Humility and Liturgy

Thirtieth Ordinary Sunday Year C

Here’s another twist to the parable. A bishop, the rector of the parish and the sacristan were praying fervently in church. All three supplicants were protesting their unworthiness.

The bishop, in a subdued voice, was overheard repeating the following mantra, “Lord, I am a great sinner… Lord, I am a great sinner!”

The rector, who was kneeling next to his bishop, did not want to be outdone in his humble protestations, as he repeated “Lord, I am truly a sinner … Lord, I am truly a sinner!”

Kneeling behind the two was the old sacristan of the Church, whose prayer was filled with tears and sobs and with little else, who cried out: “Lord, I have sin! Lord I have sin!”

Both bishop and the rector had to stop praying when it became obvious that their efforts were being drowned out by the escalating sobs and cries of the third man. The bishop turned to the rector with indignation and complained, “Look at who’s trying to be a sinner!”

Pride often poses as humility. It strategises to be honoured while looking all humble. It’s sometimes hard to tell the difference because pride resides within the heart and not on the face.  Our outward appearances stripped down, no frills, flaunting bare simplicity (or simplistic), a humble façade, can often veil our pride.  Pride can pose itself in a dumb down crowd pleasing form of religion or a Spartan white washed minimalist form of liturgy. Pride is a seasoned player at disguising itself as virtue.  Pride began in the Garden, when Adam wanted to “be like God”. Seen in this light, we now recognise the true face of pride – it is narcissism – the worship of self, the enthronement of man over God.

Humility, on the other hand, comes from the Latin word humus, which means “ground” or “soil”. It reminds us of the second creation account (see Gen 2:7) in which God forms the first human beings from the dust of the ground and breathes life into them. It is an admission of our own vileness in comparison to the infinite greatness of God. Thus bowing, prostrating, and genuflecting, gestures that physically moves the body closer to the ‘ground’, gestures that suggest submission, respect, humility, reverence and obedience, comes naturally to the humble supplicant. Humility considers Christ and His glory.  It does not feel the need to hide the glory of God. St Paul in the second reading speaks of all the blessings that he has received from God and gives Him glory. False humility, on the other hand, conceals the glory of God, and in doing so pushes oneself to the fore. 

The parable of the Pharisee and tax collector in today’s gospel stands out in bold relief and presents two paradigms of prayer or worship. Here we see by sharp contrast the utter worthlessness of self-righteousness, self-exaltation, and self-praise in praying. The Pharisee seemed to be rigorously schooled in prayer, by training and by habit, but he prays not. Words are uttered by him, but words are not prayer. Pride, self-righteousness, and narcissism have entirely poisoned his supplications. His entire praying has been impregnated with self-praise, self-congratulation, and self-exaltation. God is not glorified; man, however, is elevated.

On the other hand, the tax collector, smitten with a deep sense of his sins and his inward sinfulness, realising how poor in spirit he is, how utterly devoid of anything like righteousness, goodness, or any quality which would commend him to God, falls down with humiliation and despair before God, while he utters a sharp cry for mercy for his sins and his guilt. A sense of sin and a realisation of utter unworthiness have fixed the roots of humility deep down in his soul. The tax collector stood at a distance and would not even look up toward heaven. His posture reflected his deep reverence for the transcendence of God. This is the picture of humility against pride in praying.

The tax collector thus provides us a not just a model of humility or contrition, but presents to us the condition sine qua non of worship. Celebrating good liturgy requires a good dose of humility. Liturgy, in fact, best articulates the real meaning of humility – the glorification of God rather than of man. Blessed John Paul II reminds us that “the celebration of the Liturgy … must be characterised by a profound sense of the sacred. Both the individual and the community must be aware that, in a special way, through the Liturgy they come into the presence of Him who is thrice holy and transcendent. Consequently, the disposition required of them is one that can only flow from that reverence and awe deriving from an awareness of being in the presence of the majesty of Almighty God.” It is unfortunate that many see such emphasis of reverence and transcendence as a barrier to popular worship.

Many a Catholic resent what they call “pomp and pomposity” in the celebration of the Eucharist. It appears to them as though this is contrary to the spirit of poverty which Christ displayed throughout His life, from His birth in a stable to His death on the Cross outside of the city of Jerusalem. This simplistic analysis, completely overlooks a crucial event in His life however, which is directly connected to the Eucharist, namely the anointing at Bethany. Christ had no problem, and even delighted in the “pomp and pomposity” with which Mary, the sister of Lazarus, poured a costly ointment on His sacred feet. It was Judas who protested. That’s ‘humility’ for you!

Ever since the election of Pope Francis, there has been heightened discussions on how Pope Francis personifies the ideal of a simplified, humbled, version of liturgy free of ostentatious trappings of his predecessor. Certainly, there seems to be a preference for less elaborately ornate liturgical vestments. But this does not make Pope Francis the poster boy for what passes as ‘humble’ liturgy. In fact, there is nothing humble about liturgy that is shorn of beauty, mystery, awe, and grandeur which is ultimately due to God, and never for man. This is certainly far from the intention of Pope Francis himself. One can easily discern his solemn disposition during every celebration of the Mass – his outer and inner vision is directed only to God. The problem is that many wrongly read into this an overt effort to remove the symbols of power and office and to put in place poverty and humility. The detractors of liturgical finery just don’t get it – that there is no conflict or contradiction between humble and sublime liturgies. Great humility and great beauty are not mutually exclusive.

He who rejects beauty in the mass forgets that the liturgy, as pointed out by St John Chrysostom, the Great Doctor of the East who was also a lover of the poor, is a foretaste of ‘heaven on earth.’ Therefore, one who thinks he is stripping the liturgy of unnecessary accoutrements that would hinder accessibility of the poor to the liturgy, actually ends up denying them the beauty and treasures of heaven. Denying the beauty of the mass to the masses is sort of like denying food to the hungry. The poor normally have no access to the grandeur or opulence of the king’s palace, but within the liturgy, they are transported into the most magnificent palace of the King of Kings. To deny them this right would be patronising and condescending, and in fact discriminates against the poor – it is saying that the poor are unworthy of beauty, unworthy of beatitude. There is nothing humble about this. In fact, it reeks of hubris. Humility is about forgetting self, not forgetting beauty which serves to honour God and give him glory.

Have you noticed how we have regressed to performing mere perfunctory head bows (often with great reluctance) from the days when we used to genuflect whenever we came before the presence of Christ in the Eucharist? This seems to suggest an so absorbed in our own self-importance that we bow to no one, not even to God. Abba Appolo, a desert father of the Church reminds us that "the devil has no knees; he cannot kneel; he cannot adore; he cannot pray; he can only look down his nose in contempt. Being unwilling to bend the knee at the name of Jesus is the essence of evil." Our thrust for democratisation now threatens to reduce God to the level of humanity – He’s just one of the guys who does not deserve our bowing and genuflections. But when a good man, a humble man, a man who recognises his own unworthiness, is in the presence of greatness, he knows how to abase himself whether it be in posture or expression.  The humble man does not presume familiarity in the presence of greatness for that would certainly be contemptuous.

Today, instead of abasing ourselves humbly before our awesome and mysterious God during the reenactment of the Sacrifice of Calvary at every Holy Mass, we delude ourselves into thinking we are being humble when we strip the liturgy of its majesty and beauty, when we abolish our kneeling and profound bows, and substitute our sacred hymns that sing of the majesty of God for folksy ditties that speak about ourselves. True humility, can never be subjecting God to the humiliation we are simply witnessing in the impoverished and lackadaisical celebrations of our liturgy. True humility, as the parable and St Paul teach us, leads to exaltation - not of ourselves but of the God who created us, saves us, and loves us. Pope Benedict has reminded us that it is in the liturgy that the renewal and reform of the Church begins. And it is here that we must begin our lesson in true humility.

Faithfulness in Prayer

Twenty Ninth Ordinary Sunday Year C

Have you noticed how the existence of God either becomes apparent or is questioned during time of crises? Some people, who are practically atheists for most part of their lives, begin to mutter invocations and offer prayers that they would otherwise not do on an average day. Desperation can drive you to faith, albeit shallow. On the other hand, many good persons of faith may begin questioning the existence of God when bad things happened. “Where is God when bad things or injustice happen to innocent God-fearing people?” The question actually betrays their anger and frustration – they blame God either for being the author of suffering and injustices or failing to take corrective action. The vast majority of prayers, by believers and unbelievers alike, are often requests that injustice would be replaced by justice - that God would make wrong things right. What happens to my faith when the thing I prayed to be made right remains wrong? The so-called good God that we believe in cannot exist and allow such terrible things to happen, unless he wasn’t all that good to start with!

All of these may be boiled down to a single question: Is God just? Why does God, if he is a God of justice and a God who hate sins permit injustice in the world?  Many Christians wind up with these standard pat answers: God is disciplining us, or God is punishing us, or God is teaching us a lesson, or God’s ways are mysterious. Usually, the atheist remains unconvinced. The upshot to simplistic theology, however, is that while we expect to be punished for our misdeeds, we also expect to be rewarded for our good works. Consequently, our expectation can quickly become inflated. When we aren’t immediately showered with blessings we are often quick to complain. When believers face hard times, when their prayers go unanswered, the logic fails. Those who remain fixated on the privilege of being faithful may grow resentful, even accusatory towards their Maker. And so when bad things happen to good people many sometimes shake our fists at God and ask, “Is this how you treat your servants?”

But the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge in today’s gospel turns this whole issue on its head. Rather than becoming fixated on why bad things happen to good people and why good things happen to bad people, perhaps we should refocus our thoughts on something far more important. When we are constantly dwelling on how God doesn’t seem to meet up to our expectations, we often fail to pay attention to what is expected of us. God is not the one who is on trial. It is ‘we’ who are being called to account for our response, our attitude and our actions. The million dollar question isn’t ‘Why does God permit bad things to happen to us?’ but, “when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”

The point made by the parable in today’s gospel is that the persistent prayer for justice is chosen by Jesus as the evidence of faith that he will look for when he returns. This seems a far cry from the kinds of things we usually assume Jesus looks for; things like a set of rules, activism, piety or a decision we once made to follow Jesus long ago. In this case, if Jesus wants evidence of faith, the question he will ask is 'did you consistently bring your requests to God in the face of the injustices of this world?'

Jesus has told a parable of persistence, of a widow -- weak in the world's estimation -- who has won a victory because she didn't give up hope, she doesn't give up her plea, and finally wins the day. But what about you and me? We sometimes become so worn down and discouraged by our lives that we stop praying, stop hoping, stop expecting God to intervene. Will we be religious, church-going unbelievers who have given up expecting an answer, whose prayers are just going through the motions? Jesus wonders. "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?"

One of the hardest things we face as human beings is ongoing injustice. This is especially true when that injustice is directed toward us. Why do you think justice or injustice have such a great impact on us? Why do we get incensed when we see injustice being committed? It’s in our DNA. We are made in the image and likeness of a God of justice. Yet tens of thousands face injustice, hardship, brutality, and persecution each year. When believers face these hard times, it is hard to believe that God is indeed just. It is especially disturbing when wicked people are not brought to justice. However, Jesus reminds us that the issue isn't injustice but faithfulness. God will settle accounts and bring justice. Don’t cry foul or protest God’s seeming inaction as the ‘jury is still out’ and the trial isn’t over. The real question is whether or not we'll stick in there and not give up under fire. Hang in! Pray for the Father to hear you! Don't give up, for God will not only bring justice, but he will also bring salvation and victory. The real issue is when He comes, will he find any faith on earth? Will he find any remaining faithful to their vocation to wait in trust and persevere in prayer?

We are provided profound guidance in today’s gospel as we are invited to ponder the mystery of unanswered prayer. We see in the words and action of Jesus an acknowledgement of injustice - the problems of this world are not a surprise to God. God sees our suffering, he hears our cries and he understands our pain. God is not blind to the troubles of this earth. He has not abandoned us. I see a firm promise from a faithful God in response to that injustice. And I see a call to faith expressed through prayer in response to that promise.

Patience and perseverance is necessary for our prayer life. They are the handmaidens of faith. We must continue praying even when we have become tired of waiting for an answer from God. The reason for this is simple: without prayer, giving up will be easiest option. Prayer sustains our faith and faith brings hope. I guess many of us are often tempted and feel like giving up. Like Moses in the first reading, some of you may be experiencing heaviness and weariness holding your hands up in prayer – persevering in prayer – and you feel that you have no strength to continue. Some of you may be experiencing a string of tribulations for so long that you feel that praying is useless and does not make any difference in your life. But the message of the gospel for you today is: Be patient! Wait for the Lord, for the Lord will come indeed! The battle isn’t over until you’ve exhausted the highest court in the universe (and mind you it isn’t the Federal Court of this land!). You may not be able to see or predict what’s going to happen in the future. Tomorrow may appear to be the same as today. But your patience and perseverance will be rewarded. God will surely answer us, but in his own time and in his own way. Remember, however, the real question before is this: “when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”

Gratitude Saves

Twenty Eighth Ordinary Sunday Year C

Found this little treasure on the net. It proposes to answer the needling question: Why only one leper returned to give thanks? The following are nine suggested reasons why the nine did not return:

One waited to see if the cure was real.

One waited to see if it would last.

One said he would see Jesus later.

One decided that he had never had leprosy.

One said he would have gotten well anyway.

One gave the glory to the priests.

One said, “O, well, Jesus didn’t really do anything.”

One said, “Any rabbi could have done it.”

One said, “I was already much improved.”

(Charles L. Brown, Content the Newsletter Newsletter, June, 1990, p. 3)

To be fair, all ten lepers stepped out in faith and cried out to Jesus for help; they were obedient to Jesus’ counsel to show themselves to the priests, and as a consequence they were healed of their disease. Yet of the ten men that were healed, only one distinguished himself – he was the only one who returned to Jesus to praise him and thank him for what he did. And to add irony to this story, this person was a Samaritan, despised by the Jews. The story illustrates two points. The first point is one which our present Pope is painstakingly trying to make in his homilies, in his interviews, in his catecheses - Pope Francis wants to present to the world a tender, loving and compassionate God who cast His nets wide – He extends His grace to all people. Jesus' love and mercy, his healing touch extends to both Jews and Samaritans alike, the insider and the outcast, believers and unbelievers, to both the grateful and the ungrateful. No one is excluded from the love of God.

 
But the gospel pays greater attention to the second point - a lesson in gratitude as displayed by the former Samaritan leper. When we were little children, learning our manners, one of the first habits our parents drilled into our heads was the habit of saying “please” and “thank you.” And then there were the constant reminders by the adults, “Did you say thank you?” which taught you an additional lesson – it’s not enough to whisper a silent prayer of thanksgiving, gratitude has to be audible and visible. Silent gratitude isn’t much use to anyone. It’s strange how we lose sight of these important habits when we grow old.

Gratitude is not about "looking at the bright side" or denying the realities of life. It’s not saying, ‘Thank God, it could be worse!’ Gratitude goes much deeper than that. The leper’s action reveals the heart of gratitude – it is treasuring Christ more greatly and savouring his power more sweetly, the power which heals, which liberates and finally, the power which saves. In the first reading, in the story of the foreign general Naaman, we recognise that gratitude has the power to heal. But this is only part of the mystery of God’s grace. In the second reading, St Paul reminds us that gratitude also liberates. But it is in the gospel that we discover climatic apex of this godly virtue – gratitude saves.

Notice that although the nine lepers were ‘cleansed’, only one earned the accolade of being ‘saved.’ Jesus tells him at the end of the story, “Your faith has saved you.” In Luke’s context, he is making a polemical point: Only the foreigner is grateful for the grace received and that is his salvation. The others think solely of the benefits received, physical healing and social acceptance; but neglected to pursue the path of well-ness right to its very end – salvation. This is certainly descriptive of most of us who search for a cure to our disease, longevity to life, a solution to life’s problems; but ultimately lose sight of the greatest gift of all, the reason for the Father having to send his Son – our salvation

No work of God's is more worthy of gratitude than salvation. But it often doesn’t feel that way, right? Selective forgetfulness is to be blamed for this. We have forgotten that before coming to know Christ, each of us lived in a self-imposed prison of guilt, spiritual blindness and sin. But Christ not only rescued us from the power and penalty of our sins, He also lifted us to the realm of grace. He delivered us from punishment and brought glory. He defeated death and won for us eternal life. He took away the threat of hell and gave us the hope of heaven. Gratitude is therefore keenly linked with memory – memory of the grace of salvation we have received from God and who continues to complete and perfect the work which He has begun in us. Gratitude should make us sing of salvation, talk of salvation. Thanking God for saving us should be the unceasing occupation of our lips.

When we are giving thanks always for all things to God the Father, then we recognise his power and his glory. And when we recognise the power and the glory of God, we can understand our own position as His servants. We begin to approach the menial tasks that are all a part of our jobs and responsibilities with a sense of contentment rather than a sense of obligation. Imagine a Church or a parish that follows the example of grateful former leper. Imagine serving in a culture of gratitude—not a culture of obligation, or guilt, or arrogance, or exclusion, or pride.

Gratitude isn't something that should pass from our minds with the passing of a season. It's an attitude, a God-centred response to circumstances that should pervade every season of our lives. Perhaps the most difficult time to be thankful is when we're in the midst of a setback, a challenge, or a trial. When the storm comes, giving thanks is rarely our first reaction. Being thankful for adversity is never easy, but it is always right. Our faith reminds us that the difficult times are the ones in which God seems to be most at work in our lives, strengthening our weak spots, comforting our hurts, and drawing us to greater dependence. A person cannot be complaining and thankful at the same time, nor can they worry about money or health or anything while being thankful. With gratitude comes joy, hope, peace and love.

The story of the ten lepers is a wonderful story of the infinite grace and mercy of our Lord and Saviour, one who gives us good gifts, even if we have ungrateful hearts. It is also a story which challenges us to place our trust in God, to follow his commands, and to see the wonderful rewards this brings us. In the few moments we will come to the table of Christ together to celebrate the Eucharist. The word ‘Eucharist’ comes from the Greek word, “eucharistia,” (εὐχαριστία) meaning to give thanks (for the good graces we have received).  And so we give thanks not just because God has healed us, he has liberated us from sin, fear and anxiety. We give thanks because of Sacrifice of the Cross re-enacted at every Eucharist has saved us and continues to make us whole – completing, bringing together and finishing the grand work of salvation which God has begun us. And I don’t know about you, but the prospect of being made whole, being healed, being liberated and being saved is enough to make me turn around, rush back again to Jesus, and say thank you, Jesus.  Thank you so much.

No rest for the weary ... not yet

Twenty Seventh Ordinary Sunday Year C

Every culture has its own set of beliefs concerning entitlement. Ours is no exception though we may often be unconscious of them and their implications for others. Generally, most people feel entitled to some reward, some form of positive appraisal, provided they’ve put in a good hard day’s work. ‘We deserve this; we deserve better; they owe us!’ I guess most people who have sacrificed time and effort to serve in ministry would expect no less than some form of gratitude and acknowledgment from their Parish Priest or a little blessing from God thrown their way.

If this is what you’ve been expecting, you’re in for a major surprise. The alternate title for today’s parable might read like this: “No rest for the weary.” When the disciples of Jesus have worn themselves out serving the needs of the kingdom and its members, Jesus reminds them that they should not expect reward or even recognition. After all, the parable teaches, that is no more than your duty! The master doesn’t owe anything to the servants for their tireless service. Painful as it is to contemplate, shocking as it is to our cultural sensibilities, entitlement based on self-interest is not a given. So, don’t expect remuneration for doing what you are obliged to do, or even a pat on the back!

This seemingly cold and heartless message may appear out of place in the gospel but we can better understand its meaning when viewed against the background of the periscope’s larger context. Jesus Christ had been teaching his disciples that if their brother should sin against them seven times a day, and seven times a day turned again to them, saying, ‘I repent’, they were to forgive him. Upon hearing such stringent demand which were the very minimum to be expected of them as followers of Jesus, the apostles were prompted to ask, “Increase our faith”. They conceived it to be so hard a duty incessantly to pardon and constantly to forgive, that they felt unable to accomplish it without a large increase of faith.

Jesus’ response here is typically Semitic - He uses a hyperbolic parable to emphasise the point being made (another e.g. of parabolic speech – ‘If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out’ or a modern equivalent, ‘I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse’).  With vivid and extreme language, he indicated that even a tiny and minute amount of faith can accomplish great things. The mulberry tree is renowned for its extensive system of roots. Therefore, the idea of uprooting one posed an extremely difficult task, what more without the assistance of heavy machinery and modern equipment. Moreover, the idea of a tree transplanted into the sea added to the unlikeliness of the situation.  Obviously, a literal or fundamentalist interpretation of Jesus’ saying would fall ridiculously short of its intended meaning. Jesus is really arguing that a little faith can do surprising things.

By referring to the tiny mustard seed after being asked about increased faith, he deflects the attention away from the quantity of faith to the object of faith – God; it is God who uproots mulberry trees and move mountains. The point made by the hyperbole is simple but often forgotten: it does not depend decisively on the quantity of our faith, the tenacity of our resolve, the sweat on our brow, the strength of our muscles, but on God’s power and wisdom. In knowing this we are helped not to fret and worry about what we can accomplish through our own efforts, whilst inspiring us to trust God’s free initiative and power. The crucial issue in accomplishing great things is not the quantity of our faith, but the power of God. The disciple’s main duty is to trust God. 

Faith, therefore, is not a means by which we control God and push Him into a corner and force him to produce a sensational show which will enable us to make headlines. Faith is therefore not power to move mountains but a humble recognition of one’s powerlessness and the acknowledgment that only God can do so. Genuine faith is a response to God’s initiative in the context of a personal relationship; faith is willing cooperation with God’s action. Such a response to God would enable the believer to reprove and to forgive readily, to be a model and not scandal for others. He can accomplish all these things only by the grace of God. These actions should not be thought as exceptional feats that merit reward, but the ordinary duty of every faithful disciple. The service of God's servant is not a matter for negotiation but is a duty.

It is significant that the servant featured in the parable was performing double duty. He worked all day in the fields as a farm hand and then after that he served his master in the home as a domestic servant. But even with the heavy load, the servant was doing no more than what was expected of him; therefore, he should not and did not expect a reward or even the expressed gratitude of his master. There is no selective obedience here, no bargaining to do something for the master if he does a favour in return. Servants display humility and know their position. The servants of God know that God is not obligated to them, as if they were his equal, but they are obligated to him, because he is their Creator and Redeemer. Committed service is the disciple’s privilege, not his burden.

For Jesus’ disciples the implications were obvious. Salvation is not guaranteed by fulfilling the minimum requirements imposed by duty. No amount of service, however well performed, could merit the gift that was God’s alone to give. Therefore, even outstanding human actions should not give rise to boasting. Rather, the true disciple recognised himself as a useless servant. To be ‘useless’ implies that nothing had been gained by those to whom nothing is due. That God does not need man’s service is not the point. The point is that man can make no just claim for having done more than was due. No matter how much a person does in God’s service, there is still a sense in which he is still an unprofitable servant, i.e. one to whom no favour is owed.

I guess the final parable we hear in Luke’s gospel serves to deflate our pride and self-importance. We are reminded that as disciples we must always give our best regardless of the cost, and regardless of whether we receive approval, recognition or reward from our work. It all boils down to ‘duty’ – what we ought to do.  There is no thunderous applaud awaiting us at the end of the day. No word of affirmation in a world starved for constant positive appraisals. Duty is anything but pleasurable. It sounds hard, but we must always remember that when we have done our best, we have simply done our duty. God can never be indebted to us. We have no claim on him. We only have our mustard seed offering to show, but the real work is grace. The real work belongs solely to God and we can never hope to outdo God. All that we can hope for at the end of our lives journey, when we stand before his judgment seat, is to be able to claim in all honesty: “We are merely servants; we have done no more than our duty!” And in reply, we hope to hear these comforting words: “Well done, Good and faithful servant!” “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”