would take it (and this is what Mark and Luke does) to mean one animal instead of two. The language used is not a reference to an ass and a colt but rather to an ass which is also a colt, a foal of an ass. Are you still following? I hope I’ve not lost you.

But St Matthew takes the prophecy literally and so in his account, Jesus instructs His disciples to untie both the ass and the colt and to lead them to Him. Some commentators attempt to explain the reason this way. Christ first rode the ass up and down the hill and then transferred and rode the colt into the city. There is a practical reason for this. The she-ass would be stronger and more able to go up and down the terrain. Next, the colt, being more agile and light, would be able to bring Him into the city easily.

But more interesting is the spiritual sense or patristic allegorical interpretation given to these two animals. The she-ass and her colt signify the two sorts of people of which the world is made up—the Jews, accustomed to the yoke of the Mosaic law, who were represented by the ass; and the Gentiles, living up to this time without the Law of God, and who were denoted by the colt. Even though the ass had been well trained, the Jews had centuries of being familiarised with the Law of Moses, the law remained a burden to them. Likewise, just like a young colt that has not been ridden nor trained, Gentiles did not have the benefit of being trained by the Law. Christ our Lord rode both to signify that both the Jews and the Gentiles were called to be Christophoroi – Christ-bearers. That’s how we get the name of that famous saint, St Christopher.

Far from being absurd, the picture shows two things. First of all, it reveals our Lord’s control over nature and all created beings. A colt, so young that it has never been ridden and is even accompanied by its mother tags obediently along. It is fitting that Jesus, the Second Adam, should display Dr Doolittle powers lost to man after the Fall. Secondly, it emphasises the meekness and humility with which this One comes, exactly as St Paul describes Him in the second reading: “His state was divine, yet Christ Jesus did not cling to his equality with God but emptied himself to assume the condition of a slave and became as men are; and being as all men are, he was humbler yet, even to accepting death, death on a cross.” This is no conquering king who has destroyed Israel’s enemies and is riding triumphantly into Jerusalem at the head of an army, but upon a colt hardly able to support His weight. This is the Saviour who has come to die for the sins of the world.

Choosing an ass or its colt as steed may be more than an action which merely displays our Lord’s humility. In ancient times, dignitaries would ride donkeys in civil processions, and horses in military ones. A king arriving on a donkey would indicate that the person was on a peaceful mission, not one bent on military conquest. Whatever one makes of the rabbinic ideas about the Messiah, our Lord’s coming on a donkey shows His true intentions and agenda. He has returned as an undefeated victor without a sword in His hand but with the offer of peace and reconciliation. Even though His life would be met with violence which would end in death, He “made no resistance”, nor did He “turn away,” from the blows of His enemies, as we heard in Isaiah’s prophecy of the Suffering Servant in the first reading.

Lastly, today’s liturgy and the readings also serve as a mirror which shows up our true disposition as we come before the Lord, exposing our weaknesses, our sinfulness and unworthiness to welcome such a King as He. According to Talmudic tradition, if we are worthy, the Messiah will come in the clouds (a reference to Daniel 7:13). But if we are unworthy, he will come riding on a donkey. In other rabbinic conversations, some say the Messiah will come when all Israel repents and proves their worthiness; others, when all Israel observes one Sabbath together. Until that happens, we cannot expect the Messiah. These two comings are related to the two comings of Christ that we always speak about in the season of Advent. The first coming was in humility at the Incarnation. The second coming of Christ would be at the end of this age as He returns in glory, perhaps most popularly represented as coming in the clouds. But despite our unworthiness, our Lord still comes to His people sitting on an ass and a colt, as He retakes His seat of glory - now in apparent humiliation on the throne of the cross but later, He will assume His throne of glory at the right side of the Father in heaven.

At the beginning of Holy Week, an ass and its colt carried a King in procession to retake His throne, but at the end of this week, this King, our Lord and Saviour will carry the instrument of our salvation, the cross, like a beast of burden, so that we may now enter into His kingdom. He rode on a beast of burden because He came to bear our burdens. Our Lord calls us to place our burdens upon Him every single day that we live here in this world. He willingly carries our burdens. He happily carries them, knowing that in our weakness, in Him we are strong.

God first, Others second, me last

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

Many of you would know that I am not a man of few words. In fact, there will be some of you who will complain that I often suffer from the predilection of having too many words - a condition called verbal diarrhoea. So, if you would like me to just give you the summary of all that I’ve spoken of in a nutshell, I guess it would come in this simple life hack, “God first, others second, me last!”

Let’s take the first part of that dictum - God first above all else. We have St Paul in the second reading telling the Corinthians that his oratory skills were not meant for self-aggrandisement but rather he had come to them in weakness and with “great fear and trembling”, in order to demonstrate “the power of the Spirit.” His entire witnessing was not to showcase “human philosophy” or the greatness of human thinking, but rather to highlight or spotlight “the power of God.” It’s good for all of us to make this a rule of life. Instead of seeking to be in the spotlight, drawing attention to ourselves, seeking the praises and approval of others, let our every action rather be one which glorifies God and God alone, even at the expense of showing up our weakness and limitations.

Isaiah in the first reading takes up the second portion of the dictum, if God comes first, then others must always come second. To a people who believe that righteousness and holiness is only confined to “looking” holy or be seen to be doing “holy things,” Isaiah instead sets out God’s command to serve others, especially the weak and the marginalised. He is contrasting genuine service of the Lord with the merely exterior practices of religion, the conventional ways in which we may seem to be ‘holy’ people. In fact, however, holiness is all a matter of the heart, and – at any rate in this text – mostly a matter of seeing and serving God in other people. That is the only way our light can really shine in the darkness, and our own wounds be healed over.

In today’s gospel, instead of being prescriptive like what the first and second reading does, our Lord uses metaphors which are descriptive - to speak of how we are to put God first and others second. He tells us that we are “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world”. In addition to these familiar metaphors, our Lord adds a third, a “city.” The Greek etymology of the word for city (polis) links it to its people (poloi), to its human residents. All three metaphors have something in common. Salt does not exist for itself, but to season or preserve things; light does not exist for itself, but to brighten its surroundings; the city on the hill is constructed to provide security to its residents. The purpose and excellence of each item lies in its potential to give something to others. Salt, light and a city only exist to serve others.

So, what do we Christians have to offer others when we think of these three metaphors? The first is attraction. Good food attracts, beautiful lights attract, well-planned cities attract. This is a reminder that one of the most powerful ways of evangelisation is by showcasing the beauty of Christ, the beauty of the Christian faith and the beauty of the Church. Pope Francis reminds us that “it is not by proselytising that the Church grows, but by attraction.” (Evangelii Gaudium # 15) St. Francis de Sales, who drew many Protestants back to the Catholic faith through his gentle evangelisation, tells us that “a spoonful of honey attracts more flies than a barrel full of vinegar.” His example shows us that a life of Christian charity, virtue, and devotion can draw many souls to Christ and His Church.

But these metaphors also remind Christians that we are also meant to reveal, to expose and finally to defend. What is most immediately obvious in these metaphors is the implication that there is something deficient in the world that we live in. By saying that we are the “salt of the earth,” is implying that the world is tasteless. There is a rot setting in, which is tearing our world apart. Also, with the image of light that our Lord introduces, there is the implication that this world is a dark place. The world is in need of refreshing light—life-giving light. People are filling the void with stuff and senseless pleasures, countless things that do not satisfy. And finally, when speaking of us as a “city on a hill”, the world is shown up for its hostility and inhospitality, where so many are seeking for refuge, for sanctuary, for a place to call “home”. The truth is that we are witnessing a world that has become increasingly darker, blander, and uninhabitable.

As “salt”, the Christian is to counteract the power of sin. As “light” we are to illuminate or make visible. As a “city on a hill” we are meant to provide a sanctuary to those who are lost or spiritually homeless. Our lives are to be an on-going witness to the reality of Christ's presence in our lives. As salt, light and a city built on a hill, we are meant to give testimony to the profound joy of walking with God. We become salt and light when the world sees us turning to God rather than inwardly towards ourselves, when we touch lives for good, when we affirm rather than gossip and criticise, listen rather than judge, forgive rather than get even. The Church is meant to be a beacon of hope in a world lost in moral confusion and enveloped in the darkness of sin. That beacon is bright and unmistakable in its purpose. It warns of danger. It directs to safe harbour. It provides hope for those who have lost hope. Ultimately, we are meant to “reveal” that Christ is that certain security from danger; He is our safe harbour, and ultimately He is the true source of light. We are meant to be beacons showing the way to Him.

We will soon be entering the season of Lent in another two weeks and we will be reminded on the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday, to NOT pray, give alms and fast in public for the sole purpose of attracting attention to ourselves and seeking the praises of others. How do we reconcile that warning with what we have heard today? Here’s a good rule of thumb. When it comes to God and drawing others to Him, we should never hide our light, dull our taste or isolate ourselves. But when it comes to showcasing ourselves, we must choose to hide our light, mask our edge and retreat into the shadows so that only the light of Christ may shine brightly for others to see. The former witnesses to Christ, while the latter only seeks to promote oneself. The former seeks praises for God, the second seeks praises for oneself.

The option of living a sheltered secluded life is never open to us. The Lord does not need a Church that hides and isolates itself from the world. Rather, God needs Christians who live exemplary and visible Christian lives in the world and demonstrate that joy and fulfillment that come not of the world but through the life in the Spirit and the radical following of Christ. And so, God calls us into the darkness where our light will make a difference – to illumine and expose. He calls us among those who find life utterly tasteless—to be salt – to create a spiritual thirst for God. He calls us to societies made up of lonely, isolated and individualistic persons – to build a city, a community of love, life and peace. When doing so, always remember: “God first, others second and me last.” Ultimately “you must shine in the sight of men, so that, seeing your good works, they may give praise to your Father in heaven.”

Finding Power in Powerlessness

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Power is as intoxicating as any drug we know of, perhaps even more potent than most. To those who are powerless, power promises redemption, a means to improve one’s position, to undo the injustices we face, to climb out of the rut we find ourselves trapped in. For those in power, the one thing they fear most is the loss of power. It would mean the loss of security, the loss of livelihood, the loss of public esteem or even worse, the loss of their lives. Dictators often do not fare well when they are overthrown in a coup. But today, we are confronted by the most radical inversion of how we should view power. The cross paradoxically shows us how true power is rooted in abject powerlessness.

Throughout the annals history, the cross remains a sign of contradiction – it is both an unthinkable disgrace and yet a potent source of grace. It has inspired confidence in armies to march into battle and others to sue for peace; it has been used as a palpable symbol of power as well as powerlessness. And so, it is both despised as well as coveted by one human power or another. The cross was invented by the Persians and then adopted by the Romans as one of the cruelest and most frightening instruments of torture and execution to instil fear among subjects. Constantine used it as a talisman of power in the civil war with his brother and the Persians claimed it as their greatest battle trophy over the Byzantines.

So, how is the cross a symbol of power and powerlessness? The symbolism of power hidden in the cross is often lost on us and is only revealed as a mystery of revelation. The Cross represents the Sovereign authority of God and His providence. This is certainly difficult to comprehend. Yet, what seems to us to be failure is, in God’s eyes, the victory of sacrificial love. It is on the cross, that Christ receives the highest exaltation from God, ironically, at the moment He suffered the greatest humiliation at the hands of men. As Christ was lifted up on the Cross, now by means of the Cross, He lifts up humanity, and indeed all creation. As today’s gospel reminds us, “for God sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world, but so that through him the world might be saved”. The Cross possesses the power to forgive sins, the power to heal consciences and human hearts.

But paradoxically, the cross is also a symbol and an instrument of powerlessness. For a brief moment, the Son of God gave up His access to the powers of the universe and submitted Himself to the power of men so that He could die at our hands. On the wood of the cross, the most powerful being in the universe chose to be powerless. The Lutheran theologian and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, describes the profound significance of this moment, “God allows himself to be edged out of the world and onto the cross. God is weak and powerless in the world, and that is exactly the way, the only way, in which he can be with us and help us.” So what God has done is that He took an instrument of evil, an instrument that brings death and transformed it so that it gives life, brings goodness and healing, and that’s what we hear the Lord saying about Himself, “When I am lifted up, as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, then I will give life.” Just as Moses uses the symbol of Israel’s bane, the serpent, as a visible sign of God’s healing, our Lord similarly uses the cross as an instrument of healing, life and salvation.

The power and the powerlessness of the cross provide us with the necessary lens to view our own suffering, our daily crosses. St John Paul II, who prophetically wrote his first encyclical on Suffering, and would later suffer that fate in the last years of his pontificate, uses the cross to formulate his answer to man’s perennial dilemma – Why do we have to suffer. The saintly Pope stated, with piercing simplicity, that the answer has "been given by God to man in the cross of Jesus Christ." Each of us is called to "share in that suffering through which the Redemption was accomplished." Through His only begotten Son, God "has confirmed His desire to act especially through suffering, which is man's weakness and emptying of self, and He wishes to make His power known precisely in this weakness and emptying of self."

And this is the way we experience God’s power here on earth, sometimes to our great frustration, and this is the way that Jesus was deemed powerful during His lifetime. The gospels make this clear. Jesus was born powerless, and He died helpless on a cross. Yet both His birth and His death show the kind of power on which we can ultimately build our lives. The cross of Christ, therefore, teaches us that we can find power in weakness, in that which makes us vulnerable and even seemingly powerless.

Perhaps, what makes it so difficult to accept the good news of the cross, is that we are stubbornly holding on to power; we want to have a “sense of control.” Henri Nouwen writes, “What makes the temptation of power so seemingly irresistible? Maybe it is that power offers an easy substitute for the hard task of love. It seems easier to be God than to love God, easier to control people than to love people, easier to own life than to love life.” Most of us fear our powerlessness in the face of illness and death. We would like to retain an element of control, even though we realise that dying often involves the very opposite: a total loss of control, over our muscles, our emotions, our minds, our bowels and our very lives, as our human framework succumbs to powerful disintegrative forces.

Even when those disintegrative forces become extreme and our suffering may seem overwhelming, however, an important spiritual journey always remains open for us. This path is a "road less traveled," a path that, unexpectedly, enables us to achieve genuine control in the face of suffering and even death. The hallmark of this path is the personal decision to accept our sufferings, actively laying down our life on behalf of others by embracing the particular kind of death God has ordained for us, patterning our choice on the choice consciously made by Jesus Christ. As no one had ever done before, Jesus charted the path of love-driven sacrifice, choosing to lay down His life for His friends. He was no mere victim in the sense of being a passive and unwilling participant in His own suffering and death. He was in control. He was powerful even in His apparent powerlessness. No one could possibly take His life from Him, unless He chose to lay it down.

To the Romans, it may have been an instrument of torture or execution, to Constantine it may have been an amulet of power, to the Persians a trophy of conquest, but to us Christians, it is the very symbol of Christ’s victory over darkness, death, sin and the devil. Therefore, as the entrance antiphon exhorts us, “We should glory in the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, life and resurrection, through whom we are saved and delivered.”

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.”

Without God, all is vanity

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Vanity seems to be a vice that is not only confined to women but also equally plagues men. Coiffed hair, manicured nails, shiny smooth complexions that scream of repeated facials, and a wardrobe that could put Imelda Marcos’ shoe collection to shame. Vanity in this context means pride but vanity could also mean futility or the pointlessness of our actions and decisions or even life itself. The readings for today address the latter.

People often struggle with these questions, ‘What is life all about?’ ‘What is man’s purpose in this life?’ This is what the Book of Ecclesiastes seeks to address. The book is a philosophical essay attributed to Solomon, the proverbial philosopher king. The author wrote this book from the mistakes he made. He shares his own life’s search. The man had wisdom, riches, horses, armies, and women (that’s an understatement, he had lots of women). Yet, in the end Solomon declared everything to be vanity; in other word, pointless, worthless, meaningless, and purposeless. To pursue vanity is to chase after the wind. Starting with the well-known words, "Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity," and repeating them in the last chapter after having taken us through all the vanities of life, the book contains the important lesson he learns from God, in a sort of ‘roundabout’ way. The Book ends by giving us the antidote of vanity: fear of the Lord and the observance of the moral law. The secret to a purposeful life is: Without God, ‘all is vanity’. But with God, nothing is in vain.

In the gospel, we are given two examples of such earthly vanity - the greedy brother and the rich man in a parable told by the Lord. A man in the crowd puts this request to the Lord, “Master, tell my brother to give me a share of our inheritance.” The question sounds oddly familiar. I’ve seen how family battles over inheritance have set kith against kin. The law of primogeniture says (Num 27:1-11 Deut 21:15) that the first born gets a double portion. If you had two brothers, you divided the estate three ways and the oldest got two parts. So, guess which son this is. His request suggests that he’s the youngest son. Greed, envy and a sense of entitlement have blinded him to place money above kinship.

Understanding the context of the disgruntled brother sets the stage for the parable. There is a comparison and contrast going on between the two characters in the parable and two characters outside the parable. The rich man in the parable is compared to the unhappy younger brother in real life. Christ in real life acts as judge and arbiter, a role taken by God in the parable. Why is the Lord telling this parable about the rich man who had no greed to a greedy man? The Lord builds up the rich man as a good guy, a content man, someone you can easily identify with and would aspire to become. This guy is just the opposite of the disgruntled and unhappy brother. What do we learn? Both men thought that life consisted in ‘things’, that the end and purpose of their lives were the acquisition of such ‘things.’ Selfishness and self-satisfaction have blinded them to the bonds of fraternity and life’s ultimate purpose.

Both the disgruntled younger brother and the contented rich man, in their pursuit for wealth without realising that they risk losing everything in a single moment, proves the point that ‘all is vanity.’ There is a major reversal in the parable – the man who thinks himself clever is proven foolish; the rich man ends up being poor to God. Notice the poetic justice. The rich man, like the entitled brother and like so many of us, so obsessed in storing up treasures for ourselves in this place, acquiring knowledge, wealth, possessions and a list of achievements, had lost sight of the fact that our ultimate goal is our own salvation – making ourselves ‘rich in the sight of God.’ The rich man is not condemned for his wealth or even his greed. He is condemned for forgetting that the ultimate ‘end’ or purpose of his life is salvation. He had made no preparations for this. He was too busy investing in this world and that is the ultimate vanity.

This parable speaks loudly to our generation; it speaks of the purpose of life and what defines it? Have you been defining life in your career, your house, your stock portfolio, in terms of your achievements, the knowledge you possess, the popularity you’ve gained, or the assumption that you will live much longer? What is going to happen when you lose one or more of those things? What happens when you get laid off? What happens when the stock market crashes? What happens when you get some disease which takes away your physical ability? What happens when your friends leave you? What happens if another pandemic hits again? If you define life according to these things, you will be devastated. If these things have become the ‘end’ and purpose of your lives, the goals you are ultimately pursuing, the treasures you are seeking for, then the diagnosis is terminal – vanity of vanities, all is vanity!

St Thomas Aquinas teaches that the real end for which man is made is to be reunited with the goodness of God through virtuous behaviour as well as the use of reason in order to know and love God above all. In the words of St Augustine, “that is our final good, which is loved for its own sake, and all other things for the sake of it.” St Ignatius Loyola in setting out the First Principle and Foundation in his Spiritual Exercises writes, “The human person is created to praise, reverence, and serve God Our Lord, and by doing so, to save his or her soul. All other things on the face of the earth are created for human beings in order to help them pursue the end for which they are created. It follows from this that one must use other created things, in so far as they help towards one's end, and free oneself from them, in so far as they are obstacles to one's end.” Thus, the riches of this life are only potentially good. Their goodness is actualised when they serve the greater good – the glory of God and love of neighbour.

The irony we face is that many people would prefer to love the means rather than the end. Man need not just love bad things in order to be condemned to hell. As the old adage teaches us, “The road to hell is lined with good intentions.” Man can pervert his ultimate end by loving seemingly good things, which seem to bring happiness, and mistake these things for the actual, infinite source of happiness - God. Whenever we choose the lesser goods over the greater Good, whenever we convert the means into the end, whenever our vision is obscured to see beyond what lies immediately before us, then we are in trouble. Everything comes down to the choice: do we choose these things as a means to the end, or do we choose them as a substitute for the end?

Today, the readings challenge us to seek the Source of all Goodness, and not just the goods He dispenses. Desire the God of Miracles, not just hunger for the miracles of God. Long for the giver and not just the gifts. Our thoughts should be on the ultimate prize: Heaven. Things of this earth either lead us to that prize, or they may distract us from that and therefore should be placed in their proper place. When we trudge the road of happy destiny, we must remember that the road is just a means to an end and not the destination itself. Anything else is VANITY!

We dare to say

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

The prayer of Abraham in the first reading stands in contrast to that of our Lord’s in the gospel. If Abraham struggled to find the words to intercede on behalf of the depraved inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah and even attempts to haggle and bargain with God in making a deal, our Lord provides us with the blue print of prayer in the gospel. There is no longer any need on our part to haggle with God or broker a deal like an astute lawyer, businessman or politician. God, the party on the other end of the transaction (if you see prayer as transactional), is already disclosing to us all His cards and the key to winning His favour and acquiescence.

Although what we’ve just read and heard is a different and shorter version of the Lord’s Prayer which we pray at every Mass and in our devotions, it doesn’t tamper the radical demands which we make of God. In fact, the prayer has the audacity of making the following demands of God: we demand intimacy and familiarity with God’s person and name that borders on the contemptuous and blasphemous, we demand the coming of the kingdom, we demand the terra-forming of our trouble ridden earth so that it may become more like a trouble free heaven, we demand daily sustenance from on high, we demand that our sins be forgiven, and finally we demand shelter from temptation and deliverance from evil. If the school of hard knocks has taught us anything, it would be this: never make unreasonable demands, don’t expect the impossible. Well, for man all these may seem impossible; but for God, everything’s possible! We shouldn’t, therefore, feel uncomfortable or embarrassed to recite this prayer, as it is the Lord Himself who teaches us to do so!

This point is recognised in the introduction spoken by the priest at every Mass before the community recites in unison the Lord’s Prayer, "At the Saviour's command and formed by divine teaching, we dare to say..." The phrase ‘we dare to say’ inherently recognises our insignificance before the Father. We are humbly admitting that it has nothing to do with us, in fact, it admits that it is not even something which we can ever hope to accomplish. The words convey a profound sense of unworthiness; we are in no position to make any claims or demands.

The whole phrase places the Lord’s Prayer in a different light – it is no longer to be seen as a cry of entitlement, a demand made on God to fulfill our petitions and wishes. But rather, it is a prayer of humility by someone truly unworthy to even stand before the august presence of God and yet dare to address Him with the familiar “daddy” and make a series of demands of Him. The catechism tells us that “Our awareness of our status as slaves would make us sink into the ground and our earthly condition would dissolve into dust, if the authority of our Father Himself and the Spirit of his Son had not impelled us to this cry . . . ‘Abba, Father!’ . . . When would a mortal dare call God ‘Father,’ if man’s innermost being were not animated by power from on high?” It is by placing ourselves into the position of a child, calling God our Father, that we open ourselves to the grace by which we approach God with the humble boldness of a little child.

This is how we should approach prayer. It should neither be some arcane magical formula that forces the hand of God nor just a mechanical and superficial repetition of words just to appease Him. Prayer should always be rooted in a father-child relationship where the child trusts that the father will always have his best interest in mind even if he doesn’t always get want he wants. The supplicant who comes before God doesn’t need to approach Him as a lawyer who comes before the judge, hoping to outwit and win an argument with the latter. He already knows that the Supreme Judge will always stand with Him and even stand in His place to take the punishment which he deserves.

There is a Latin maxim that addresses the centrality and priority of prayer in the life, identity and mission of the Church; “Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi, Lex Vivendi”, the law of prayer reflects the law of faith which determines the law of life. Too often it is the other way around. Our lifestyle choices force our beliefs to conform to them and thereafter affect the way we pray. But when it comes to us Christians, everything begins with prayer. Our lives must be conformed to prayer and not the other way. How we worship and pray not only reveals and guards what we believe but guides us in how we live our Christian faith and fulfill our Christian mission in the world. As much as we are sometimes taken up with the spontaneity of the praying style of our Protestant brethren, and many of us too are tempted to venture into some innovative and creative explorations on our own, we must always remember that the best prayer, or as St Thomas Aquinas reminds us, the most Perfect Prayer, is still the prayer not formulated by any human poet or creative genius but by Christ, the Son of God Himself. In a way, God provides us the words to speak to Him.

Thus, our ability to pray in this way can only come to us by the grace of God - it is only because our Saviour has commanded it and because we have been formed by divine teaching, that ‘we dare to say.’ There is no arrogant audacity in the tone of our voice or the content of our prayer. We take no credit for this prayer. All glory goes to God and to His Christ, Jesus our Lord. We are not the natural sons and daughters of the Heavenly Father. We have no right to address Him by this familiar name. All our words seem banal and fall empty in the light of the pre-existent Word. But because of Jesus through baptism, I have become an adopted child. The Father is revealed to us by His Son and we can approach Him only through the Son. Because of Jesus, my prayer now derives an amazing and miraculous efficacy. For that reason, we dare to call God “Our Father.” Through this prayer, the unapproachable God becomes approachable. The unknown God is made known. The strange and unfamiliar God becomes familiar and a friend. The prayer unspoken is already answered!

A Time to Keep Silent, A Time to Speak Out

Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord

One of the most important pieces of advice someone would give us is “make your voice be heard.” Whether it is to express your opinion at a meeting, or speaking up in class, or starting a podcast to air your views or participating in a demonstration in support of some political cause, making your voice heard seems to be a reasonably good piece of advice.

On this first day of Holy Week, we Christians are reminded of our fundamental duty to make our voices heard, not in the sense of self-promotion or drawing attention to oneself, nor in seeking to influence others and win them over to our side, but that we may proclaim the wonders of God’s work.

In the first gospel reading we heard before the entrance procession, the Pharisees were complaining that the disciples and crowd who were welcoming our Lord to Jerusalem were making a ruckus by shouting and singing. They told the Lord: “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” In other words, they were asking our Lord to tell them: “be quiet.” This noisy behaviour, in their own estimation, was not the behaviour of pious disciples of a holy rabbi but sounded more like a gang of loud drunken sailors. Our Lord, instead of bending to pressure, doubles down and defends His disciples by commending them: “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

In the first reading, the prophet Isaiah declares that the Lord Himself had given him “a disciple’s tongue.” It is not a glib tongue that will earn him fans or popular support. In fact, what he says at the behest of God would prove so unpopular that he would be the subject of rejection, ridicule and persecution. The image of the Suffering Servant who remains faithful to his mission in the face of adversity becomes an apt figure for the future Messiah. Our Lord’s own passion would be the fulfilment of the words of Isaiah: “I offered my back to those who struck me, my cheeks to those who tore at my beard; I did not cover my face against insult and spittle.” Despite such taunting, torture and opposition, the servant remains steadfast in mission to “speak out” on behalf of the Lord because he knows that with the Lord’s help, no insult would hurt him.

The theme of speaking out is contrasted with its counterpart of remaining silent. St Paul in the second reading paints this beautiful picture of the One who is God humbling Himself to such an extent of assuming the lowly state of a slave. His humility would go so far as to accept the penalty of death even though He is the Deathless God. The Word of God whom chaos could not silence at the beginning of creation chooses to mute Himself out of love and obedience to the Father’s will. What should our response be in knowing this truth, the truth that God’s greatest act in history would be in becoming small? Our silence is not an option. St Paul tells us that “every tongue should acclaim Jesus Christ as Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” His decision to become human has not compromised His divinity. On the contrary, His humiliation in death is the very reason we acknowledge His glory as Lord and God.

In the lengthy passion gospel reading that we just heard, we notice our Lord’s response to those around Him. From the scene of the Last Supper to His lifeless body being taken down from the cross, we see a man who is very much in charge though others assume that they have taken charge of Him. Sometimes He speaks and sometimes He chooses to remain silent. As the narrative progresses, notice that our Lord eventually chooses to remain silent especially when He is accused, ridiculed and mocked. But our Lord does not cease speaking directly to His Heavenly Father. The Father, however, remains silent throughout this soliloquy. The one exception to our Lord’s silence is when He promises salvation to the good thief who was crucified with Him. As His life expired on the cross, His final words summed up His entire life and mission. Once again, addressed solely to the Heavenly Father: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” At the end, instead of ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ as we would hear in Mark’s Passion, Luke’s Jesus Himself tranquilly yields His life into the Father’s hands, obediently completing His Father’s will.

How different our Lord’s response at His trials and crucifixion is from ordinary human nature. Even when we have done something wrong and know we are wrong, still the first words that tend to form in our mouths are words of excuses and self-defence. And what about when we are right but are blamed for being wrong? Most of us would be quick to speak up and protest our innocence. It’s just human nature to want to speak up and justify ourselves. But our Lord met His accusers with silence, as had the prophet Isaiah written seven hundred years ago, “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he opens not his mouth” (Isaiah 53:7). He held back any words that would have relieved Him from the shame and blame of sin. He was not a sinner, but He took fully the sinner’s place. Thank God that Jesus was willing to be counted a sinner before men, that we might be counted as righteous before God! Thank God, He chose to speak up on our behalf, even though His own disciples chose to remain silent in His hour of need.

Our Lord reveals the truth behind this paradox first announced by the philosopher king: “A time to keep silence, And a time to speak” (Eccles 3:7-8). Our Lord provides us with a model to follow and imitate. There is a time to remain silent and a time to speak up. We need to seek wisdom from the Holy Spirit as to when it’s time for each response. When it comes to ourselves, do remember that we do not need to have the last word or pursue any argument to vindicate ourselves. God is our vindicator if indeed we were unfairly maligned. But when you are given the opportunity to testify to who Jesus is and your faith in Him, don’t hesitate to honour Him with your words and your testimony. Even if you’re treated in a similar manner to the treatment He endured, honour Him with your lips, your lifestyle, and the lasting impression you leave upon those you interact with in this world. 

Hosanna! “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Obedience, the antidote to pride

Solemnity of the Holy Family

The readings for this feast provide us with a three-pronged meditation on the common theme of family. The first reading takes a hard honest look at our own respective human families. While the second reminds us that we are children of God and therefore, part of God’s great big family. Lastly, the gospel focuses on the one family which stands out today - the Holy Family of Nazareth, the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Although, these are three different contexts to consider the theme of family, they are all united by something in common - the relationship of each member to God. The love of God is the glue that keeps families together and the family is the glue that holds the fabric of society together.

There is no doubt until times recent, that families matter to society and to individuals. But we Christians also believe that families matter to God. At the beginning of the Bible, God states, “It is not good that man should be alone” (Genesis 2.18). God, therefore, instituted the first marriage and founded the first family. Throughout the Bible, God seeks to strengthen families. Husbands are encouraged to love their wives, children to obey parents, and parents to train up their children in the right paths. The fourth commandment demands that we honour our parents. The Bible also contains many real-life examples of both happy and divided families. Before placing the Lord Saviour into the loving arms of His human mother and foster father, the Bible traces Abraham’s family line to Him. It was not enough for Jesus to be born into this specific family but to see His connexion with the whole human family.

The first reading taken from Ecclesiasticus (or Sirach) is an expansion of the fourth commandment to honour one’s parents but the passage also serves to link this obligation to the first three commandments which are due to God. Importantly, the Fourth Commandment is the only one with a promise attached: “…that you may have a long life in the land which the Lord, your God, is giving you” (Exod 20:12). Sirach reminds us of this promise and expands it to include atonement for sin. So, honouring one’s parents is not just an act of filial piety but also an expression of religious piety, one’s filial obedience to God. They are inseparable. By showing such respect to parents, especially to old and infirm parents, the sins of children are pardoned. Failure to honour father and mother is blasphemy and merits a curse from God.

The passage helps us to see that filial piety is not blind and slavish compliance, but due deference and respect, a love that shows itself in obedience. Sirach encourages us to embrace the way of obedience, the way of humility, so that we may obtain wisdom not by seeking our own path of self-realisation, but by humbly submitting ourselves to our fathers and mothers. Obedience is foundational for a moral life, a wise life, a life lived in praise of God. That is why obedience is one of the three evangelical counsels which are prerequisites to the life of one who wishes to grow in holiness. While poverty is the antidote to greed and chastity is the antidote to lust, obedience is the perfect antidote to the poison of pride. Sirach encourages us to embrace the way of obedience, so that we may obtain wisdom not by seeking our own path of self-realisation, but by humbly submitting ourselves to our parents.

The second reading reminds us that though each of us have a set of earthly parents and an earthly home, we should never forget that we are members of a much bigger family, the family of God. St John in the second reading thus highlights the amazing love God has for us. Not only is He willing to call us His children, we actually are His children. To become “children of God” is not simply a metaphor for the creator-creature relationship. This is a literal statement. Through Baptism, we have received the Holy Spirit, which works an essential or ontological change—a change of our nature—conferring on us a likeness to God which makes us His children. True childhood is to share in nature of the Father. It is not that spiritual childhood through the Holy Spirit is similar to real childhood which is biological. Rather, biological childhood is similar to real childhood which consists in partaking of the Father’s nature through His Spirit. This is a unique truth of the Catholic faith—other religions do not teach that we are the children of God, or else they mean it only in a metaphorical way. And as children of God, we must learn to love one another and keep God’s commandments.

Finally, we come to the gospel story which is popularly known by the title given to it by the Joyful Mystery of the Rosary - the finding of the Lord in the Temple. One of the obvious themes in this gospel is the true origin of Jesus, or in other words, the true Fatherhood of Jesus. Though Joseph is (rightly) called Jesus’ “father” by Our Blessed Mother (“your father and I have been looking for you”), nonetheless our Lord responds with this revealing question: “Did you not know that I must be busy with my Father’s affairs?” He is reminding His earthly parents and us of His divine origin, and that Joseph was in the end only His adopted father.

At first, we are tempted to say that for most of us, this is the difference between Jesus and ourselves. We have natural biological fathers, but Jesus had God as His Father. But again on further reflexion, we have to admit that there is not so much difference—or better said, there is a closer analogy between our origin and Jesus’. Like Jesus, those of us who have been baptised have been “born of God,” born in a supernatural way from a Heavenly Father. This is the point of the second reading. All fatherhood has its origin in God (Eph 3:15). As we contemplate the Holy Family this Sunday, we need to ponder the fact that, like Jesus, we have a supernatural origin from God the Father through the power of the Holy Spirit. Having God as our Father makes it possible for us to break out of patterns of sin that we may have learned, consciously or unconsciously, from our human fathers—good men though they may have been—and live in “the glorious freedom of the children of God” (Rom 8:21).

As Luke’s story unfolds, St Joseph fades from the picture. Mary lives in the reflective way we are all called to live, “storing all these things in her heart”. Sometimes God’s call to children is in tension with parents’ wishes or hopes. Children are first of all “children of God”. Much as we might want to, we cannot hold on to them. We try to understand their choices, we do everything we can to nurture their uniqueness, and we pray that they too will grow in wisdom and stature and in favour with God as responsible members of the whole human family, but ultimately, we have to accept that they are God’s children first and foremost.

Likewise, as children, we must watch our hearts and remember that the natural respect that sons and daughters should have for their fathers and mothers is something the Lord set up to orient us toward Himself. If we honour our parents, our hearts will be in a great place to honour God. If we honour our parents, then we too can obtain by grace the “long life in the land which the Lord our God is giving us.” That land, of course, is heaven, the inheritance prepared by our Father in heaven.

House of Bread

Christmas Mass During the Night

The gospel reading which we had just heard acts like a telescope. It begins by enlarging our field of vision by situating the story of Christmas within the larger story of human history featuring important luminaries, a Roman emperor and a provincial governor. Although, these may have been important figures in history, they are not the focus of our story. The telescope then contracts and becomes a microscope. A tiny place that wouldn’t have appeared on any radar or map is magnified. We are given an ‘up close and personal’ view of the most ground-breaking climatic event in human history - it is the story of how God, the Lord of Lords and King of Kings, is born in an obscure backward village at the fringes of the great and glorious Roman empire.

And then the storyline takes us from this tiny point of space and time, to the fields beyond this village and our vision is expanded once again to take in the whole host of heaven. We suddenly realise that our world and all its inhabitants, even the strongest and most powerful, are tiny specks of space dust in comparison to the immense universe, what more to the Most High God who created the stars and the heavens and who now chooses to hide in the flesh of a human child. No telescope nor microscope can detect, nor genius mind can wrap its head around this amazing phenomenon. You need another set of lenses to perceive and comprehend this. The lens of faith.

This is the mystery of Christmas - that the greatest gifts often come in small packages. Let’s be honest. Our ordinary experience of Christmas is nothing like this. Have you ever looked under the Christmas tree to inspect still-wrapped gifts and assessed the worth of their hidden treasures by size, shape and weight? As a child, I used to think, “the bigger, the better.” But over the years, I’ve discovered the wonderful reality that big things come in small packages. This couldn’t be truer as we celebrate the birth of our great King born as a tiny baby.

Our big story begins in a small place - in Bethlehem. It is understandable why Bethlehem had not appeared on the map of any geopolitical significance due to her size but she had also not been the subject of any major prophecy, with the exception of one. Micah, a contemporary of Isaiah, spoke God’s word to Israel at a time of great danger. Due to the sin of both Samaria (the northern kingdom of Israel) and Judah (the southern kingdom), the Israelites would suffer a devastating attack. Both the North and eventually the South would fall, and the ancient kingdom of Israel would be no more.

Into this dark, dangerous world Micah spoke not only words of judgment but of hope. This hope centres on this humble place: “Bethlehem Ephrathah, you are small among the clans of Judah; One will come from you to be ruler over Israel for Me. His origin is from antiquity, from eternity.” (Micah 5:2) Rather than hailing from mighty Rome, the so-called Eternal City, or Holy Jerusalem, where God’s own House - the Temple - was located, the Saviour-King would come from humble, seemingly insignificant and tiny Bethlehem.

It is in this small, ordinary village that we see the prophecy fulfilled, God’s love is manifested and His plan of salvation is revealed to us. Although, the parents of our Lord lived in Nazareth in Galilee, He was born in Bethlehem, not Nazareth, apparently according to the dictates of Roman rule. By the designs of divine providence, the empire is placed at the service of salvation. Had Jesus been born in a great city, men would have attributed his teaching or his success to his noble birth. But by being born in Bethlehem, He allows us to more easily discern that the power of God, rather than the power of men, is at work.

So, far from the corridors of power, Jesus Christ, descended from David through His adoptive father, Joseph, was born in Bethlehem. God Himself came to rule and rescue. He looked unimpressive. His birthplace was inauspicious. But this is always God’s way: through the weak and foolish message of the cross comes rescue from sin. Notice how God’s majesty and reputation are not diminished or compromised at all by introducing Jesus into the world through such a seemingly small place and inconvenient circumstances. Unlike humanity, God is never tempted to show off. Even in the simple birthplace of the eternal King of the Universe, God has allowed Himself to be approachable by all, especially the ordinary and small.

In Hebrew, Beth-lehem is two words and means “house” (Beth) and “bread” (lehem). Bethlehem literally means “house of bread.” It has this name of its location in the grain producing region of Old Testament times. Because of the fertility of its soil, which in Biblical times produced an abundance of grain and produce, the region surrounding Bethlehem was called Ephrathah. Ephrathah means “fruitful, abundant.” An appropriate birthplace for the One who, in stark contrast to emperors and kings, came to feed His people. Thus, St. Bede says, “The place he was born is rightly called ‘The House of Bread’ because he came down from heaven to earth to give us the food of heavenly life and to satisfy us with eternal sweetness.” The Bread of Life, lying in a manger, a feeding trough, in the House of Bread. It was in this town with such an evocative name that the One was born who said, “I am the bread which came down from heaven” and, “I am the bread of life.”

Our Lord’s birth in the manger of Bethlehem happened only once, but the even more powerful event of His offering of Himself in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass occurs over and over again, day in and day out, from the rising of the sun to its setting. Once, He hid in “a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” Now He hides in the form of Bread and Wine which we partake at the altar. For this child born in Bethlehem was no ordinary mortal nor even a great hero. The last part of Micah’s prophecy provides us with the clue as to His true identity: “His origin is from antiquity, from eternity.” The prophet is hinting that Jesus’ origins are not just Davidic but divine. He is God the Son, and as God, He has no beginning. He has always existed. His origin is not only from antiquity but also “from eternity.” This is what the angels announced to the shepherds in the fields: “Today in the town of David a saviour has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord,” and with them let us praise God singing: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace to men who enjoy his favour.”

Redemptive Suffering

Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

One of the most fundamental mysteries that most religions seek to grapple with is that of suffering - what is its cause and what is its antidote? The Buddhists make existential suffering as the first of their four foundational Noble Truths. The second Noble Truth is its prognosis – desires is the cause of all suffering. Others would argue that suffering is punishment from God for one’s sinfulness and waywardness. Bad people suffer while good people are blessed and rewarded. However, our experience would often throw a wrench into this simplistic association. We all know of bad people who seem to prosper while good and innocent folks seem to suffer for no obvious reason. The unfairness of the situation often leads us to question the existence of God or perhaps view Him as a capricious and sadistic deity who loves to watch us suffer while observing our plight from the sidelines.

Our modern world tells us to avoid suffering at all cost and instead seek comfort by any means necessary, such as taking a pill to alleviate pain, or seeking divorce when marriage becomes unbearable, or giving up a project when satisfaction or results do not seem immediate. The world sees instant gratification as a right and suffering as a senseless evil to be avoided at all cost. But Christianity actually proposes that suffering can have immense value for ourselves and others. Rather than focusing on identifying the root causes of suffering which are many or attempting to run away from them, Christianity invites us to view and embrace suffering as something redemptive and salvific.

We need to be clear that suffering, in and of itself, is not naturally redemptive. It is up to us to respond in a way that gives it a redemptive value in imitation of the love with which Christ suffered for our sake. Our suffering was not originally what God had intended for us. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, “As long as he [Adam] remained in the divine intimacy, man would not have to suffer or die” (376). But Adam forfeited this gift through his disobedience. Human suffering entered the world due to the effects of original sin. God does not cause the suffering. He simply permits it to happen in our lives so that it can be used for good and not wasted.

The foundation of redemptive suffering is found in the suffering of our Lord Jesus Christ which He willingly embraced. He is the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy of the Suffering Servant which we heard in the first reading. Our Lord is the “servant” which God has pleased to crush with suffering because “by His sufferings shall my servant justify many, taking their faults on Himself.” He is the supreme High Priest described in Hebrews who had offered a sacrifice of His own flesh, a flesh united completely with our humanity. He is “one who has been tempted in every way that we are, though He is without sin.” He suffered for you and for me out of perfect divine love and catapulted the meaning of love from a warm and fuzzy feeling to an act of sacrifice, a total gift of self.

Our Lord today asked His disciples, He is asking us if we are ready to share in His redemptive suffering: “Can you drink the cup that I must drink, or be baptised with the baptism with which I must be baptised?”

So, how do we choose to make our suffering a means of redemption by uniting it with Christ. Here are some practical steps:

First, we are called to bear our suffering patiently without complaining. We can choose to be cheerful rather than be cranky, especially to those who care for us and are companions to us. The moment we grumble and complain and grow resentful, our suffering loses its redemptive value and becomes a curse.

Second, we can choose to forgive and pray for those who cause us pain instead of cursing them, or rant about them or hold a grudge against them. You can quietly offer your pain as an act of compassion for these persons, just as our Lord forgave His enemies from the cross.

Third, you can embrace the suffering and pray for endurance and perseverance. The harder it gets, the more redemptive it becomes. This was the conviction of little St Therese de Lisieux when she joined the Carmelite monastery at the young age of 15. She would later explain that her vocation was motivated by her desire to offer her suffering for others. And she did suffer grievously both physically and mentally, while offering up her suffering for the salvation of souls.

Lastly, choose the path of humility and even that which brings humiliation as our Lord exhorts in today’s gospel - to be the last instead of being first, to be the least instead of being the greatest, to be a servant instead of being a master for “the Son of Man himself did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

Choose and offer these acts of sacrificial suffering for other people’s salvation as an act of love and a desire of their ultimate good, which is heaven. By uniting our suffering to Christ and offering it to God in self-sacrificial love we become like Christ, who offered His suffering in self-sacrificial love so that we might receive the reward of eternal life. In this ultimate gift, we see that suffering not only can play a role in our own salvation but also in helping others obtain salvation.

Let me end with this beautiful catechesis from the great Cure D’Ars, St Jean Marie Vianney:

“There are two ways of suffering – to suffer with love, and to suffer without love. The saints suffered everything with joy, patience, and perseverance, because they loved. As for us, we suffer with anger, vexation, and weariness, because we do not love. If we loved God, we should love crosses, we should wish for them, we should take pleasure in them… We should be happy to be able to suffer for the love of Him who lovingly suffered for us.”

The opposite of Envy is Love

Twenty Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

One of the most destructive attitudes you will find in any family, community or even the Church is envy. Even the disciples of the Lord were not immune to its influence. This may be the reason why they were arguing over who is the greatest. Likewise, the enemies of our Lord were also envious of His popularity and growing influence. Their hostility and opposition toward the Lord were not just motivated by a desire for self-improvement or advancement. They were incensed by His success and gleefully plotted His downfall which they had actually achieved when our Lord was crucified. St James puts it perfectly in the second reading: “Wherever you find jealousy and ambition, you find disharmony, and wicked things of every kind being done…”

The Angelic Doctor, St Thomas Aquinas defines envy as “sorrow for another’s good.” Just think for a moment about how squarely malicious envy is based on this definition. In fact, just as pride is the opposite of humility, envy can be thought of as the opposite of love. Love desires the good of the other; envy is its opposite. Love says, “I’m happy when you’re happy, and I’m sad when you’re sad.” Envy says, “I’m happy when you’re sad, and I’m sad when you’re happy.” Could anything be more terrible? Envy is a sibling of hatred. Whereas covetousness is an inordinate longing for what someone else has, envy goes further, wanting the other person to lose what he has. Wherever envy exists, hatred also resides—and misery follows.

But here’s the painful irony, envious people believe that they will be happy when their rival or foe has been shamed or defeated but their victory would prove to be pyrrhic. You see envy is the constant thief of joy. Most sins have an up-front sweetness but a bitter aftertaste. Envy, meanwhile, is bitter as you do it and bitter afterward—doubly miserable. Envy can take any gift of God and make it rot; it can turn heaven into hell.

Rather than wishing the worse on our enemies we should be praying for them, encouraging them and even choosing to be in solidarity with them. Our Lord once again repeats His prophecy that He would have to suffer grievously at the hands of His enemies. Instead of showing empathy and offering to share His sorrow and burden, the disciples choose to deflect, change the topic and selfishly descend into navel gazing and self-pity. Our Lord, instead of remonstrating them for their insensitivity, begins to instruct them on the new paradigm of a disciple and how to love their neighbour as the Saviour does, even when He is personally undergoing pain and distress.

In the face of the disciples’ ambition for first places, honours and privileges so contrary to His teaching, our Lord points the way of suffering, surrender, humility and charity: “If anyone wants to be first, he must make himself last of all and servant of all.” While those of the world choose to ascend the ladder of success, power and prestige, Christians must take a different path and avoid the personal failings of ambition, pride and search for power and dedicate our lives in service to others. The former would foster a culture of dog-eat-dog, stepping over the corpses of others to get to where we want to go. It is fuelled by envy, where our humanity is sacrificed. The Christian’s path, on the other hand, must imitate the condescension of our Lord - humility expressed in self-giving and service to others. Like allowing soap to penetrate the deepest caverns of a dirty wound, we must allow humility to penetrate the deepest caverns of our envy. As we pursue humility—including by praying for and encouraging those we’re tempted to envy—we can be confident God will reward us with life, joy, and freedom.

The last bit of instruction is often taken as either a lesson in hospitality shown especially to the weak who cannot repay our favour or a call to emulate the innocence and simplicity of a child, the prerequisite for humility. But our Lord makes this call unique by tying the welcoming of a child to welcoming Him. Yes, this last line points to the need to show hospitality and express humility, but also provides us the standard by which these things are done. Once again, our Lord is turning the question of greatness on its head. There is no need for us to be envious of each other in that we attempt to outdo each other even in the area of Christian virtue. The standard by which we should set our eyes on is Christ Himself, and certainly no one can claim to be greater than Him. So, rather than compete in getting ahead of the other, we must constantly seek to imitate our Lord in every way, especially in His Incarnation. Christ did become a “child” who was welcomed by some but rejected by others and those who rejected Him failed to see that they had rejected the Heavenly Father who had sent Him.

In contrast to the blueprints provided by life coaches on how to be successful and getting ahead in life, this passage provides us with a blueprint for an incarnational discipleship. Firstly, we are all called to follow the example of His great humility in coming down from heaven to earth (Phil 2: 5-8). We are to be like Christ in His Incarnation in the amazing self-humbling which lies behind the Incarnation.

Secondly, we are to be like Christ in His service. We move on now from His Incarnation to His life of service; from His birth to His life, from the beginning to the end, from His birth to the Last Supper and finally, to His death on the cross.

Thirdly, we are to be like Christ in His love. Love is the wisdom from above. As St James teaches: “the wisdom that comes down from above is essentially something pure; it also makes for peace, and is kindly and considerate; it is full of compassion and shows itself by doing good; nor is there any trace of partiality or hypocrisy in it.”

So, rather than seek to be ahead of others and be envious of those who seem to do better, let us learn to be more Christ-like. But this begs the question: is it attainable? In our own strength it is clearly not attainable, but God has given us His Holy Spirit to dwell within us, to change us from within. As long as we hold on to our prideful stubbornness, it would remain humanly impossible. But if we assume the attitude of a child filled with awe and wonder, a hapless child who cannot do things for himself but rely on the strength and help of others, all things are possible with God!

He Humbled Himself

Maundy Thursday

Footwashing has becoming a fad among Christians and Catholics, especially during retreats and camps where participants are encouraged to wash each other’s feet. It’s a dirty job because our feet are that part of our bodies which are most prone to getting soiled and smelly. But the aversion to this is not just on the part of the doer but also the receiver. Most of us are too embarrassed to expose our dirty smelly feet to others. The messaging of this action, however, is clear. This ritual is meant to express our willingness to emulate the Lord’s humility and heart for service. But I can’t help but think that it has become a tool of virtue signalling, declaring to the world “see how humble I am!”, the exact opposite of what the action is meant to signify.

And most recently, it has also been used as a means of propaganda in promoting a certain ideology - woke ideology, to be precise. In a recent advertisement played to millions of Americans who watched live the National Football League playoffs, it was a means of conveying a vanilla message of non-judgmentalism and universal acceptance of traditionally problematic moral issues under the guise of Jesus “gets us.” In a highly selective montage which included scenes depicting members of the LGBT community and abortion clinics, those who paid for this multi-million dollar advertisement would have wanted to showcase and proclaim the gospel of nice and tolerance while conveniently leaving out the essential call to repentance. The message was not so subtle for us to read between the lines: Jesus “gets us” translates as Jesus accepts us for who we are and despite what we’ve done. In other words, Jesus embraces both the sinner and the sin, and makes no demands of us to repent and change.

The action of our Lord in washing the feet of His disciples certainly demonstrates humble service but it is so much more than that. It points to two significant events of His life which form the basis of His work of salvation - the Incarnation on the one hand; and His passion and death on the other. When our Lord began to lovingly wash the disciples’ feet, His actions symbolised how He became a slave for us with His Incarnation. It also reminds us of the humiliating death He was about to undergo for our redemption. Why would He do this? He did this for our sake and for our salvation - He did this to save us from our sins and not leave us in our depraved condition. For if He had just tolerated our sinfulness, there would be absolutely no reason why the Word would become flesh and for Him to choose to die on the cross. He did it to redeem us from our sins, to liberate us from our sins, to save us from our sins.

Yes, we are to imitate our Lord in living out lives of love, service, forgiveness, and humility, as we reach out to help and sacrifice for one another. But more than that, we are to live with the certain hope that He has washed away our sins with His blood. We can no longer live our old lives trapped and wallowing in the murky muddy waters of sin. He has come to give us new life, to make us a new creation. He did not come just to wash our feet as an example of humble service, and then leave the filth of sin within us untouched. For that would be virtue signalling. No, He came to wash away our sins, to defeat sin not just by pouring clean water over it but by shedding His own blood on the cross.

Our Lord truly “gets us.” He truly understands our condition and our plight. He knows and He understands that left to our own devices, we are lost; left to us wallowing in our sinful lifestyle, we are heading in the direction of our own destruction; that a life without Him means that we are ultimately lost. Our Lord “gets us” by seeking the lost, healing the wounded, pardoning the sinner. If He has done this for us, so must we imitate Him in reaching out to others to offer them the forgiveness and salvation which is our Lord’s greatest gift to us.

Yes, the action of washing feet is indeed a profound expression of humility but in order that it remains a sign of humble service, instead of virtue signalling, we must never forget that this action is tied to both the Incarnation and the Paschal Mystery. This is how Pope Benedict XVI seeks to remind us:

"The greater you are, the more you humble yourself, so you will find favour in the sight of the Lord. For great is the might of the Lord" (3: 18-20) says the passage in Sirach; and in the Gospel, after the Parable of the Wedding Feast, Jesus concludes: "Every one who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted" (Lk 14: 11). Today, this perspective mentioned in the Scriptures appears especially provocative to the culture and sensitivity of contemporary man. The humble person is perceived as someone who gives up, someone defeated, someone who has nothing to say to the world. Instead, this is the principal way, and not only because humility is a great human virtue but because, in the first place, it represents God's own way of acting. It was the way chosen by Christ, the Mediator of the New Covenant, who "being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross" (Phil 2:8).

Here, at this Mass of the Lord’s Supper, where our Lord instituted the Eucharist - the Sacrament of Love - we will witness again what our Lord did two millennia ago. He, who is Lord and Master, King of Kings, took off His Cloak of Royal Splendour and became a Servant. He washed the feet of those whom He had chosen to continue His Redemptive work. He gives Himself to us as food for the journey and went on to die on the cross. He showed us what we were chosen to do. On that night, our Lord enlisted His disciples and tonight, He enlists all of us to live lives of self-emptying Love for the world. To bear the name "Christian" is to walk humbly in this love in the midst of a broken and wounded world that is waiting to be reborn.

Rejoice! Indeed the Lord is near!

Third Sunday of Advent Year B

As that 60s Christmas song claims, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” But is it? It is true that for most people, there are many reasons to revel in the season - the exhilaration of Christmas shopping and carolling, the excitement of receiving gifts, partaking in family reunions, enjoying year-end holidays and taking the necessary break from work and school. But it can also be the season that creates much stress, anxiety and even depression. When more is expected, there can be more reasons to fail. Add to this natural predilection for disappointment and failure would be a global inflation gone out of control, a country with an uncertain and worrying political future, two major conflicts threatening to escalate into another world war.

Against this tide, not just a tide but a tsunami of despair, today’s liturgy shouts out this refrain: “Rejoice! Exult for Joy! Be happy at all times!” Our senses seem to want to shout back: “What’s there to be joyful about?” “Is the Church blind?”

And yet on this Sunday, the Church’s liturgy demands that we rejoice: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice!” These words are a paraphrase of the passage from St Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians which we heard as our second reading. Indeed, the Third Sunday of Advent is called “Gaudete Sunday.” “Gaudete” is the Latin word meaning ‘rejoice.’

What joy can there be in the midst of so much pain, suffering, gloom and darkness? It is certainly not the joy that emerges from some false optimism on our part that things are going to get better – too often, we can attest to this, things in fact get worse. Neither is it the joy that comes from creating an illusory world in our minds where pain and suffering is denied. So, what is this joy which the readings are speaking of? So, why should we be happy, and be happy “at all times,” albeit in good times or bad, in sickness or in health? St Paul tells us that this rejoicing is required of us simply “because this is what God expects you to do in Christ Jesus.” And the Church adds in her liturgy, “Indeed, the Lord is near.” The answer lies in Christ. True lasting joy is found only with God in Christ.

We are called to rejoice, because the Lord is coming – He is coming to save us, to liberate us, and to give us new life. Many of us may be experiencing some form of darkness in our lives. We find ourselves in the midst of problems without any apparent solution. We see ourselves ‘captives’ of our difficult circumstances, there seems to be no way out. Our hearts may be broken because of rejection or we have been hurt by the actions and words of others. We see ourselves poor, hungering and thirsting for friendship, understanding and a sense of belonging. Some of us find ourselves trapped in the darkness of sin.

If we see ourselves in any of these situations, rejoice and be glad, because the readings promise good news. This is the promise of God, as St. Paul tells us in the second reading: “God has called you and He will not fail you.” God is always faithful. God keeps His promise. God will not fail you. And what is this promise? The prophet Isaiah announces that the coming of the Lord’s anointed messenger will mean healing and liberation to all who are poor, broken-hearted, oppressed, and captive. The Good News is that which is announced by John the Baptist in the gospel – the Anointed One has come - Jesus has come – He is the Light of the World – and He is waiting to enter into your hearts and into your lives once again.

Therefore, we Christians anticipate the End Times not with fear and trembling, but with rejoicing. St Paul reminds us in the second reading, “Be happy at all times, pray constantly, and for all things give thanks.” Like the prophet Isaiah in the first reading, the thought of the “end times,” of Christ’s coming, should be met with euphoria, “I exult for joy in the Lord, my soul rejoices in my God!”

Sometimes we have an image of John the Baptist as an austere ascetic. In depicting the Baptist in this fashion, we tend to forget the joy that is associated with his entire life and vocation. It was him who leapt for joy in his mother Elizabeth’s womb when she encountered the Mother of the Word Incarnate. In the fourth Gospel, St John speaks of the source of the Baptist’s supernatural joy - it is the joy of the best man, who rejoices greatly at hearing the bridegroom’s voice. And thus, his humility opened a space within him for true joy, the kind which comes from the real presence of the Lord. So it can be, for each one of us.

Thus, John stands as a sign for us today on Gaudete Sunday. He points out for each one of us the path to lasting joy, not just a forgery or a fading type of joy. We should imitate his lifestyle of self-emptying – a life marked by humility – we prepare for the coming of the Lord by always holding on this basic principle that defined the Baptist’s life and mission, “He must increase and I must decrease.” Despite the difficulties he encountered, the harshness and austerity of his life, his imprisonment and execution at the hands of a local tyrant, John understood that as his own light dimmed and faded, another light was coming, the true light was coming to illuminate the darkened world and cast aside the shadows of sin. The Baptist only caught a glimpse of the first glimmer of light before the sunrise. We, on the other hand, have the privilege of knowing and witnessing that sunrise at Easter. We can, therefore, know no lasting peace and joy, unless we come to know Christ, the true Light of the World, and allow the light of His grace to transform us.

So, this Sunday, Gaudete Sunday, Rejoice Sunday, becomes another opportunity to be joyful, indeed it is a joy that is greater than it was in the days of the prophet Isaiah or in the days of John the Baptist. What they could only envision in a time of prophecy, we now experience in a time of reality. In just a matter of days we will celebrate the Feast of the Nativity of the Lord. But we do not just commemorate the past. The Liturgy anticipates the future, the coming of our Saviour, our Liberator, the Christ who will bring to completion the good work He has begun in us. For this reason, Holy Mother Church commands us in the imperative – “Rejoice”! Notice that this is a command, not a suggestion. “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete: Dominus prope est.” “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Indeed the Lord is near!”