The Harvest comes later

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

The familiar story of the parable of the sower needs no further explanation as Jesus provides His own explanation a few verses after the passage we’ve just read and heard. If I were to stop here after stating the obvious, many of you would be pleased. Thank God, not another long, winding and convoluted homily from Father. But, let me assure you that your initial joy may be short lived. It may be a little winding, perhaps longer than what you are accustomed to, requires a great deal of patience, but that is the principal quality needed of a farmer who sows his seeds on his farmland. There are no instant results - no instant gratification.

Notice how most traditional cultures whose culture and livelihoods were tied to the soil, often make a big thing out of celebrating harvest festivals. Our brothers and sisters from Sabah and Sarawak celebrated their own respective versions of the harvest festival, which appears strange to many outsiders, since they are no longer farmers. The reason being that planting and harvesting mirrors the cycle of life. Scripture tells us that there is a season for planting and a season for reaping and in the next breath speaks of a season of living and dying.

The world celebrates the harvest. A good harvest means good feasting. We don’t have to go hungry - the farmer nor the consumer. But any good farmer will tell you that it isn’t so simple as making instant noodles in your kitchen when you have nothing else in your pantry. The good farmer doesn’t only know his crop. He knows his soil and as a good student of the land, he can attest that the farm teaches him to trust the unseen.

Farming teaches patience. Faith is planting the seed. Patience is waiting for the harvest. Trust is believing growth is happening even when you cannot yet see it. There is something spiritual and religious about the entire process which explains why many of the parables of our Lord have to do with farming. One would think that the Lord is preaching something which is familiar to the people and to Himself until we are reminded that He was a son of a carpenter, rather than a farmer, and that He had spent His adult public life as an itinerant preacher and teacher like the scribes.

But this agrarian theme goes back even further. At the beginning of the Bible, we see a God who is doing the planting, planting not just crops, but the stars and planets and orchestrating their movements, commandeering the waters, and then brings about life and eventually reaping the great harvest which is humanity. In Chapter Two of the Book of Genesis, God then entrusts this “job” to man, that he will henceforth be responsible for cultivating the land and tending the garden which God had initially planted.

What is the mystery which this farming theme wishes to reveal to us? I guess we learn from the parable and from farming that spiritual growth cannot just be an instant success story, it isn't an overnight miracle.

First, you need to cultivate the soil of your heart. You must proactively remove the "rocks" and "thorns" (everyday anxieties, spiritual complacency and sin) from your daily life to clear the way for growth. That is why the practice of regular confession and spiritual direction is so necessary. Frequent communion is an irreplaceable practice that would augment our spiritual lives and bring about spiritual growth. But just good food alone would not ensure a healthy life. A healthy lifestyle and regular detoxification are necessary to get rid of the flab and toxins in our bodies. Similarly, our spiritual lives require disciplined spiritual exercises like prayer, meditation, scriptural reading, study and a regime of regular confessions to ensure that we are spiritually in shape.

Secondly, we need to trust the process. In a culture that demands instant gratification, we often have little patience for waiting, persevering, and enduring the sacrifices and trials that beset us. The Word of God has inherent power, but it requires enduring through seasons of waiting and watering your spiritual life through prayer, study, and good works. Don’t walk out of the process, just because you do not see immediate results. I often tell my spiritual directees and penitents that the devil’s greatest weapon is despair. He sows the seed of despair in order to make us give up before we have seen the light at the end of the tunnel. I guess if any of us would have been in the shoes of the sower-farmer in today’s parable we would have walked out after witnessing the non-productive yields of the first few categories of soil. How often have we given up on a project or a person, just because we believe that our prayers and our efforts have been futile.

Lastly, we must trust and believe in the promise and guarantee which our Lord gives us at the end of this parable. In the first reading, we are assured by the Lord that “the word that goes from (His) mouth does not return to (Him) empty, without carrying out (His) will and succeeding in what it was sent to do.’ The harvest of spiritual peace and maturity is a promise, but it is meant to be realised only by those who bear fruit with perseverance. It is such a pity that so many give up so easily before staying around to witness the final scene, which is victory rather than failure, a rich plentiful harvest rather than a parched barren land devoid of vegetation.

This is what this farming theme teaches us. Some of the most important things in life happen beneath the surface, long before the first sprout appears and long before the harvest arrives. Though the going may sometimes appear to be tough and the waiting unbearable, let us not be too quick to give up on the work of salvation, for ourselves and for others. So, do the work. Trust the process. Trust the unseen. The harvest comes later.

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.

Strangers, Pilgrims and Exiles

Solemnity of the Most Holy Family

Last night, His Grace Archbishop Julian officially launched our year long 125th Jubilee Celebration which will conclude on this Feast in 2026. As many of you know, we have received a special decree from the Apostolic Penitentiary on this occasion granting a plenary indulgence to the Christian faithful and all pilgrims during this Jubilee Year. If you feel that you would just need to play host to pilgrims from other parishes, do not fret. You get to be pilgrims yourselves.

What does it mean to be a pilgrim? Many of you would have undertaken pilgrimages to local shrines and some have even visited many international sites. Despite the vast experiences that is available to us, there remains much confusion as to what it means to be a pilgrim. Under the current format for modern pilgrimages, comfort seems to be an essential criterion - comfortable buses, comfortable and moderately luxurious hotels, sumptuous and delicious food selection that suits our local palette and an itinerary that gives value for our money. In other words, most modern pilgrims would only agree to make the journey provided that they can bring the comfort of their homes with them. No sweat, no pain, no sacrifice.

But this is furthest from what a pilgrim is meant to be. St Peter, in his first epistle, tells us that we Christians are meant to be strangers and aliens in a foreign land. There must be a growing sense of disconnect with what is familiar and comfortable to us in order that we may grow in connexion with God. Pope Benedict XVI beautifully describes the process: “to go in pilgrimage is not simply to visit a place to admire its treasures of nature, art or history. To go on a pilgrimage really means to step out of ourselves in order to encounter God where He has revealed Himself, where His grace has shone with particular splendour and produced rich fruits of conversion and holiness among those who believe.” And this is what we witness in the lives of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

We Catholics often view the Holy Family as the quintessential model for family life. But I would like to propose to you that the Holy Family is also a model for pilgrims. They teach us how to “step out of ourselves in order to encounter God.” The Holy Family were no strangers to pilgrimages. In fact, they would have been seasoned pilgrims. They would have faithfully made three annual pilgrimages to Jerusalem for the great feasts. You may recall the story of how our Lord was lost and found in the Temple on one of those occasions. Though the synoptic gospels (with the exception of St Luke) did not mention this annual ritual in the life of the Holy Family, St John shapes and structures his gospel around these pilgrimage festivals. One last time during Holy Week, our Lord travelled to the holy city for the great Passover. On this last occasion, His mother travels with Him faithfully, experiencing her true labour pains at the foot of the Cross, as a sword of sorrow pierces her heart, fulfilling Simeon’s prophecy at the Presentation (Lk 2:35).

The observance of the annual cycle of making pilgrimages to Jerusalem thrice a year is not the only reason we can speak of the Holy Family as a model for pilgrims. Each of them had experienced personally and together as a family a spiritual form of pilgrimage that exhibited their deep faith and obedience to God’s will. St Joseph showed unwavering obedience to God when he took Mary as his wife and in today’s gospel, led his family to Egypt to escape the clutches of the cruel King Herod. The dislocation of an entire family in ancient times was no small matter, but the Holy Family was reliving the experience of the patriarch Abraham who ventured far from his homeland and the Israelites who were rescued from slavery as they made their way to the Promised Land. They had to be uprooted from the familiar in order to be rooted in what God has planned for them. Despite all the uncertainties and radical changes they had to endure, God remained their firm anchor. Wherever God was and is and will be, they were “home!”

The Holy Family were not only fellow pilgrims but offered hospitality to other pilgrims. Both Joseph and Mary received pilgrims in the form of the Magi who came to worship the newborn king and offer their gifts of devotion, just as this parish dedicated to the Holy Family opens our arms to welcome pilgrims for this Jubilee Year. The experience of the Magi begs this question: what have we brought along with us on this pilgrimage to offer to God?

Mary after receiving the visit of the Angel Gabriel would make her own pilgrimage to visit her cousin Elizabeth where she would sing of God’s wondrous works and care for His people. St Joseph, at the end of his earthly sojourn on this earth, would make his final pilgrimage to heaven at his death. That is why Catholics should pray to him seeking a happy death. After the death of Joseph, Mary would accompany her Son on a journey of discipleship that will eventually take her to the foot of the cross. She too would make her final journey to be reunited with her Son when she was assumed into heaven, body and soul.

Our pilgrimage of life can become another “school of Nazareth” where human virtues blossom in the deepest love and devotion. The Holy Family teaches us to “step out of ourselves,” trust in God’s plan, cherish our friendships, embrace simplicity, persevere through challenges, prioritise our spiritual lives, and cultivate love and respect in our relationships. A pilgrimage is an occasion of daily faithfulness and kindness, where Christ is always at the centre of our lives, with prudence shaping all the decisions of the day, great and small, and patience in bearing with each other. Despite great hardships, poverty and uncertainty, the Holy Family accepted all suffering with a spirit of faith and filial trust in God. Even the most painful events did not disturb the harmony and peace of the Holy Family, because God always came first and everything is done according to His Will. May this be our response as well when we encounter difficulties along life’s journey.

Friends, we are only passing through this difficult and dangerous world. We are strangers, pilgrims, and exiles far away from home. We are on a journey to our true home in heaven. Constantly remembering this will protect us from falling prey to sins of the flesh and the strongholds of sin coming from an alluring world. Let us learn from the Holy Family to be sufficiently disconnected from this world, so that we may be connected with each other in our families, in our communities, in our Church and with God now and forever in Paradise. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, be with us on this journey. Amen.

There can be no peace without Christ

First Sunday of Advent Year A

One of President Trump’s biggest boasts, and he has good reason to trumpet this (pardon the pun), is that he is the “Peace President,” since he has brokered numerous peace treaties throughout the world within the first year of his presidency. One last trophy that he aspires would be to end the bloody conflict between Ukraine and Russia, a peace deal which has eluded him thus far. Well, we still have until Christmas, and that would be a wondrous Christmas gift for all stakeholders. Global peace is not just a universal aspiration in modern times but something desired throughout mankind’s turbulent history. The prophet Isaiah in the first reading sums this up in his vision: “Nation will not lift sword against nation, there will be no more training for war.”

Even as breaches against ceasefire treaties take place in various hotspots, threatening to throw warring parties back into war, the question remains: how long would this last? How can we ever get from a bloodthirsty crowd to become peaceniks? The readings on this First Sunday of Advent provide us with the answer. There can be no peace, if such peace does not exist within our hearts. And for that peace to reign in our hearts, God must rule it. And the reason why lasting peace eludes us is that we haven’t yet allowed God to truly rule our hearts.

Yes, lasting peace cannot be merely achieved through human brokered peace treaties. Threats of nuclear annihilation and oppressive trade sanctions may serve as a temporary deterrent, but violence cannot be defeated by more violence or threats of it. There may be superficial and temporary ceasefire but hatred festers unseen within the heart. Martin Luther King Jr. prophetically said: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” This profound sentiment embraces the spirit of Advent and the hope that is rooted in Christ— He is the Light that has penetrated our darkness in order to dispel it, the Prince of Peace who has come to “wield authority over the nations and adjudicate between the many peoples; these will hammer their swords into ploughshares, their spears into sickles.”

In the first reading, the Prophet Isaiah provides us with an astounding spoiler alert of how things would end, how darkness would be conquered by the light and how hatred would be defeated by love. You would imagine that Isaiah or God who revealed this to him would have kept this surprise to the very end, but God does not waste time in playing games with us nor wishes to keep us in suspense. The glorious ending has already been written. The peoples of Isaiah’s days see a besieged city on the brink of destruction sitting on a modest hill but God wishes to present them with an entirely new POV. The hill on which Jerusalem lies is not a particularly high one, but when Christ comes it will be a towering mountain, dominating the whole world. All nations will realise its importance and come to Jerusalem not to conquer it or to destroy it but to draw salvation from it, the source of all salvation. God will teach the people His ways, wield authority over nations, and adjudicate among the peoples. When people listen to the voice of God and abide by His will, all striving and conflict will end.

St Paul in the second reading makes a similar call when he tells us to “wake up” because “our salvation is even nearer than it was when we were converted. The night is almost over, it will be daylight soon – let us give up all the things we prefer to do under cover of the dark; let us arm ourselves and appear in the light. Let us live decently as people do in the daytime: no drunken orgies, no promiscuity or licentiousness, and no wrangling or jealousy. Let your armour be the Lord Jesus Christ.” St Paul’s diagnosis of the malaise of his time is equally applicable today. People continue to deliberately choose to live in sin and darkness rather than to walk in the light of Christ. That is why every Advent becomes an urgent call to “wake up” from this stupor, to repent of our sins but also to prophetically and challenge the world to do the same.

Our Lord in our Gospel today speaks to His disciples and us: “So stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming,” and then adds at the very end: “Therefore, you too must stand ready because the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.” This season of preparation for the Birth of Christ should cause us to pause to have perspective on our relationship with the Lord and make space in our hearts and lives to bring His light where there may be shadows of sin and selfishness. God’s love wants to break through the darkness so that we may be redeemed and be made new in His promises—this is our great hope. Let us be clear - only He alone can bring peace to your troubled hearts, your broken homes, and this conflicted world of ours.

In the year following the horrendous attack on the World Trade Centre in New York on September 11, Pope St John Paul II wrote these prophetic words in his message for World Day of Prayer for Peace: “No peace without justice, no justice without forgiveness: I shall not tire of repeating this warning to those who, for one reason or another, nourish feelings of hatred, a desire for revenge or the will to destroy. But only Christ can bring perfect justice and offer perfect forgiveness, for this reason, my dear brothers and sisters, there can be no peace without Christ.”

May we take in, the grace of this season—quieting ourselves so that we may watch and listen for the Lord who is already present in our midst. Make Him the centre of your lives. Let Him rule your hearts. Let His light penetrate your homes and workplace. He is coming, let us be awake, vigilant, and ready to welcome Him. Indeed, let us heed the words of the Psalmist: “Let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord” and never forget that “there can be no peace without Christ.”

Call to Conversion

Third Sunday of Easter Year C
Pilgrimage Day 7 - Basilica of St Ignatius (Chapel of Conversion)

The theme of conversion rings within these walls. An attic was converted into a hospital room, a tormented fallen soldier is converted into a saint, or at least the beginning of one. Dreams of valour were converted into a new zeal for Christ. A mercenary soldier was converted into a missionary and charismatic reformer of the Church.

In this room, with its dark wooden beams and leaden windows, Ignatius of Loyola recovered from his grisly wounds received at the battle of Pamplona. Spirit beaten, body shattered, leg broken and mended horribly, leaving him crippled for the rest of his life, Ignatius of Loyola hovered near death for months, crying out against the cruel fate that saw his dreams of glory and honour at court all-but-extinguished. Sitting in the musty silence, the occasional creak of the centuries-old floor the only accompaniment, you can almost hear his anguished screams of pain and despair, the hushed footsteps of doctors and attendants rushing about to save his life, a life that he no longer recognised. His life would have been quite different if his body and pride had not been broken. Perhaps strength doesn't reside in having never been broken, but in the courage required to grow strong in the broken places. As surgeons would tell you, that where a bone is broken and heals, it becomes the strongest part of the bone.

Our gospel for this Sunday, also provides us with another living testimony of this truth - that we do grow stronger in grace in places where we have been broken by sin. The gospel provides us with the post end-credits of the Gospel of John, where we see a disillusioned Peter, who has abandoned his mission and vocation to return to his earlier profession, being brought to life once again by the Risen Lord. Our Lord could have gone in search of fresh candidates to continue His mission of building and tending His Church but instead chooses to return to the one who had denied Him, abandoned Him and who even now leads others astray by guiding them to return to the work of being fishers of fish rather than of men.

Both stories, that of Peter’s and Ignatius’, provide us with some important insights into the process and anatomy of conversion.

Firstly, conversion is an invitation given by our Lord to all. It’s much easier for us to think that conversion is for some, but not us. The sinner, the unbeliever, the lapsed Catholic, the one who has betrayed and hurt us - they need conversion. But not us. Heaven forbid. But conversion is a constant ever-developing process of us growing closer to the Lord. It is a call to repentance, because everyone of us are sinners. It is a call to sanctification because none of us are finished products, just work in progress. In this chapel, Ignatius experienced a conversion but it wasn’t his last experience, just the first. Likewise, though Peter seemed to have been “resurrected” and restored to his mission and vocation, scripture and tradition tells us of other instances where he would falter again, needing a wake-up call to return to his original vocation.

Secondly, the reason why the Lord calls us to conversion is because He loves us. So often we have bought into the lie that to call someone to conversion is being judgmental and unloving. In the West, conversion therapy, that is helping someone deal with delusions as regard to their sexuality, is considered a form of hate crime. But this couldn’t be further from the truth. It is precisely God’s terrific love for us that leads to the call to change, to conversion, to metanoia. God does not love us because we are already so good. Instead, He loves us in order to make us good, to bring us back to the goodness that was originally meant for us but that we have lost.

Thirdly, there is no conversion without a crisis. The Chinese term for crisis is made up of two characters – one character means danger or risk and the other, opportunity. Every crisis, therefore, is an opportunity for good, for transformative change, for strengthening of our resolve and character. So, rather than regard a crisis as a cruel curse imposed on us by a capricious God, we should view every crisis as a signpost sent by God to help us make the proper correction before it is too late. It could be as dramatic as a crisis which ends a career or a dream as in the case of Ignatius, or death of a mentor as in the case of Peter. When crisis hits, we have a choice. We can choose the path of resentment or we can choose the path of renewal.

We have passed the midway point of our pilgrimage but have we seen the change, transformation and conversion needed to complete the rest of the journey and beyond? Just like Peter, many of us may have lost sight of our calling, our initial fervour. Peter had lost sight of what Christ had originally spoken over him; that on him, the Rock, the Lord would build His church. We have lost sight of what happened at our baptism, we became living stones which are to be built into a spiritual house for a holy priesthood to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. Failure, disillusionment and forgetfulness comes to us all. But our Lord shows us that in the resurrection, and because of the resurrection, restoration is possible. The resurrection reminds us that faith can emerge from the ashes of doubt, as life breaks forth from the prison of death. This is the foundation of our Christian hope.

The problem with many of us is that we seem to express greater faith in the severity of our brokenness than in the grace of God to restore us to wholeness. Many are afraid to look into the piercing eyes of our Lord, for fear that they may see judgment. Others believe that there is no getting up from the royal tumble down the ladder of perfection and the only option would be to stay down, stay safe, instead of getting up and risk being hit by the bullets of criticism and ridicule. But the story of Ignatius’ conversion and Peter’s restoration remind us that failure need not be the ending written for life’s script. Perhaps, if we have the courage, the hope and the faith to peer into those tender eyes of our Merciful Lord, we would catch sight of something quite different, something that would surprise us – an invitation to surrender all to Him, our heavy baggage, our burdened conscience and our broken and wounded past.

Above the altar, on one of the great beams is an inscription, both in Basque and Spanish, which translates as: “Here, Ignatius of Loyola surrendered to God”. Truly, it is surrender that this room demands. As we enter this room we too are asked - just as was Ignatius - to be prepared to surrender: to be converted, to let expectations fall away and see not just ourselves and our own needs, but the needs of the Church. Centuries ago, this room was the place where a broken, despondent St Ignatius answered God’s call to set the world on fire. And centuries before that on the shores of the lake of Galilee, our first Pope gazed into the charcoal fire and received a challenge from the Lord to rekindle the fire of mission in his heart. Their conversion led to the conversion of many in the world. Today, from this room let us go forth to keep that fire burning so that the Church and the world may be set ablaze with God’s love.