He will raise up the lowly

Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

In most action movies, from Avengers Endgame to X-Men Apocalypse where Jean Grey unleashes the full extent of her godlike powers, there is a common use of a storytelling tool known as Deus ex Machina, which literally meant, the god from the machine. In Greek theatre, actors who play gods would be introduced to the stage and play by either being lowered from a crane like device or raised from a hidden platform below the stage, making a sudden, almost miraculous, appearance. The introduction of this figure is intended to turn the tide and change the inevitable outcome of the story line. A seemingly unsolvable problem in a story is suddenly or abruptly resolved by an unexpected and unlikely occurrence. This functions to resolve an otherwise irresolvable plot situation, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending. Some have accused this as a form of lazy storytelling, but for us Christians, the story of salvation in Scripture is precisely all about how God intervenes at the very last moment to transform the outcome from an otherwise certain defeat to undisputable victory.

The first reading taken from the last book of the Bible repeats this theme that undergirds every significant turning point in the bible. Just when all seemed lost and evil seemed to have triumphed over good without any chance of a “remontada”, God enters the scene and amazingly rewrites the final outcome of the story. The woman in labour, in her most vulnerable moment, is rescued from the clutches of the towering gargantuan planet swallowing dragon. The enemies of the people of God would cry foul and even accuse God of cheating, but the truth is that our sovereign all-powerful, all-knowing and all-Merciful God has already willed this ending right from the start. Don’t take my word for it. Just read Genesis 3: “And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” Both the conflict and the ending have both been written. We often believe that any good player would keep his deck of cards to himself without revealing his trump card. But God has made no secret of His plans. He has revealed this through history and through the prophets. It is just us mortal who often doubt that He has the winning hand, often trusting in our own senses and resources rather than in His mighty power.

In the gospel, we have Mary singing her beautiful song of praise where she redirects all praise to God, famously stating that God “has looked upon His lowly handmaid.” In the Magnificat, she redirects all glory to God, acknowledging her "lowly" state while magnifying His power. By recognising that her greatness stems entirely from God's grace, she models for all of us a perfect, faithful surrender. Her song is an ode to the theme of Deus ex Machina - She sings of a total reversal of how we would expect the story to end if history was allowed to just run its natural course, but instead we have a God who scatters the proud and exalts the humble, filling the hungry while bringing down the mighty. Just like a writer bringing in a powerful outside force to save a story, God intervened in human history through Mary. It is a song about God stepping into human affairs to radically change the world's order and the tale of its ending.

For those who have grown used to seeing the world as it is instead of seeing it as should be, to those of us whose eyes have not been adjusted, the light which Mary’s song casts is blinding and disorienting. It moves the earth under our feet, it causes us to stumble from our prideful heights. Our eyes are still fixed on the way of power, success, wealth, and brutal self-exertion and self-magnification. Our feet are still planted on the sand of our own glory. But Mary’s little way sees clearly in this dawn of light, and deftly turns our attention heavenward. We look up not because we can’t imagine ourselves taking our eyes off her but we are looking in the direction which she is pointing us to. Think of her person, her humble existence, her glorious assumption, as a sign pointing to our final destination which is God. That even in death, at the end of our earthly pilgrimage which feels like a cul de sac, death is not a dead end but a radical transformation of life, as the priest prays during Masses for the dead, that at death “life is changed, not ended.”

But we get to witness this wondrous mystery even now. We don’t have to wait till we are dead before we get to see the wonder of how God intervenes in our lives. Think of the world in a story as being trapped in a hopeless, unsolvable situation. This "unsolvable problem" is human sin and death. Every one of your stories holds scars. Every life collects chapters we wish we could erase — moments when shame screamed louder than faith, when we questioned our worth, or when the future felt permanently closed. Yet grace has always whispered a different ending: “You’re not finished.” Society says, “If you mess up, you start over from zero.” But God says, “If you mess up, I’ll meet you at zero and start something new.” When we lose our way, God writes around our detours. When we fail, He folds failure into the fabric of redemption. When we give up, His pen doesn’t pause. It just turns the page.

If you believe that all of this is impossible, remember that the Assumption of our Lady is the ultimate example of how all this is possible. It shows God rescuing Mary from the normal rules of human death and decay by a direct, divine act. In a sense, it is the ultimate "divine intervention" and the climax of Mary's life story. No Marvel hero is going to turn up to save the day because there is none. But God will. Lord willing, the rest of us will receive our full triumph - and the full effect of Christ's victory over death - when our own souls are reunited with our glorified bodies at the end of time.

Change of Heart

Third Sunday of Easter Year A

Metanoia is a Greek word which we priests like to brandish to show off our grasp (or lack of it) of this scriptural language. It sounds like a good name for a medical condition or a punk band. It is Greek for “change of mind,” meaning a change in one’s life direction resulting from a spiritual conversion. The word is formed by combining two smaller Greek words: meta (beyond); and nous (mind or spirit). Together, they form the verb (metanoeō), which means something like “go beyond the mind that you have.” But a change of mind seems too tame. I would think that Metanoia involves a radical change that goes much deeper - a change of heart, a change of the core of our being, forcing one to dig deeply.

St Luke, in the last chapter of his gospel, beautifully illustrates this concept by painting this life-changing, conversion inducing encounter of two disciples with the Risen Lord. Without missing a beat, he incisively describes how the disciples had completely lost their bearings and sense of direction (both spiritual and geographical) in the overwhelming aftermath of Jesus’ death: “They stopped short, their faces downcast”. So caught up in their own pain, they were unable to recognise the One who stood before them, the One who bore our pain and who suffered on the cross so that we may not have to bear them for eternity.

The Road to Emmaus, which originally started as a walk of shame and a retreat after a massive defeat, was transformed into a march of restoration and growth. On that road, there was a re-learning on the part of the disciples. They had most likely heard these scriptures many times before. The stories were familiar but now they needed to be told once again. This was necessary for them to really grasp the significance of the Cross. Who better to teach them these things than the very One who sent the prophets and gave them those inspired words?

What brought about these two men’s conversion – their change of heart? In fact, this is what St Luke wishes to emphasise by using the term “kardia” which translates as “heart” three times in the road to Emmaus story (the term kardia is used more frequently by Luke than by any of the other evangelists). First Jesus upbraids the two disciples for being “so slow (of heart) to believe the full message of the prophets!” (24:35). When he vanishes from their sight, they say to each other that their hearts burned within them while he spoke to them on the road (cf. 24:32). Finally, after they have told their story to the eleven and the other disciples, and Jesus appears in the midst of them all, he rebukes them all for the questioning which has arisen in their hearts, their failure, even upon seeing him, to believe in him (cf. 24:36–38). For Luke, the heart is the place of repentance and conversion or the lack thereof, and his use of the term expresses his abiding concern for conversion, in the complete sense.

But this dialogue would not be the high point of the story. All this merely leads to the climax which takes place at the end of the story - the breaking of bread. The Word of God leads to the Sacrament of God. We say that the Scriptures are light for our path, and that path leads to the Eucharist.

Some commentators have suggested that the disciples finally recognised Jesus simply because of a familiar gesture on His part. But this understates how Luke purposefully uses words which he had used in his account of the Last Supper (Lk 22:19-20). Yes, the disciples certainly recognised that gesture, but the recognition was a gift of grace - it was the very celebration of the Eucharist that helped them recognise the Lord.

The Church recognises that Christ is present in the congregation, the priest and the Word of God. But there is something unique about His presence in the Eucharist. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (1374) teaches that this Eucharistic presence “is called 'real' - by which is not intended to exclude the other types of presence as if they could not be 'real' too, but because, it is presence in the fullest sense: that is to say, it is a substantial presence by which Christ, God and man, makes himself wholly and entirely present."

Each time our Lord celebrates the Eucharist for us, He invites us to recognise Him. As in an old Hymn, the Lord is inviting us to “open the eyes of our hearts.” Each time we celebrate the Eucharist we meet the Risen Lord, not just symbolically or as a memorial, but in person, in the flesh, although He hides under the guise of bread and wine. He does not compel us to do so, through spectacular miracles. Instead, He gently invites us. It is because He comes so quietly, so respectful of our freedom to respond in faith, that we can miss Him in the Eucharist. Too often we yearn for the spectacular religious experience, and miss the lifegiving encounter so repeatedly offered in the Mass. And yet in this quiet celebration, we find life, abundant life.

The effect of recognising Him "in the breaking of the Bread" is action. The disciples did not linger at Emmaus. They hurried back to Jerusalem to proclaim that they had seen the Lord. This is what true conversion of the heart entails. Likewise, the Christian is not expected to linger at the Eucharist. It is an encounter with Jesus, in Word and Sacrament, which sends the Christian out to witness. We come to Mass so that we may go back into the life of discipleship, renewed by the encounter with our risen Saviour, and made ready for action in His service.

Just like the two disciples who dragged their feet in shame and grief back to Emmaus, our faith can sometimes become stale just like our experience of the Eucharist. Routine can deaden our spiritual senses. The flame of faith that had been instilled in us can become dimmed to the point of being extinguished. That is why conversion, repentance, a change of heart, must be the daily constant in our lives. This is because our faith needs constant refreshing by the experience of an encounter with the Risen Lord.

Repentance, conversion—metanoia—stands at the heart of the Christian journey. This is why the story of the Road to Emmaus does not only remind us of the importance of one sacrament but two – Penance and the Eucharist. The sacrament of Penance, confession, must precede the Eucharist. So, let us ask the Lord this day—and each day after—where, when, and how He is calling us to go beyond ourselves to experience the conversion, the change of heart and mind, that He longs to perform in us. In every encounter, there is always an opportunity for our hearts, our “kardia”, to burn once again with new fervour and excitement, and opportunity to look back at all the pitfalls, difficulties and losses we’ve experienced, and recognise that He was not far away, even though sometimes we may choose to walk away from Him.

Mercy and the Sacramental Life

Second Sunday of Easter Year A (Divine Mercy Sunday)

The beautiful prayer which closes each decade of the Chaplet of Mercy goes like this:
“Eternal Father, I offer you the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of your dearly beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world.”

These words are a reminder that this devotional prayer, the Chaplet, is an offering of the Slain-Risen Lord to the Father—by His priestly people—asking the Father to be who He has shown Himself to be in Christ: Mercy. As such, the Chaplet is an extension of the liturgical offering of the same Slain-Risen Lord that is the holy sacrifice of the Mass. A reminder that today’s feast of the Divine Mercy, just like that of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus and Corpus Christi, is essentially Eucharistic.

We often equate mercy with compassion, sympathy and forgiveness. But mercy is all that and so much more than a sentiment. It has a face - it is the face of the Lord who gave up His life on the cross and from His side, that side which has been opened in loving sacrifice, comes a spring of water and blood that brings to fruition the whole of history. From the ultimate self-sacrifice of Jesus springs forth blood and water, the Eucharist and baptism, as the source of a new community. The two rays emanating from the heart of the image of the Divine Mercy represents these two sacraments: the pale white light is baptism whereas the red ray represents the Eucharist. But the face of mercy is also that of the Risen Lord - it is His love, the God of Love, the God who is Love, encountering evil and death and overcoming it, healing it, redeeming it, and raising out of its ruins, surpassing goods that could never have been apart from these evils. This is best illustrated in the image of the Risen Lord who appears to His disciples behind closed doors, gifting them with the Holy Spirit, peace and forgiveness, instead of unleashing His wrath against their cowardice, failure and betrayal.

In the first reading, St Luke paints a somewhat ideal picture of the post-resurrection, post Pentecost Christian community - the Church of the early believers. It is a community to which anyone would wish to belong, a community where love prevails, where each member is attentive to the needs of others, where mercy rather than judgment and bickering is paramount. It is not surprising that their number was constantly on the increase. We may view this picture with envy as we contemplate our own broken and imperfect communities. We ask ourselves: what is the secret of their success? The passage shows us that the pillar of this community is the “breaking of bread,” the Eucharist, which bookends the passage. The source of their joy and spirit of generous sharing was the Eucharist. The highlight and focal point of their communal living was also the Eucharist. In other words, the Eucharist is indeed (borrowing the words of the Second Vatican Council) the “source and summit of Christian life,” of community life, and of ecclesial life.

In the second reading, St Peter tells us that in baptism, the Lord in “His great mercy has given us a new birth as his sons, by raising Jesus Christ from the dead, so that we have a sure hope and the promise of an inheritance that can never be spoilt or soiled and never fade away, because it is being kept for you in the heavens.” Baptism is the gateway to life in the Spirit and the door which gives access to the other sacraments. It is the wellspring of life and holiness, the drowning of sin and resurrection into new life. But baptism does not only make us coheirs with Christ but also incorporates us into the Body of Christ, the Church, washes away original sin, places us within the flow of God's mercy. In baptism, the Father adopts us, the sacrificial love of the Son conforms us to His Body, and the Spirit transfigures us into witnesses of the Good News.

If baptism initiates the life of grace and mercy, the Eucharist sustains it. Yet, our Lord adds another element, in fact another sacrament, to this winning formula of salvation. It is forgiveness and reconciliation. That is the reason why when our Lord rose from the dead, the first thing He did when He returned to His apostles was to confer on them the power and faculty to forgive and absolve sins. He had already given the Church the gift of the sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist from the cross, but now He needed to ensure that the life of grace which He poured forth from His sacrificial death would continue to be renewed, healed, revived and sustained through the sacrament of penance. The extent of His mercy did not stop with the cross, it continues in Him forgiving us and reconciling us, continuously healing the wounds inflicted by our sins on His Body, the Church. Baptismal grace without the Eucharist would be unsustainable but the Eucharist without confession would be fruitless and untenable.

That is why on this Sunday of the Divine Mercy, we need to remember that God’s mercy is not just nice platitudes, excusing sinners without genuine repentance, approving immorality for the sake of appearing merciful, acceptance of all forms of lifestyles and behaviours without discernment and righteous judgment. Such mercy is false. God’s mercy is real, infinite, and tender—but it is not automatic. It requires sincere repentance, a firm purpose to change, and a willingness to avoid the near occasion of sin.

Sadly, in today’s world, many Catholics—both priests and penitents—treat the Sacrament of Penance like a burden to be avoided or a routine instead of a spiritual battle. They confuse God’s mercy with leniency, forgetting that true mercy always leads to conversion. God’s mercy is not a license to continue in sin—it is the bridge that leads to holiness. But to cross that bridge, we must walk with repentance, not sit down with indifference. To love a soul is to help it reach heaven, not to comfort it on the road to hell. As St John Chrysostom rightly taught: “Many souls are lost for lack of correction.” Or as the apostle James tells us: “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, and this will cure you: the heartfelt prayer of a good man works very powerfully. My brothers, if one of you strays away from the truth, and another brings him back to it, he may be sure that anyone who can bring back a sinner from the wrong way that he has taken will be saving a soul from death and covering up a great number of sins.” (James 5:16,​19-20)

Today, the Church invites us to gaze on the holy image of the Divine Mercy. It is both the Crucified Lord who allowed His heart to be pierced and laid bare so that it can become the fount of mercy and the wellspring of sacramental graces. But the image also shows us the Risen Lord, the One who descended into hell and defeated our ancient enemies - sin, death and Satan - and now appears to us with His wounds as a victor’s trophy promising peace and reconciliation. This should be a description of the inner direction of our Christian life. We should look upon Him, keep the eyes of our heart turned upon Him, and thereby to grow more humble; to recognise our sins. As we look upon Him, let us take hope because He whom we have wounded is He who loves us. Jesus, I love you! Jesus, I trust in you!

Something is Missing!

Easter Sunday

Those of you who are avid followers of TikTok trends would know that there is a new trend trending on an Easter theme this year. Nothing religious. In fact, one could say that it is highly irreligious. It’s called "Your Chocolate Easter Bunny Is Missing Something.” The trend revolves around the idea that traditional chocolate bunnies are "missing something" (like a creamy filling), leading to funny or ironic reactions. The whole point of the meme is that it’s pointless, nobody cares, one should not even be bothered. And yet this obnoxiously trivial matter has been shared and reshared to oblivion making it another viral sensation.

Who could even imagine that something as mundane as a missing item may have such a massive effect that it could go viral. But that’s exactly what we celebrate today. The story of Easter is about a missing body. But the finding of this missing item is so much more exciting and surprising than when it first went missing. This may be the reason why Catholics experience a great sense of loss whenever something familiar in their faith goes missing.

The reason for this sentiment is that Catholic piety is deeply rooted in objective realities. A leaf, water, candles, a crucifix, bread and wine are not just mere objects to be used, they come alive through our celebrations - they make our faith real and visible. They help us touch, see and taste the very invisible mysteries which we are celebrating. Our faith is not a faith built on ideas. It is faith that it firmly grounded on the sensible and the tangible, because the Word of God did not just remain the Word of God. The Word of God became flesh, dwelt among us and was swept up in the events which we commemorate every Holy Week, where He suffered His passion, died on the cross for us and finally rose from the grave.

Today, we have a missing body from the tomb. But instead of leaving us to languish in despair at what has been taken away, it is good news to us Christians. A corpse may be missing, but the Risen Saviour and Lord is not. Most of us grief over the loss of missing things – whether it is a missing loved one, a missing valuable treasure, or a missed opportunity. But an empty tomb and a missing corpse is always good news!

The empty tomb is a necessary condition for the Resurrection, but atheists are right in stating that it's not sufficient. The Apostles needed to see in the flesh that the Lord was alive again in His body, but in a transformed and glorified state. And this they did, and so did many others who witnessed the resurrected Lord in the flesh, not just in their dreams or imagination. Even as Christianity spread throughout the Roman Empire, the Resurrection was one of the stumbling blocks for its spread. Christians were mocked for their belief. It's impossible; even ancient people knew that dead people stayed dead. And yet, we witness the rise of the Church in spite of all these unfavourable odds.

The Resurrection of Christ is and must always be the foundation of our Christian faith. The missing body on Easter is not a cause of shame or make us soft targets for mockery. On the contrary, the resurrection gives reality to our faith. It proves salvation is real for millions and millions of believers down the age from all over the world and also, the millions who have gone to be with the Lord hoping to be resurrected someday. “The Resurrection above all constitutes the confirmation of all Christ’s works and teachings. All truths, even those most inaccessible to human reason, find their justification if Christ by His Resurrection has given proof of His divine authority, which he had promised” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 651). St Paul reminds us, “if there is no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not risen. And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain” (1 Cor. 15: 14-15).

Today, in the face of wars that may spiral into global conflict on the scale of another World War, rising costs of fuel and goods, dark uncertain future of a highly inflated but depressed economy, injustice, the darkness of sin, the loss and death of our loved ones, we cry out to God to act quickly and decisively to destroy what remains of death’s powers. But God waits patiently, offering every opportunity for our enemies and us to come to our senses and embrace the ways of His kingdom. And we must wait too; but not passively. By our words and actions, we boldly announce God’s Easter victory over death – light has triumphed over darkness, truth over falsehood, love over hate, grace over sin. In God’s new order, war, distress, sickness, death, displacement, sin and violence will no longer hold sway. They will be replaced by joy, peace, hope, truth and love. This is not wishful thinking. This is real because Christ has Risen! Indeed He has risen, Alleluia!

Do not be afraid!

Easter Vigil of the Holy Night

“Do not be afraid!” The message of the angel and our Lord to the women witnesses of the resurrection was simply this: “There is no need for you to be afraid” and “Do not be afraid!” This seems to be a strange message to these women unless it was meant to assure the women and the other disciples that the resurrected Lord was not a ghost, but fully alive in the flesh. I guess that’s what you would say if you came back to visit your family after you’re dead.

But these words could very well speak to all of us in our current situation - fear of failure, fear of aging, fear of separation, fear of losing control of our lives, fear of another economic recession or fear of the conflict in the Middle East and Europe ballooning into another World War. Or are we trapped in the trinity of fears which our neighbours in Singapore famously acknowledge - fear of losing, fear of death and fear of wives? But if we were to make a deep analysis of our fears, we would soon realise that they ultimately culminate in the fear of death, the fear of our final extinction. Our greatest fear is that when we die, we become nothing.

Let’s be honest, all of us fear dying. We seem to make a show of bravery by joking about it to our friends. But beneath the veneer of courage lies the fear of our inevitable mortality. One day all of us will die, sooner or later, for one reason or another. I am afraid of dying. I’m afraid of leaving behind a mess which others would have to clean up and perhaps suffer from their constant griping and complaining about my past mistakes. I’m afraid that I may be the last to go as I watch all my friends and family die before me, without anyone to mourn my passing. I fear the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, because I know I’m nowhere near as ready as I ought to be. Do we fear death? Should we? It’s comforting to know that Pope St John Paul II when asked during his transfer to the hospital for an operation to deal with colon cancer whether he was afraid, answered simply and clearly – and courageously, in my view: Yes!

Doctors will tell you that there are various ways of confirming before declaring that someone is dead. You look for the absence of certain vital signs. But the Catholic Church does not define it in a purely physical or physiological way. The Church’s definition is somewhat spiritual. Death is at the moment the soul is separated from the body. This is not something which can be determined empirically but rather can be explained theologically. Our soul, is created by God, comes to be at its union with the body. A body is simply dead without a soul, and a soul is “out of place” without a body.

I recalled accompanying my former Parish Priest, Fr Andre Volle, to pay respects and pray at the wake of his good friend and fellow French missionary, Fr Bernard Binet. As he filed pass the coffin of the corpse of his friend together with other well-wishers, he declared in a booming voice, a final funny jibe at his friend, “Oh Binet, this is not you!” Some would take the comment as inappropriate while others would assume that the ever-humorous Fr Volle was in form. But I understood that Fr Volle was theologically correct. Fr Binet’s body in the coffin was no longer Fr Binet. A body is simply dead without a soul, and a soul is “out of place” without a body.

That is why the resurrection is not merely the resuscitation of a body or a soul materialising for others to see but rather a person who truly died, his soul and body having separated, is made whole again - the body and soul are united again. This is truly amazing. It defies scientific and medical explanation. But it is crucial, it is central to our Christian belief! Why is the resurrection of the Lord such good news for us? Because the resurrection of Christ is a signal to us, an irrefutable proof to us that death is just a straw man, a toothless tiger. Though death may separate our souls from our bodies and may seem to sever our relationships with our loved ones, it does not have the final word. Christ has the final word.

Christ by His obedience conquered death and won resurrection and salvation for mankind. For those who live in Christ through Baptism, death is still painful and repugnant, but it is no longer a living reminder of sin but rather a precious opportunity to co-redeem with Christ, through mortification and dedication to others. St Paul assures us by declaring, “If we die with Christ, we shall also live with Him” (2 Tim 1:11). Hence, thanks to Christ, Christian death has a positive meaning. The enigma of death can only be understood in the light of Christ’s resurrection and our resurrection in Him.

Our Lord does not promise Christians complete success on this earth, for our earthly life is always marked by the Cross. He did not promise us an ageless and deathless existence, one free from pain, suffering and tribulations, for all must suffer and die. He promised us something far greater - eternal life, the life of the resurrection. The women who came to the tomb that first Easter morning were filled with grief and fear. But they left with something more – joy! Joy is not the absence of fear. Who says that one cannot be joyful even though we can be fearful of so many things, especially an uncertain future? Fr Paul Scalia, the son of the famous Catholic member of the US Supreme Court bench, Anthony Scalia, tells us that “only when that fear is present can joy arise. Easter joy is not something manufactured or created by us. It comes from the Resurrection or not at all, precisely and only when we surrender control and allow the risen Lord to intrude on our gatherings and activities just as surely as He appeared on the road, in the upper room, and on the seashore. If we want Him on our own terms – and thus without fear – then it is not the risen Lord we want, but a caricature,” a figment of our imagination.

So, my dear brothers and sisters, my dear catechumen, as some of you step forward to be baptised and others renew your baptismal promises, do so knowing that the Lord has conquered death and sin, the Lord has shown Himself victorious by rising from the dead, and the Lord will return one day in glory to call you forth from your graves, not just your souls but also with a new spiritually refined body. So, “do not be afraid!”

Even stones will rise again

Fifth Sunday of Lent Year A

Buried dead men and even ruined stones cannot rise again. That’s the firm conviction and belief of the materialist communists, who reject any belief in God and dismiss anything religious and spiritual as pure superstition. In the year 1966, a platoon of Red Guards was ordered to destroy all remnants of the past including Christian cemeteries and tombs on the grounds of the Zhalan Catholic cemetery in Beijing. Most significant was the tomb of the famous Jesuit missionary, known by locals as the erudite Mr Li. He was Father Matteo Ricci SJ, the first Catholic priest permitted entry into the Forbidden City, where he spent the last nine years of his tireless and fruitful life and was honoured by the emperor himself with a tomb fit for a Mandarin.

Other memorials had been reduced to rubble, and the stones given to peasants to build with. The remains of the dead were simply scattered. Priests and nuns were forcefully conscripted for this laborious work of desecration, and they had to destroy the tombs with their own hands. But there was a shrewd lover of history at the Institute which trained communist officials. He didn’t want the relics to be ruined, not because he believed but was motivated by sentimental reasons. He came up with a brilliant proposal which was a subterfuge to save these stones. “Why don’t you just bury the stones,” he suggested, “and then order them not to rise again?”

After some time, when the horrible Cultural Revolution had passed and most people had forgotten the history of those buried stones, it was decided that they dig up these stones with little ceremony and fanfare to avoid unnecessary attention. So they did, and that’s why we still have Ricci’s tomb, dug out of the ground later on when the Communists changed their minds. Despite the order that they should remain buried, the stones of this tomb and that of two other Jesuits did “rise again”.

If dead stones can rise again from the rubble of destruction, so can men too. This is what we witness in today’s gospel. Martha and Mary had sent a message to the Lord by coming immediately to save their brother who was terminally ill. The Grim Reaper would not wait another day, but our Lord did. He waited another two days. In a seemingly nonchalant manner, our Lord declared that this illness is not unto death, but for the glory of God and His Son. Perhaps, these words would have been misunderstood by the sisters that Lazarus would recover from his illness and be saved from the brink of death. Can you imagine their disappointment with the Lord and His prophecy when Lazarus did succumb to his illness and die?

When our Lord finally arrived after deliberately delaying His departure by two days, He found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. One could argue that if the Lord had departed immediately upon receiving the news, it would have made little difference to the outcome. He would still have come too late. Martha, true to form, ran out to meet Jesus, while Mary, true to form, remained in the house.

Martha declares that if the Lord had been present, her brother would not have died, but that whatever Jesus asks of God, God will give it. The Lord, in response, declares to Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life. If anyone believes in me, even though he dies he will live, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (Jn 11:25-26) Here’s Martha’s moment of glory. John’s Gospel does not narrate Peter’s proclamation of faith: Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Martha now has the honour of echoing Peter’s declaration: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

If Martha displayed such brazen faith in the Lord despite her personal tragedy, Mary’s response seems more human and therefore, would resonate with most of us. She appears to question the Lord for His lateness. If only He had been there, this tragedy could have been evaded: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” It is a human thing to grieve. It is quite natural of us to ask God or rather demand an answer from Him in the face of tragedy. Rather than being annoyed or angry at her seeming lack of faith in comparison to her sister’s, our Lord is moved by her response - her tears of grief and perhaps even anger.

Our Lord knew that in the end, life would reign, joy would outweigh the sorrow, and yet He grieved before performing that great miracle of miracles. He grieved for His beloved friend decaying in the tomb. And He grieved for us, I'd like to think, for all of humanity who must endure great trials, loss, abuse, injustice, as a result of our free will and fallenness - for us who, while on this earth, must fight hard and ceaselessly to believe in what cannot be seen, in a divine compassion we cannot fathom. He is grieving for the destruction that has been wrought by sin, death itself, which is not part of God’s original plan. Save for sin, death has no place in our universe. The wages of sin is death as St Paul points out.

Some people console us by trying to make us accept death as a natural part of human life. Others argue that death is merely a portal to eternity. But our Lord saw death as the enemy. His Father had never intended for us to experience it. In fact, He forbade Adam and Eve only one thing – a fruit that would make them subject to it. Death came into the world through the envy of the devil and the disobedience of man, not through the plan of God. So, in the presence of those wounded by death’s sting, our Lord weeps.

I guess it is always so irresistibly easier to surrender to the power of despair and thus be authors of our own spiritual and psychological death. Despair is the most lethal weapon at the hands of the enemies of Christianity. The Communists who ordered the destruction of the Christian graves and commandeered the religious leaders to undertake this heinous task with their own hands thought that they could bury the faith of the people as they did with the stones from the tombs of their heroes. But just as the stones did not remain buried, the faith of the Catholics continues to endure and indeed have grown despite years of persecution, oppression and governmental control.

When you're exhausted, from day after day battling doubts, struggling against the current, resisting the urge to lie down and allow the fear, resentment, selfishness, hatred to bury you alive, it is good to remember the story of Lazarus and the tomb of Matteo Ricci. The story of Lazarus reinforces our hope – a hope which does not lie in finding an answer to the mystery of our 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 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. If the communists could not keep the tomb stones and the faith of the Chinese Catholics buried, if tombs could not keep Lazarus and Jesus dead, we too profess with firm conviction “in the resurrection of the body,” that God will ensure that not only our immortal souls will live on after death, but that even our "mortal body" will “rise again”.

As Newborn Babes

Second Sunday of Easter
Divine Mercy Sunday

It can be a real challenge to wrap your head around the fact that this Sunday goes by many names. Some would argue – way too many. Today is the Second Sunday of Easter but it is also known as the Sunday within the Octave of Easter. In the extraordinary form and in the pre-1969 calendar, it was also called Low Sunday (in relation to last Sunday, Easter). And since the pontificate of St John Paul II, it has received this eponymous title - Divine Mercy Sunday. As we continue to pray for Pope Francis of happy memory, we too remember how mercy had been one of the major lietmotifs of his pontificate. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Start all over, make a new beginning

Easter Sunday

Some folks are simply morning people. They go to bed early and wake up in the wee hours of the morning while everyone else is still tucked snugly into their beds counting sheep. I’m not one of those folks. I follow a diametrically opposite regime - late nights and waking up just in time for morning rituals and Mass. I’ve often admired the members of our morning Mass animating team who get up early every morning to prepare our chapel for daily Mass and still have time to spare for morning devotions and Lauds before Mass. I guess they too would have been the first to discover the good news of what had happened on that first Easter morning, while the rest of us are still shaking off the slumber of the previous night.

Well, Mary Magdala in today’s gospel was indeed rewarded with her early morning ritual on this very day over two thousand years ago: “It was very early on the first day of the week and still dark, when Mary of Magdala came to the tomb.” Only in John’s account is Mary pictured alone. She is accompanied by other women in the other gospel accounts of the resurrection. It would make more sense for a gaggle of women, for strength lies in numbers, to make their way to this place, to a cemetery, what more a place guarded by soldiers. But St John the Evangelist is content to state that Mary made this journey alone. Perhaps, it was too early for the others or they had stayed away due to fear for their own safety. The male disciples were no where to be seen. They must be drowning in sorrow, grieving over the death of the Lord or perhaps were still held captive by fear.

Mary was there because of unfinished business. On Good Friday, we heard at the end of the long Passion reading, how our Lord was hurriedly prepared for burial, wrapped in a shroud filled with spices, “a mixture of myrrh and aloes.” In the other gospels, it was noted that it was done in such a hurry because the sabbath, which prohibited such rituals, was about to begin and there was no time to complete what needed to be done. Whatever may have been the circumstances, Mary was there because she had unfinished business. Firstly, to complete in a more thorough manner the dictates of Jewish burial customs and secondly, to bring some closure to her own profoundly deep sense of loss.

Mary was there early in the morning just as we are here this morning because it is insufficient to close an episode of our lives after the death of a loved one with his or her funeral. Sometimes we believe that if the person who hurt us passes away, like a parent or spouse, their death will bring peace to our lives. However, in reality it usually brings more sorrow and regret because it leaves us with a sense of things being left unfinished. Funerals can be beautifully consoling experiences, bringing solace to the grieving, camaraderie among the survivors, healing to scars opened by the barb of loss, but it can never truly bring a closure to the wounds we experience both emotionally and psychologically.

If funerals are the last thing we can do for the one we have lost, there is much unfinished business that needs attention and further resolution. Our commemoration of the Lord’s life cannot end with Good Friday. It must find fulfilment and completion on Easter Sunday. And that is why Good Friday is leavened with the promise of Easter. Easter is when our Lord completes His work of redemption. On Easter, our Lord completes the unfinished business often left hanging in our lives.

There’s a song from one of my favourite artists from the 80s and 90s, Tracy Chapman, that has a stanza in it that goes like this:

“The whole world’s broke, it ain’t worth fixing
It’s time to start all over, make a new beginning
There’s too much pain, too much suffering
Let’s resolve to start all over, make a new beginning.”

Easter means the “making right” of things that have gone wrong: the forgiveness of sins; the reversal of death; the repair of broken relationships with God, each other and creation. This is not just an elusive ideal but a reality. Christ’s resurrection has made this certain. This is the powerful message of Easter that continues to unravel its mysteries over the course of our lives. This is what we look forward to, a new creation. A transformation. We will not merely be going back to normal, we will be going forward to something different, something new. It’s an illusion to think that we’re going to return to the way life was before. There is no going back. The past is an empty tomb. Our Lord is Risen, He is not there!

What unfinished business is waiting for us? Is it a conversation we’ve been afraid to have with someone? Is it a decision we’ve been putting off? Is it a relationship with someone that needs mending? Today’s message is really that none of these questions need receive a silent answer nor lead us to a dead end. We are challenged once again to engage the unfinished business before us and live the resurrection—through the actions we can take, attitudes we can adopt, ready to allow the Lord to write the next chapter in our own gospel. And also, ready to discover how the risen Jesus is present NOW, in our time and place. As St Paul assures us, be “confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:6). Christ IS risen. He is Risen indeed! Alleluia!

Hope will not disappoint

Second Sunday of Lent Year C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hope of Resurrection has dawned

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

Most of us have a myopic view of reality, we often only see the small picture and are oblivious to the bigger one. We are often told by contemporary wisdom to live in the present and not dwell in the past nor should we be anxious about the future. This is a drastic mistake as it often translates into bad decisions, despair or at the other extreme, false optimism. The truth is that belief in the resurrection is what enables us to live in hope. Hope is the desire for eternal life, "placing our trust in Christ's promises and relying not on our strength but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit" (CCC, #1817).

In certainly one of the most beautiful texts in the Roman Missal, we find these profound words meant to broaden our vision:

“In him the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come. Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven” (Preface 1 of the Masses for the Dead).

Our Lord’s resurrection has brought about a new dawn of hope, the hope that one day we too shall share and partake in His resurrection and our bodies not be condemned to rot in the grave nor our souls dissipate into oblivion. This is certainly consoling for those who mourn over the death of their loved ones knowing that they have been promised immortality. St Paul exclaims this in his letter to the Corinthians: "This corruptible body must be clothed with incorruptibility, this mortal body with immortality" (1 Corinthians 15:53).

We struggle to find analogies to explain this reality, but the process of metamorphosis that changes a caterpillar into a butterfly comes to mind. The Greek word used to describe the Transfiguration of the Lord is precisely the word that has been used to explain this transformation from nature. Another analogy comes from St Paul in his letter to the Corinthians. To show continuity and discontinuity between this life and the next, Saint Paul turned to the seed and the plant. The seed buried in the ground has one form, and the plant that springs from the ground is in another form. The continuity between the seed and plant is accompanied by discontinuity or radical change. Paul uses this image to contrast the resurrected body with the physical body: what is sown corruptible will be raised incorruptible; what is sown dishonorable is raised glorious; the weak will be raised powerful (1 Corinthians 15:42-44).

But our vision is not just broadened by faith and hope to see what becomes of mortal bodies and immortal souls. We are also given a new vision of the Church as a “bigger tent”. As much as it is a popular jargon to declare that “we are the Church,” it would be pure hubris to declare that we the living faithful are the only members of the Church. We are only “a part” of the Church, a small part. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains how there are “three states of the Church … at the present time some of his disciples are pilgrims on earth. Others have died and are being purified, while still others are in glory, contemplating ‘in full light, God himself triune and one, exactly as he is'” (CCC 954). Traditionally, these three states have been referred to as the Church Militant, Church Suffering and Church Triumphant. Together, these three make up the Communion of Saints which we profess in the Creed.

As Catholics, it is not just incumbent for us to pray for the living, for their needs and protection and ultimately for their salvation, but we should also turn our prayers to the saints to ask for their intercessions. But let us never forget to pray for the dead, the members of the Church Penitent or Church Suffering. They seem to be the most neglected category in these times when man is unable to see beyond the veil and threshold of death and heaven, for many they remain a mere illusion and mystery. We need to remember the words in the Preface, that in death, “life is changed not ended.”

The idea of funerals and in this particular day in the year, specifically set aside for praying for the dead, is premised on the belief that not all persons who die will immediately go to heaven. In fact, for the vast majority of us, we would most likely be in Purgatory, even if we have lived a fairly good but far from perfect life. Rather than a downer and a wet blanket, this should be a cause for hope and joy, that heaven is not entirely denied to the imperfect but open to those who were on the path of perfection, unfinished products, but through God’s mercy and providence, are brought to that perfection through the fires of His blazing love. As St Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans which we heard in the Second Reading, this hope “is not deceptive, because the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.” It is a hope not based on human merits but the result of the sacrifice of Christ who “died for sinful men.”

It is in Christian hope that the Christian community commends the dead to the mercy and love of God for the forgiveness of their sins. The Church encourages you, therefore, to seek indulgences, pray novenas, fast, make sacrifices and have Masses said for the deceased, especially for those who have no one to pray for them. These acts of charity will increase the love of God in your heart and soul and help those who have gone before us in death. As St Ambrose reminds us, “we have loved them in life, let us not forget them in death.”

Love is stronger than Death

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

In the collective imagination of the Anglosphere, Robin Hood is second only to King Arthur in the hold he has on the public mind. The idea of the Merry Men living in self-constructed freedom “all under the merry greenwood tree” in Sherwood Forest – robbing the rich and helping the poor and staying loyal to King Richard the Lionheart during the regency of his brother – has been embraced by countless generations.

Robin Hood and his merry band of thieves have often been portrayed in a heroic light, as those who sided with the poor and stood against the despotic tyranny of the rich and powerful, symbolised in the person of the Sheriff of Nottingham, ironically, a medieval representation of the “blue”, the law enforcement agencies. Robin’s actions were not only regarded as justified but lauded as virtuous because he “stole from the rich to give to the poor!” There seems to be a resurgence of this spirit in many of the liberal ruled cities in America, where criminals are often vindicated as deserving of the spoils of theft and looting due to their disadvantaged social economic status. In fact, stealing is now regarded as a kind of reparation for what many would claim had been stolen from them. Ironically, the law enforcement officers, men who wear the “blue”, are regarded as the “bad guys”, very much like the wicked and conniving Sheriff of Nottingham.

In the second reading, we see St Paul writing to the wealthy church in Corinth and requesting them to send aid to the impoverished mother church in Jerusalem. He begins his appeal by first commending them on their spiritual wealth - “You always have the most of everything – of faith, of eloquence, of understanding, of keenness for any cause, and the biggest share of our affection – so we expect you to put the most into this work of mercy too.” Paul is trying to explain that this act of charity is not merely an act of generosity but also a work of mercy - another spiritual good. In other words, the more they give, the wealthier they become spiritually. Then he sets out the standard and model of such generosity - it is none other than Christ Himself: “Remember how generous the Lord Jesus was: he was rich, but he became poor for your sake, to make you rich out of his poverty.”

Of course, St Paul was not himself resorting to a Robin Hood mentality by taking from the rich to give to the poor. He was making it clear that any such giving should be done from a cheerful and willing heart, rather than grudgingly. Furthermore, he was not insisting that the Corinthians should impoverish themselves by enriching the folks in Jerusalem. He proposes a pragmatic rule to giving: “This does not mean that to give relief to others you ought to make things difficult for yourselves: it is a question of balancing what happens to be your surplus now against their present need, and one day they may have something to spare that will supply your own need. That is how we strike a balance …”

This is the reason why the vow of poverty which is taken by a religious is not meant to be pure renunciation of material goods, but rather a commitment to share everything in common. An interior spiritual poverty is required for communal living. A lack of it rings a death knell to the community, especially when every member is only looking out for his own interest and security, whilst failing to be concerned with the welfare of his brothers and sisters.

We see in the gospel the true hero worthy of our praise and emulation - it is not the fictional Robin Hood but the very real Jesus of Nazareth. Our Lord shows us how God’s generosity and providence can be given and is given to all, without depriving one whilst blessing the other. In the longer version of the gospel, we see both the adult and the child being recipients of our Lord’s mercy and healing powers - the woman who had suffered from internal bleeding for many years and the young girl whom our Lord brought back from the brink of death. It is arguable as to who was in the more dire situation. The focus seems to be on defeating death in the girl. Our Lord returning life to the dead girl confirms what is written in the Book of Wisdom that “death was not God’s doing,” and that God had made “man imperishable, He made him in the image of His own nature; it was the devil’s envy that brought death into the world …”

So, it is death and devil that seem to have robbed us of our immortality and they have done so without enriching anyone but impoverishing all of us. But our Lord comes to the rescue. He robs the devil and death of their booty and final victory. Death may be strong, in fact, it may be the strongest thing that anyone of us knows of - no medicine, no elixir, no insurance or guarantee, no fortress or bunker, no “Iron Dome” can keep us safe from its clutches. But there is one who is stronger, so strong that nothing can stand in His way - not the cross which took His life, not the stone rolled over the mouth of the tomb, not the gates of Hades could keep Him imprisoned. It is Christ our Lord and Saviour. He has plundered the fortress of death and the devil and restored our inheritance to us - life, eternal life.

And this is what St Baldwin of Canterbury declared in the 12th century, a truth that has not grown old nor will ever be obsolete:

“Death is strong: it has the power to deprive us of the gift of life. Love is strong: it has the power to restore us to the exercise of a better life.

Death is strong, strong enough to despoil us of this body of ours. Love is strong, strong enough to rob death of its spoils and restore them to us.

Death is strong; for no man can resist it. Love is strong; for it can triumph over death, can blunt its sting, counter its onslaught and overturn its victory. A time will come when death will be trampled underfoot; when it will be said: ‘Death, where is your sting? Death, where is your attack?’

‘Love is strong as death,’ since Christ’s love is the death of death. For this reason he says: ‘Death, I shall be your death; hell, I shall grip you fast.’ The love, too, with which Christ is loved by us is itself strong as death, since it is a kind of death, being the extinction of our old life, the abolition of vice, and the putting aside of dead works.”

Illuminated by the Faith of Easter

Third Sunday of Easter Year B

Most people are familiar with the post resurrection story of how our Lord appears to the two disciples who are making their way home to the village of Emmaus. Unbeknownst to them, it is the One whom they believe had abandoned them by getting Himself killed who walks along with them; it is the Living Word who now explains the meaning of the written Word to them; it is the One who is the Way, the Truth and the Life who confronts their ignorance and despondency by showing them the Way, revealing to them the Truth that will ultimately lead to Eternal Life.

The two would have taken hours to reach their destination and when they had arrived, it was already dark. The Lord having broken bread with them - a clear allusion to the Eucharist - the scales from the eyes of these two disciples fall away and they finally recognise the One who had walked along with them and spoken to them as none other as the Lord, the One who died and is now Risen. Without waiting for dawn, they speedily returned to Jerusalem where they had come from. Imagine that … walking in the dark of night, without fear of brigands or risking a treacherous path in the dark. That was because their path was now illuminated by the new faith of Easter burning within their hearts, showing them the Way home.

This is where we find ourselves in today’s gospel. The two disciples were back with the community of disciples from whom they had abandoned, excited to share news of their amazing encounter with the Risen Lord. But our Lord’s sudden appearance would take the surprise out of their story telling. The disciples would not only have to rely on the second-hand account of these two but get a direct experience of the Risen Lord in the flesh.

And the first words of our Lord are simply these: “Peace be with you!” These words may sound consoling. But they were actually meant as a trigger, to shake the disciples out of their cocoon of despair, fear and anxiety. Our Lord was confronting their current experience. And what was their experience at that moment? It was a volatile cocktail of emotions and experiences. The days surrounding Jesus’ resurrection were anxious times for His followers. For them, His life had ended on that first Good Friday. They were afraid that because of association with Him their lives would soon end too. Further, they were dealing with the anxiety that comes with crushed dreams and uncertainty about the future. They were afraid – for their lives and their future. They were anxious – they had no idea what to expect next. Their stomachs were in knots, their hope was gone, and their blood pressure was up. Amid it all, our Lord challenges them with this common but seemingly inappropriate greeting: “peace be with you”.

This is where we find a common underlying theme which unites all three readings. Our Lord’s greeting and gift of peace is by no way just a means of “keeping the peace,” that is maintaining good relationships with His disciples at the expense of the truth. Any relationship, to be authentic and deep, has to be based on the truth rather than a lie. Falsehood, error, and sin must be confronted and resisted. The problem is that most of us often believe that it is un-Christian to confront our brother or sister when they are in error. Confrontation is often viewed as a negative action that seeks to embarrass or humiliate the other person. But this is where we get it entirely wrong.

In the first reading taken from the Acts of the Apostles, St Peter lays down a list of accusations against the Jews whom he refers to using their ancient name, “Israelites.” They are guilty of handing over, disowning, falsely accusing and killing the very One who was chosen and glorified by the “God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of our ancestors.” And it is no excuse nor defence for them to plead that they were ignorant of their actions. Peter lays the blame entirely on them, even though he argues that it was just as scripture had foretold. And the only remedy is this: they “must repent and turn to God, so that (their) sins may be wiped out.” Without such confrontation, St Peter understood, his fellow Jews would remain and perhaps die in their guilt.

Likewise, in the second reading, St John explained why he had confronted his audience - it is to stop them from sinning. But confrontation would not be enough if it is not accompanied by the support offered to help them amend their ways. And so, John tells them that we have an Advocate in Jesus Christ whose sacrifice had taken away our sins. John also reminds his audience that there must be integrity with our profession of faith and the manner in which we live our lives which must be in conformity to God’s commandments. Anyone who claims that they have a relationship with God but continues sinning is living a lie. Ultimately, only the truth can set us free.

Again and again, we find ourselves in the position of facing an evil — sometimes obvious, sometimes subtle — and not quite knowing what to do about it. Of all the works of mercy, probably the most thankless and despised is admonishing the sinner, and yet it is the most needed. Nobody wants to do it, and nobody wants it done to them. But admonishing the sinner, however, is not an act of Pharisaic pride, but of true charity. If we truly love someone and wish the best for the person, we must be ready to correct their mistake and error, even at the detriment of ruining our relationship with the person. True peace can only come by fully embracing the truth about ourselves, and our relationship with God and with others. Living a life of sin would be a clear contradiction of our claims that we are Christians.

Yes, admittedly it is unpopular and difficult to admonish the sinner, to confront delusional thinking, or to correct the error. But remember - Christ did it, and it got Him nailed to a cross. For admonition means looking somebody in the eye, and speaking truth in love to him rather than tiptoe around the subject and pretend that everything is hunky dory. It means addressing a fellow human being as a person, rather than an object of derision or gossip. It means speaking about things that are awkward and uncomfortable. And in our post-truth world, it means having some unalterable values and convictions even if we risk losing friends, family, job, and reputation. Ultimately, to confront the sinner is to call him to cast off the mask of sin and to become who he really is, a child of God in the image of Christ. Admonishing the sinner is to bring light into his life, so that his path may be illuminated by the new faith of Easter burning within his heart, showing him the Way home.

We leave no one behind

Easter Sunday

“We leave no one behind!” Does this expression sound familiar? It should – you’ve heard it before from the lips of the stereotypical mud encrusted, battle worn, biceps bulging, tobacco chewing sergeant or commandant, who rallies his troops to make one last almost suicidal ditch to rescue captured fellow comrades or to recover the bodies of fallen heroes. The words seem almost magical and powerful in being able to pierce, invigorate and inspire even the most faint-hearted and exhausted of troops and fill them with a new fighting spirit.

On Easter Sunday, the Sunday of all Sundays, we celebrate not just the power of rhetoric, we celebrate a reality, a truth – it is this, starting with Jesus Christ, God affirms that He leaves no one behind! God has not abandoned His only begotten Son to death. In fact, Christ is actually on a secret mission of the Father. He accomplishes the mission of God, a mission once considered vastly more difficult than the worst Mission Impossible assignment you can imagine. That mission is to vanquish the old enemy of humanity – sin, and its most powerful minion, its prison warden, death – and rescue man from its clutches. And the only way to do it, was to be thrown into the same prison.

The empty tomb is God’s smoking gun – it is the definitive sign of Jesus breaking free from the prison of Hades, Death, He tramples down the gates and the walls that have kept generations incarcerated, and He has triumphantly set us free! The significance of Easter is that Jesus is announcing not just to Christians, but to the whole world, and not just to this generation but to all generations – “We leave no one behind!”

We affirm this truth whenever we recite that ancient baptismal creed, the Apostles Creed, “He descended into hell.” The word ‘hell’ here of course did not refer to the state of final damnation but was rather a reference to the realm of the dead (the Greeks called it “Hades” and the Jews “Sheol”) or what has been traditionally called “the limbo of the fathers”. The Limbo of the Fathers is where the righteous awaited the resurrection of Jesus, after which they could enter Heaven. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states: "By the expression 'He descended into Hell', the Apostles' Creed confesses that Jesus did really die and through his death for us conquered death and the devil 'who has the power of death' (Hebrews 2:14). In his human soul united to his divine person, the dead Christ went down to the realm of the dead. He opened Heaven's gates for the just who had gone before him."

This descent should not be seen as just the natural result of His human death. It is more. Christ willingly died for a purpose; and his descent to the dead is part of that purpose. Christ goes to Hades on a mission. He goes, tradition has it, to the Limbo of the Fathers, where the souls of the just slept in death, waiting for the gates of heaven to be re-opened on the day of salvation. In other words, Christ goes to the realm of the dead to announce to them that their salvation has come and that heaven has been opened to them at last and leads them forth. Christ’s mission is one of liberation, from the jaws of death; and the dead heard the good news before the living. In early Christian iconography, Jesus is depicted as storming Hell, the gates of this prison lies trampled beneath His feet, and He begins the salvation or the freeing of all its inmates beginning with Adam and Eve. But Adam does not merely represent himself. He stands for all humanity. In Christ no one is overlooked or left behind.

An ancient homily for Holy Saturday, whose author is unknown, celebrates this in vivid terms. While on earth there is silence, under the earth (as it were) Christ is emptying Hades with solemnity. The new Adam goes to rescue the first Adam, his father in the flesh, with the command, “awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead”. Adam and his progeny can now rise from the dead because Christ’s human death transforms death for all the children of Adam. For just as what happened in Adam (sin) happened for us all, so too what happened in Christ’s human flesh happened for us all: “For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22). Or as the ancient homilist has Christ put it, “Rise, let us go hence; for you in me and I in you, together we are one undivided person”. Death had, as it were, led humanity into a walled-off, dead-end street; Christ now breaks through that barrier so that death might now launch humankind onto the highway to heaven. For it was for heaven, not for Hades, that God through Christ made us: “I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld”. In Christ no one is overlooked or left behind. Alleluia! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

This is the Night!

Easter Vigil of the Holy Night

The events of Easter takes place in the darkness of the night, hidden even from the eyes of those who were the most intimate friends of our Lord. But the reality and magnitude of the resurrection would only be felt at dawn, at the breaking of the first rays of sunlight to illuminate the new day. St Mark situates the scene of the discovery of the empty tomb by the women at this very moment: “And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb, just as the sun was rising.”

But our liturgy tonight does not wait for Dawn to arrive. It is too important, too urgent. Even in the darkness that surrounds this very church tonight, the light is breaking through in the candles we held as a visible sign of our faith in the Risen Lord, symbolised by the Paschal Candle, whose flames “dispels wickedness, washes faults away, restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners, drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty.” For this reason, as the Exsultet exclaims, the entire earth which is still enveloped in the night of sin now rejoices because it is “ablaze with light from her eternal King, let all corners of the earth be glad, knowing an end to gloom and darkness.”

There is no need to cower in the darkness and wait for the night to pass with the first rays of the rising sun. This is no ordinary night. One iconic phrase recurs five times in the Exsultet: “This is the night.” In English, the difference between “night” and “light” is a single letter. The paradox rings even in the ear. This night, unlike any other, is pure light. It recalls Psalm 139:12, which considers the impossibility of hiding from God in the dark: “even darkness is not dark to you, the night shall be as bright as day, and darkness the same as the light” When Christians stare into the darkness of this night, we see light. In fact, as the Easter Proclamation declares, this “night shall be as bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness.” Why do we rejoice as we have never rejoiced before?

At the heart of our celebration is this simple truth that remains hidden from the eyes who have not been enlightened by light of faith: “This is the night, when Christ broke the prison-bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld”. Yes, on this night, when Christians stare at death, we see life! When our Lord gave up His spirit on the cross and died, and His lifeless body was taken down and placed in a tomb with its entrance rolled over by a heavy stone, everything was cut off from the light. In that place of darkness and decay, where order was once again plunged into chaos just like the moment before God began His work of creation, God now begins His greatest work of rescue and redemption which far supersedes His first work. If light was the first gift of God to the world, a victory over darkness of chaos; now God plunges His Son, the Light of the World, into the very heart of the darkness of this night to free us from the bondage of sin and death.

Yes, it is a truly blessed night, when heaven and earth has reconciled their long time enmity, and God has chosen to restore His image back in man. This is the long awaited night of rebirth, the night of re-creation. The Lamb once slain and laid in the tomb of waste has risen in glory. The incorruptible has conquered the corruptible, for death could not hold Him captive. Alleluia, great light is rising from the grave. The dark night of sin has been dispelled, Alleluia!

All too often we run from our darkness, we fear it, we are ashamed of it or simply live in denial of it. But today, the light of the Paschal Mystery shines brightly into the darkest abyss of our heart and soul. The Paschal Mystery, the Mystery which Good Friday and Easter reveals, demands that we learn to recognise that hidden within that darkness, in every mistake, every human error, every shortcoming, every failure and even in the greatest of falls is the seed of the resurrection – where every sin can be transformed by a single moment of grace. Indeed, rather than cast aside His fallen creation, God reaches into the failure and tragedy of human sinfulness to redeem us. This is why the Easter Proclamation declares that the sin of Adam which separated us from the life of grace and God, could be described as a “Happy Fault” because it had “earned so great, so glorious a redeemer!” If Adam had not fallen, Christ would not have risen, “and if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain” (1 Cor 15:14).

This is the reason for this night. Christ is risen today. We have every reason to rejoice. This message is coming at a time in history when we are living in the darkness of chaos, confusion and a future fraught with uncertainty. The message of this night is that though darkness has enjoyed the upper hand for long time but Our Light has arisen. The fasting of Lent is over! The Feasting of New Life has begun. The silence of this night has been broken by our victory song: Alleluia! Let us not hesitate to sing it. It will burst the tomb of our problems and restore our hope. Let our world rise again in its glory! Let our families rise again in splendour! Let everything in us rise, for Christ our Paschal Lamb has truly risen. Alleluia! He has risen! Indeed, He is risen! Alleluia!