What's wrong with the world?

Fourth Sunday of Lent Year A

I guess most people would be expecting me to say something about the Covid-19 pandemic. I’m going to disappoint you. A problem will not go away no matter how much you plan to be fixated on it. Sometimes when we are too focused on the problem, it blinds us to the solution. It’s always much better to focus on the solution. And this is what the Church invites us to do.

Though we often think of ourselves as being objective and rational people, our perception frequently slips like a faulty transmission into auto mode. Without realising it, this shapes our world-view, our judgment of others, our perception of ourselves and gives rise to every prejudice and bias we have of another. What we perceive is what we want to perceive, without recognising that others see something quite different. This is the “blind spot.” By its very definition, people are unaware of their blind spots because they wouldn't be blind spots if people were aware of them! Yes, our blind spots create lots of problems. What we see clouds our judgment; what we don’t see bias our behaviour. As Leonardo da Vinci said, “The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions.” So, how could we possibly be liberated from this self-imposed prison? Well, today’s gospel gives us an answer – His name is Jesus.

Today’s passage speaks of the encounter between the man who was born blind and our Lord. After being healed, this man emerged from a tunnel of total darkness that had lasted a lifetime, not just a two weeks modest quarantine. But here is the irony of the story, as the man regained his physical sight and was slowly led to grow in his spiritual sight, the other actors in the story continue to display their blindness, their respective blind spots.

Our Lord sees the problem faced by the blind man, but He also sees the solution. The others, however, the disciples, the man’s neighbours, his parents and the Jewish authorities see a problem too, but rather than seeing a solution and a reason to thank God, they each saw additional problems. They all suffered blind spots.

First, the disciples see the blind man and they think the man has a problem of sin. They believe he is being punished by God either for his own sins or that of his parents. Rather than seeing a way out, they are more concerned with the cause. “Why” may be an important question to ask but sometimes the “why’s” in life lead us no closer to the truth but rather to greater frustration. “Why did this happen?” eventually leads to “why did God allow this to happen?” and finally evolves into “well, if this man didn’t deserve it then either God is not a good God or He doesn’t really care.”  Rather than asking “why”, we should begin to ask, “what must I do?”

Next we have the man’s neighbours who see a different problem. They recognise him as the blind man who used to sit and beg. But now he’s no longer begging and, in fact, he’s not blind anymore. They begin to suspect that this man was never blind in the first place; he could be a con-artist, and so this could have sparked off outrage in having been cheated. That is why they decided to bring him to the authorities for trial and judgment.

Now, the Jewish authorities see another problem. Instead of marveling at the apparent miracle that had taken place, the clear hand of God at work, they are only obsessed with the fact that this could have been a violation of the Law. It’s the Sabbath – and if Jesus indeed did heal the man on the Sabbath, then He was breaking the law. They could not see the forest for the trees.

Finally, the parents of the blind man are called in as witnesses to confirm that this man is actually the same man everyone is talking about. But here again they see yet one more problem – fear of being dragged into this mess, fear of being implicated together with their son, charged as accomplices to this grand scheme of fraud. They’re afraid of testifying to the truth and so they decide to throw their son under the bus. They pushed the responsibility back to their son, “He is old enough, ask him.”

And now we see the man born blind, giving his testimony of what he had seen. This is the greatest irony of all. For a man deprived of his eyesight for his entire life, until now, he sees clearer than all others. We see, that though he suffers the trial of being judged, accused and rejected by the Lord’s disciples, neighbours, family members and the religious authorities, this man gradually grows in faith. It is as if the trials he is experiencing helps him to see clearer rather than impede his spiritual eyesight. In the beginning he thinks of Jesus as merely a “man” among others, then when he is questioned, he speaks of the Lord as being a “prophet” and finally, his eyes are opened and he proclaims Him “Lord” and falls down in worship. From hopeless darkness he grows into the light of faith, entirely through the power of a gift of grace he never asked for; a faith whose logic he follows obediently; a faith that, like a mustard seed, grows in him until it becomes a huge tree.

But remember this story isn’t only about the blind man, or the other characters in the story, it’s also about all of us. This is our journey, moving in stages to confront our own blind spots in order to see Jesus more perfectly. How do we see again? How do we allow our Lord to heal our blind spots? Well, a good start would be to admit that we are part of the problem, if not the problem itself. If we can only see the problem as “something out there”, if we are constantly complaining, blaming, and finding faults with others, then most likely we have missed the massive blind spots lurking behind the periphery of our physical, moral, spiritual vision. Unless I admit that I am blind, then my blindness remains. That is the essence of repentance, the prerequisite of Christian discipleship. Venerable Fulton Sheen gives us this important reminder, “Two classes of people make up the world: those who have found God, and those who are looking for Him - thirsting, hungering, seeking! And the great sinners came closer to Him than the proud intellectuals! Pride swells and inflates the ego; gross sinners are depressed, deflated and empty. They, therefore, have no room for God. God prefers a loving sinner to a loveless 'saint'. Love can be trained; pride cannot. The man who thinks that he knows, will rarely find truth; the man who knows he is a miserable, unhappy sinner, like the woman at the well, is closer to peace, joy and salvation than he knows.” Whether we wish to admit it or not, many of us don’t see our blind spots, because we are too proud to admit that we have them.

This finally leads me to a little story, which is most likely apocryphal, concerning the great GK Chesterton, but it very much captures his wit. It is said that, when a London newspaper asked Chesterton to contribute a piece addressing the question “What’s wrong with the world?” he sent a simple reply: “I am.” I guess we could give the same answer to an entire list of questions: “What’s wrong with the Church?” “What’s wrong with my BEC?” “What’s wrong with my family?” If only there was less blaming and greater humility in acknowledging, “I am … I am what’s wrong.” If that was true, then the answer to the next question, “What must change?” the answer should simply be, “I must.” If you can’t get around to saying that, if you continue to insist that you can see, well, “your guilt remains.”

When the well runs dry

Third Sunday of Lent Year A

Compared with the generation of our parents and grandparents, today we own twice as many cars per person, eat out twice as often and enjoy endless other commodities that weren't around then--big-screen TVs, microwave ovens, tablets, smart phones, handheld wireless devices, to name a few. But are we any happier? Certainly, happiness is difficult to pin down, let alone measure. But I suspect that we're no more contented than we were then--in fact, maybe less so. Compared with our grandparents, our most recent generation have grown up with much more affluence, slightly less happiness and much greater risk of depression and assorted social pathology, So many today suffer from that gnawing spiritual thirst for more and the next best thing, but the next best thing always seems elusive.

This spiritual thirst is indicative of an awareness that something is missing in one’s life – a feeling of ennui, of listlessness and dissatisfaction, mundane boredom, an inner longing, but one can’t quite put your finger on the reason for the emptiness within. Several years ago, Prince Charles of England spoke of his belief that, for all the advances of science, “there remains deep in the soul a persistent and unconscious anxiety that something is missing, some ingredient that makes life worth living.” He may not have been aware of how prophetic his words were but I believe that he is referring to the persistent and unconscious anxiety and thirst of the soul.

This emptiness often feels like a bottomless pit. We try to fill the emptiness with sex, drugs, work, fashion, cars, houses, jobs, and many other things, but the truth is, nothing but God Himself can quench our spiritual thirst. As St Augustine so eloquently described it in his autobiographical confession, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in” God. Science fiction writer, H. G. Wells, writes that every person has a “God-shaped vacuum in his heart - a void that only God can fill.” God has “hard-wired” us for a relationship with Himself, a God-shaped void, and until we are united with Him by repenting of sin and receiving Christ, we will continue to have this inner longing unfulfilled.

The story of the Samaritan woman is such a story – a story of someone thirsting for love, for meaning, for peace and until now, she had found it in all the wrong places. The story begins with this remark that our Lord had to pass through Samaria as He was going from Judea to Galilee. Did He have a choice? Yes, most certainly. There were three routes between Galilee and Jerusalem. The fastest and most direct route required travelling through Samaria, if speed was the main concern. But because of the ancient antagonism and tension between Jews and Samaritans, many Jews, especially the religiously observant, would avoid the route to prevent contracting some kind of ceremonial uncleanness. To the Jews, the Samaritans represented the two worst abominations: schism and idolatry. But it would seem that our Lord decided to choose this route. It was deliberate, not just coincidence. During His encounter with the woman at the well, our Lord broke three Jewish customs. Firstly, He spoke to her despite the fact that she was a woman. Second, she was a Samaritan woman, and as mentioned, Jews traditionally despised Samaritans. And, thirdly, He asked her to get Him a drink of water, although using her cup or jar would have made Him ceremonially unclean.

If one finds our Lord’s behaviour strange, at least from the perspective of a Jew, let us now consider that of the Samaritan woman. Saint John tells us that this encounter took place at the sixth hour. The sixth hour would have been our modern-day noon. It would have been the heat of the day and most people during that time would have been resting. As the story progresses, we learn that this woman regularly comes to the well at this time of day. As our omniscient Lord had discerned, she has been married five times, and is currently living in a scandalously sinful relationship with a man who isn’t even her husband. These circumstances point to her desire to avoid the shame of being in the company of other women. And yet, our Lord sought to meet this specific woman at this specific time. We may be ashamed to approach God and others because of our sinfulness, but there is nothing that can get in the way of the Lord approaching us, not even sin.

Through conversation with the Samaritan woman, we see Our Lord reveal Himself three times throughout the story. First, Our Lord is revealed as the Living Water. After asking the Samaritan woman for a drink, He responds to her by offering her something greater, “the living water” that will ultimately quench her thirst. This was a water that did not only sustain life but bestowed everlasting life. What is this living water but our Lord Himself - He is the Living Water that she needs, the well spring of life.

Next, our Lord is revealed as the prophet that the Samaritans had been expecting. He does so by exposing her matrimonial history – she had had five husbands and a current live-in lover. To which she immediately responds, “I see you are a prophet!” Shocked by the truth of His words and exposure of her own sin, her eyes are beginning to open to the truth of who He is.

Finally, we see our Lord revealed as the Messiah, the Christ, the Anointed One. The woman said to Him, “I know that Messiah – that is, Christ – is coming; and when He comes He will tell us everything.” “I who am speaking to you”, said Jesus, “I am He.” The terms Messiah (Hebrew – Moshiach) and Christ (Greek - Christos) both mean “anointed.” In the New Testament and early Judaism, “Messiah” combines many Old Testament expectations about an “anointed one” who would lead, teach, and save God’s people. Here, our Lord reveals Himself as that Messiah. He has now explicitly told the woman that He is the final anointed King that has come to seek and save the lost.

Our Lord’s encounter with this woman brings to light a core belief in our Christian faith: Christ is the Way, the Truth and the Life. He is the unique and universal Saviour of the world. He is not one prophet among many and Christianity is not just one way among many paths that lead to Salvation. We desire a fulfillment, rest, and joy that cannot be found in another person, place or project. Only our Lord Jesus Christ is the Living Water that can fill the void in our lives, He is the source of that well that will never run dry. He is the unending source of peace, joy, love, truth and satisfaction. Abundant life, truly abundant life, can only be found in Him.  He is the One who “reconcile all things to Himself, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through His blood, shed on the cross.” It is only in Him that we will be saved from our sins and made new again.

This world is filled with wells that promise to provide love, acceptance, and self-worth but never fully satisfy. Many of us turn in desperation to the fountains of the world seeking a drink; where alcohol, food, outside relationships, addictions, entertainment, money or constant busyness fill our cup. And, yet, like the Samaritan woman, we still thirst. Only Christ can fill our empty souls for eternity and provide for our essential emotional needs now. Don’t wait till your soul is empty and the well runs dry. Look for Jesus now. Thirst only for him. He alone can quench the thirst of your soul. Saint Augustine was right when he said that our hearts will remain restless until we rest in Christ. 

A Glimpse of Heaven

Second Sunday of Lent Year A

Whenever I am invited to celebrate mass in another church that does not have air-conditioning, languishing in the sweltering heat with perspiration streaming down my forehead and my soaking wet shirt sticking uncomfortably to my body, I would recall the times when I used to celebrate multiple masses on a Sunday in such similar conditions without complaining. In my youthful arrogance, I would often silence parishioners who complain about the heat with this line, “You have to have a taste of hell, in order to appreciate the pleasures of heaven.” But having been accustomed to the air-conditioning in both JCC and KA, I have come to question the wisdom of my own words. “Hot as hell” still tastes like hell; nothing like heaven at all.

Today we have the familiar scene of the Transfiguration. This event is narrated from the disciples’ point of view: Our Lord was transfigured “in their presence,” Moses and Elijah “appeared to them,” the cloud “covered them with a shadow,” and the heavenly voice addressed them. Clearly, this entire event was meant “for them,” in order to deepen their understanding of Christ’s identity and mission at this critical juncture of their apprenticeship. The event took place near the end of our Lord’s public ministry and served as a prelude to His journey to Jerusalem. Our Lord had been preparing His disciples by predicting His own death, not just once but three times. They will soon face the supreme trial of faith - their Master will be betrayed, arrested, condemned and crucified. Here Jesus gives them an opportunity to see His glory. That is, they were given “a glimpse of heaven” to prepare them for the “horrors of hell.”

To understand this scene, we would need to go back to the Old Testament – a different mountain with different actors. In Exodus 24, Moses led three of his close associates up Mount Sinai covered by God’s glory in the form of a cloud where God spoke to Moses. After this spectacular encounter, Moses returns to his people transfigured, with his face shining because it reflected God’s glory. These parallels reinforce a familiar theme of Saint Matthew: Jesus comes as a new Moses to deliver God’s people – but Jesus is far greater than Moses. If Moses received divine revelation at Sinai, Jesus Himself is the Revelation. Jesus is no mere human mediator like Moses; He is the Son of God, He possesses a glory that Moses only saw.

In seeing this, Peter proposes, “Lord, it is wonderful for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” In the face of a future wrought with suffering, for Peter, this was an oasis, a welcome escape from all the trials and sufferings ahead. A welcome retreat from the cross. A safe haven from suffering. Or at least he thought.

Little did Peter realise that these “tents” were meant to be temporary. The tents recalled the Feast of the Tabernacles, the autumn harvest festival in which the Israelites dwelt in makeshift tents for seven days, commemorating how God’s presence dwelt in the Tent of Meeting, and how the Israelites themselves dwelt in tents during the Exodus on the way to the Promised Land. They lived in tents because they were on a journey. The desert was not their home. The Feast of the Tabernacles also pointed to a future fulfillment, anticipating the time when the nations would come to Jerusalem to worship the Lord as king in an eschatological feast.

The scene of the Transfiguration was not meant to be permanent, at least not for now. It was meant to reveal to them that the disciples were on a journey, an Exodus that would lead them not to an earthly promised land but to a heavenly one where their temporary tents would be exchanged for permanent homes. And to get to that Eternal Homeland, they had to accompany their Master to pass through the doorway of the cross. One cannot understand the event of the Transfiguration without seeing it in the light of the Crucifixion. For the Son of God on the mountain of transfiguration is the same Son of Man who will suffer and be killed on Calvary. The Transfiguration was not meant to be the climax of Jesus’ ministry. The Benedictine liturgist, Dom Prosper Gueranger tells us that “this transfiguration of the Son of Man, this manifestation of His glory, lasted but a few moments; His mission was not on Tabor; it was humiliation and suffering in Jerusalem.” And there is where they and we must go.

The text also tells us that “a bright cloud covered them with shadow.” In the Old Testament, one of the visible manifestation of God’s presence was in the shape of a cloud. God guided the Israelites in the desert in a pillar of cloud. His presence rested on the portable temple known as the Tent of Meeting in the form of a cloud. At Sinai, the cloud overshadowed the mountain when Moses received the Ten Commandments. Later, the cloud would also fill the Temple in Jerusalem at its dedication by Solomon. However, in the sixth century BC, the prophet Ezekiel received a vision that the glory of God left the temple and the city of Jerusalem because of the people’s sinfulness. Since that time, God’s presence had not been visibly manifest to Israel. But the prophets envisioned the return of this cloud to God’s people in the last days. The same glory of the Lord now descends upon the mountain of transfiguration.  Jesus, and not the cloud, is the visible sign of God’s presence. He is the glory of God who has returned to His people.

Indeed, in this one instance of transfigured clarity, Peter sees the humanity of Jesus suffused with the eternal glory of God, and in that instant Peter glimpses the mystery of our faith: God became like us, that’s what Peter sees; so that, we might become like God, that’s what Peter eventually learns. The light that radiates from Jesus’ flesh is the same light that spoke the universe into creation. It’s the same light that the world awaits with groaning and labour pains and sighs too deep for words. It’s the light that will one day make all of creation a burning bush, afire with God’s glory but not consumed by it. The transfiguration therefore anticipates our flesh being remade into God’s image so that we may be united with Him. Just as Christ’s humanity is transfigured by glory without ceasing to be human, so too will our humanity be deified, without our ceasing to be creatures. That’s the plot of scripture. That’s the mystery of our faith. This is what makes the suffering of the cross bearable. Without a vision of heaven, our painful experiences in this life would remain hellish and unbearable. And this is the reason why at every Mass, we have a glimpse of heaven. Eucharistic adoration is an invitation to a transfiguration experience. You see, heaven is not just a destination, it is also a motivation. The Eucharistic transfiguration, this desire for heaven, helps us to overcome all fear of suffering for the sake of Christ.

The Christian life is not about going back down the mountain. Rather the entire Christian life is a sort of ascent, venturing further and further up the mountain, to worship and adore the transfigured Christ and, in so doing, to be transfigured ourselves. But if we have accompanied our Lord up the mountain of transfiguration to witness the glory that awaits us one day, we must first accompany Him up the hill where He offers His life in atonement for the sins of the world. But now we do so with less trepidation. Once we have tasted heaven, we would be able to face the torments of what seems to feel like hell. Let us not be discouraged by the ugliness and suffering of the world that does not recognise or accept us, but rather “let us bear the hardships for the sake of the Good News” and persevere in love through holding the vision of a transfigured life before us. For as St Paul tells us (Rom 8:18), “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed to us.”