Our Dowry is Eternal Life

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Although Year C should take us through the Gospel of St Luke, our lectionary this Sunday provides us with this passage from the Fourth Gospel - the Wedding at Cana. The liturgy still wishes to unravel the mystery of Christ’s manifestation in the world during Epiphany.

If you imagine that Epiphany is like a triptych, a three-panelled screen, today we are invited to look at the final panel of the three events that comprise the Feast of the Epiphany: the coming of the Magi, the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan, and the marriage feast of Cana. In speaking of these three events, St Peter Chrysologus explains the rationale of divine pedagogy: “the great events we celebrate today disclose and reveal in different ways the fact that God himself took a human body. Mortal man, enshrouded always in darkness, must not be left in ignorance, and so be deprived of what he can understand and retain only by grace. In choosing to be born for us, God chose to be known by us.”

The marriage feast of Cana is the piece that brings all the rest of the Christmas celebrations to its final completion. The Divine Light that drenched us on Christmas night, and which we have been gradually adjusting to, now reveals the whole panorama of the divine plan of salvation. The first miracle is not just a magical performance in which our Lord changes water into wine. His actions point to something so much more profound - it points to our transformation. The human condition, with its brokenness and sinfulness, is wiped out in the divine transformation of human nature.

To understand the significance of this event, let us look at the first two panels to see how these two other events manifest to us the significance of the Incarnation. First, the Feast of the Epiphany focused on the coming of the Magi, the symbol of seekers of all time, finding the truth they sought in a most unlikely place. The Magi represent the call of the whole human race to faith, in the infinite mercy of God expressed in the Word made flesh in its most fragile form.

Secondly, the baptism of the Lord in the Jordan is the symbol of purification. He Himself did not need the purification but by uniting Himself with human nature and submitting to John's baptism of repentance, our Lord revealed that God is in total solidarity with the human condition just as it is. In other words, Christ is with us in our tragedies, in our sorrows, in our joys, and in our sinfulness to heal all our wounds through the process of the spiritual journey: through the sacraments and the divine therapy of prayerful contemplation.

Lastly, we come to this passage and St John takes the trouble to tell us that this wedding took place on “the third day.” The weddings in Palestine took three days. No wonder the wine ran out. Can you imagine preparing an unending supply of wine for this sustained period of celebration? But there is something about the number three which should trigger our sacramental imagination, especially if you have a keen eye for Christian symbolism. In fact, in a sermon of Faustus of Riez, the symbolism is explained beautifully: 

“What wedding can this be but the joyful marriage of man’s salvation, a marriage celebrated by confessing the Trinity or by faith in the resurrection. That is why the marriage took place “on the third day,” a reference to the sacred mysteries which this number symbolises.”

Faustus continues to read into the allegorical symbolism of the wedding: 

“Like a bridegroom coming from his marriage chamber our God descended to earth in His incarnation, in order to be united to His Church which was to be formed of the pagan nations. To her He gave a pledge and a dowry: a pledge when God was united to man; a dowry when He was sacrificed for man’s salvation. The pledge is our present redemption; the dowry, eternal life.” 

Faustus continues: “To those who see only with the outward eye, all these events at Cana are strange and wonderful; to those who understand, they are also signs. For, if we look closely, the very water tells us of our rebirth in baptism. One thing is turned into another from within, and in a hidden way a lesser creature is changed into a greater. All this points to the hidden reality of our second birth. There water was suddenly changed; later it will cause a change in man.”

Human nature is to be transformed into what wine symbolises - namely, the Spirit. Notice that the miracle does not annihilate but transforms the water. The wine is not something entirely new; it is a transformation of what was there before. Similarly, our human nature, our personal history, and our self-identity are not annihilated but transformed. Man is not dehumanised by this change but rather his humanity is elevated. St Ireanaeus, who is commonly misquoted, reminds us of this truth that “the glory of God gives life; those who see God receive life.”

The Blessed Virgin Mary alone notices that the wine has run out and so she intervenes by bringing this matter to her Son and subsequently tells the steward to follow His instructions. Mary’s faith is an embodiment of the new wine that does not run dry despite encountering an obstacle. Upon following her advice and the instruction of the Lord, the steward exclaims after tasting the water now changed into wine: “People generally serve the best wine first, and keep the cheaper sort till the guests have had plenty to drink; but you have kept the best wine till now.” The new wine which our Lord provides will never run out. It is a new creation. The old creation, with its burden of sin is erased, and the new creation, the action of the Spirit, is now available. In partaking of this new wine, we have become a new creation. Having become one with us in our fallen human nature, our Lord transforms our fallen nature into His divinity.

This is what the liturgy proclaims in this feast. We come to this wedding as guests but penetrated by grace, we leave as brides. We come as paupers but we leave incredibly enriched. What the wedding feast at Cana prefigured, every Eucharist now makes into reality. As St Peter Chrysologus tells us: “Today Christ works the first of his signs from heaven by turning water into wine. But water has still to be changed into the sacrament of his blood, so that Christ may offer spiritual drink from the chalice of his body, to fulfill the psalmist’s prophecy: How excellent is my chalice, warming my spirit.” In a short while, we will receive our Lord in Holy Communion. Having savoured all the best vintages of life, we can boldly declare that the Eucharist is the “best wine” kept till now. Though other joys may run out one day, the Lord’s grace will always overflow with ever renewing abundance!

Liquid Tomb and Font of Life

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord

The muddy yet calm waters of the river Jordan would have posed little threat to the crowds which gathered there to listen to this prophetic figure, with some acceding to be baptised by him after listening to his message of repentance. The contrast of this rustic scene dominated by water, with what many experienced a few weeks ago is stark. A week before Christmas, torrential downpours resulted in unprecedented floods leaving a massive trail of destruction, over 70 thousand persons displaced and casualties. The floods did not just destroy the personal belongings of the victims and deprived them of their homes and livelihood, but also cut them off from basic necessities like food and electricity, and ironically, a clean supply of water.

Water is arguably the most important natural resource in the entire world. All life depends on it. On the other hand, water may be a terrifying life changing force when it comes in the form of hurricanes, floods or tsunamis. Because of its universal nature, it is not surprising that water plays a central role in the Bible as well.

The story of creation in the Book of Genesis is preceded by an editorial note on how the pre-creation cosmos was covered by a watery chaos. One of God’s primary works in creation was to set boundaries and limit the destructive power of water. It is not surprising that man’s rebellion against God’s authority by sinning would be reflected in the great deluge that would destroy the entire world. The floods are just a natural outcome of man seeking to go beyond the limits and boundaries set by God. In contrast to this chaotic and destructive side of water, the Book of Exodus gives us that foundational story of the liberation of the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt, when they crossed the Red Sea. The waters, although proving destructive to the Egyptians, also served to be the instrument of salvation for those favoured by God as they embarked on their journey to freedom and a new-found covenantal identity with God.

The juxtaposition of these two experiences of water, reminds us that water can be both life-giving and destructive. And there is no better place to find these two elements together than in the Sacrament of Baptism. This was excellently expounded by Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI in the first volume of his monumental work, Jesus of Nazareth: 

“On the one hand, immersion into the waters is a symbol of death, which recalls the death symbolism of the annihilating, destructive power of the ocean flood. The ancient mind perceived the ocean as a permanent threat to the cosmos, to the earth; it was the primeval flood that might submerge all life . . . But the flowing waters of the river are above all a symbol of life.” 

Just like water can be both life-giving and death-dealing, baptism has a similar effect on us - it kills original sin and it gives us new life – life of being adopted sons and daughters of God.

But here also lies the problem with Christ seeking baptism. If Christ is the truly sinless One, if He is the Son of God, He is in no need of baptism because He has no need for repentance nor adoption. But the Lord chose to submit Himself to John’s baptism as an expression of His fundamental submission to the Will of the Father and His complete identification with sinners. By submersion in the waters of the Jordan, our Lord publicly associates Himself with those who need repentance and forgiveness, although He has no need of it in actuality. He is already embracing the enormous weight of humanity’s sinfulness, just as He will do again in a definitive and final way on the cross. The mysterious events at the Jordan River already foreshadow the saving acts of Christ’s death and resurrection. The submersion of Jesus in the baptismal waters of the Jordan River prefigures His death on the Cross.

Pope Benedict notes that the icons of the Eastern Church visualise this intrinsic connexion between the Baptism of the Lord and the Paschal Mystery by depicting the waters of the Jordan “as a liquid tomb having the form of a dark cavern, which is in turn the iconographic sign of Hades, the underworld, or hell.” Just as the Lord descends into the swirling waters of death at His baptism, He goes down to the netherworld after His crucifixion to rescue the souls of lost humanity.

In this downward descent, this complete identification with sinners, we grasp the radical humility of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the One who empties Himself, not clinging to His equality with God but becoming a slave for the sake of our salvation. God could have saved us in any manner that He chose, but He seems to embrace the most difficult and arduous way — the path of Incarnation and accompaniment.

Christianity is the only world religion that believes the omnipotent and mysterious God humbled Himself to become one of His own creatures, embracing the fullness of our humanity in order to redeem us from inside our own nature and condition. The Church has never gotten over the wonder of this divine condescension. We celebrate the Word made flesh, not only in the glory of Christmas, but in the fullness of the liturgy, prayer and moral life of the Christian tradition.

Drawing profound parallels between the Lord’s baptism and our own, we can see that, just as the Lord Jesus is revealed as the Beloved Son at the Jordan, so, too, we receive a new identity in baptism, as adopted children of the Father. Jesus Christ freely shares His very nature with us through the transforming waters of baptism. At the moment of our spiritual rebirth in the font, the Father beholds us with delight, exclaiming, “You are my Son, You are my daughter, the Beloved; my favour rests on you.” Christianity first and foremost, is about whom we have become in Christ, before it is about what we do or how we act.

Just as our common baptism draws us into the very life of being sons and daughters of God, our ordination as priests draws us into the Paschal experience of Christ. We too are called to experience death and new life each day. And this is what Fr Dominic and I must do tomorrow. We are called to die to our attachments to the parish we’ve called home these past few years, so that we may experience a rebirth in the new parishes where we will be posted this coming Monday. As you await your new pastors, I can’t help but see the parallel with today’s Gospel passage which began with this observation by the evangelist: “a feeling of expectancy had grown among the people.” As John the Baptist’s ministry ends with his arrest and Christ is thrust to the fore, both of us too must also take our leave, as your new pastors take up responsibilities of shepherding, sanctifying and teaching the flock that has been entrusted to them. Never forget this - the priest, the figurehead who stands in persona Christi (in the person of Christ), may change but it is the same Christ who remains, for He is the same, yesterday, today and forever. He should be your real focus because He is the One whom the Heavenly Father speaks these words: “You are my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on you.” Turn to Him in prayer, in hope and in trust, and you will not go astray!

Light and Darkness

Solemnity of the Epiphany

Opposites attract, and that’s rarely truer than when it comes to a juxtaposition. Juxtaposition means placing two things side by side so as to highlight their differences - day and night, light and darkness, beautiful and ugly. But juxtaposition is also used to present us with contrasting moral behaviour. Think of Cinderella—her goodness and moral virtue are all the clearer to readers because her wicked stepsisters are there for contrast. Or closer to home - think of the selfless members of the public who reached out to strangers during and in the aftermath of the floods, in contrast to the self-engrossed and narcissistic politicians who turned up days later just to get a selfie at the expense of someone else’s misery.

Today, we don’t have Cinderella and her stepsisters to serve as subjects for our discussion and comparison. Neither are we going to waste our time ranting about the gross inaptitude or negligence of the authorities to mobilise any rescue and salvage efforts. Instead, the Gospel story provides us with a contrast between the wisemen and king Herod, a contrast that perhaps encouraged tradition to turn the magi into kings, that they might stand beside Herod as marking a very different kind of king. Here we have two utterly different reactions to the new-born Jesus, the promised Messiah.

The magi, whom we can safely assume to be men of considerable wealth and status, go to extraordinary lengths, endured great pains and inconveniences, willingly made many sacrifices to find and see the Messiah. They leave behind their homes and its securities, and travel to a distant land; even risking the humiliation of seeking directions from a cynical Herod and his “expert” advisors. These foreigners finally get to see the Child. Take note that they do not ask favours or seek special privileges from the infant king, unlike our Lord’s future disciples. They are just content to meet the Lord and leave their treasures before Him without any fuss or fanfare.

Herod, by contrast, does not leave the comfort and security of his palace, even though Bethlehem is just a stone’s throw away from Jerusalem. As a king, he expects his subjects and his subordinates to make their way to see him. Visiting his subjects is just below him. In fact, he had little interest in the mysterious star that had appeared in the sky, or the rumour that the Messiah had actually come in the flesh. His entire way of life is secured against such bothersome events, and the last thing he wants to know is that a messenger from God, a potential rival, has been born in his neighbourhood, without his permission.

The contrast between the three kings and Herod, could not have been any more pronounced. This is the contrast between the search for God and that of power, between knowledge and ignorance, between worship and hostility, between faith and unbelief, between truth and hypocrisy. The wise men are in tune with what God is doing; Herod is clueless. The wise men are excited about these events and want to worship this newborn king. Herod can only see a threat to his authority. The wise men are empowered by their belief; Herod is blinded by his ambition and fear. And what makes this all the more fascinating is that the three kings are foreigners; non-Jews from a distant land. Herod is a Jew – raised in the faith that had talked for centuries about a promised messiah.

And it makes you wonder, as you read this story, if there’s a greater reason for it being here in the first place: more than just recounting history. It makes you wonder if this story is here to reveal to us two very different ways of seeing the world, and two very different ways of responding to light and darkness; these polar opposites, these symbols are about good and evil; but even more, they’re about hope and its polar opposite, fear.

Can you remember what the gospel described as Herod’s first reaction, when the wise men told him about the newborn king they had come to see? He was “perturbed,” a translation that could suggest that he was confused or unsettled. A better translation would be that he was “afraid”. Both hope and fear were present when our Lord was born; and both are still very much with us today. When we hear the patter of the first few drops of rain on our roof or begin to experience a scratchy throat or a runny nose; could these be signs of something worse to come? There is fear in our hearts even as we whisper our supplications to God. The light and the darkness are all around us, constantly clamouring for our attention. And usually, it seems, the darkness wins.

And then suddenly, in the midst of this never-ending, all-consuming darkness, something changes. The Prophet Isaiah in the first reading announces this:

“Arise, shine out, Jerusalem, for your light has come, the glory of the Lord is rising on you, though night still covers the earth and darkness the peoples. Above you the Lord now rises and above you his glory appears. The nations come to your light and kings to your dawning brightness. Lift up your eyes and look round: all are assembling and coming towards you, your sons from far away and your daughters being tenderly carried. At this sight you will grow radiant, your heart throbbing and full…”

Such powerful imagery. God’s people who lived in darkness will be able to see again because of this wonderful light – a light that gets a little brighter and a little brighter, until the light shines in full and you can see everything as it’s meant to be seen. And when this happens, this light does more than just show us what is there: it gives us hope. Such hope is not based on wishful thinking or false optimism that things will get better. It arises from knowing that the One whom the prophets had been waiting for, has finally arrived. So, our Epiphany juxtaposition actually draws our attention to the true star of this story - the One whom the wise men thought was the true infant king of the Jews and whom Herod believed to be his rival - but we Christians know Him as the Lord of Lords and King of Kings, Jesus Christ, the Son of God! It is He who truly is the One who is in control. He is the creator of the star which shows the way, He is the One who inspires the wise men to make this treacherous journey, and He is the One who reveals the coming of the Messiah in Scriptures. Herod is just a clueless petty ruler who is a pawn in God’s plan of salvation for His people.

So, in the harsh dark, as well as light of Epiphany, we see ourselves at our best and worst. We can either choose to imitate the three kings illuminated by God’s light; or be like Herod, imprisoned in the darkness. But more importantly, let us not lose sight of the true star of the story - our Lord Jesus Christ. Like the wisemen, let us offer Him our gifts of love, faith and hope, knowing that He has come to offer us something so much more valuable - the gift of His life and salvation. While other kings expect their subjects to die for them, our Lord and King has the distinction of coming to die for His subjects, for you and for me.

A Model of Holiness

Solemnity of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

Whenever this feast comes around every year, I know a lot of people begin squirming in their seats. Any initial thoughts of the Holy Family hardly bring consolation. The discomfort arises from the perceived disparity between the perfection epitomised by the Holy Family and our own socially dysfunctional family units. It’s like living next door to the picture-perfect family. Close proximity is enough to make you feel ashamed of your own. In the face of such heavenly perfection, the condition of our families feels like human refuse. To even attempt to match up to their standards seems impossible. Fortunately, popular culture is less demanding.

Notice how Reality TV, movies and serials often showcase the weird and the dysfunctional. These shows have become so popular because they help us to laugh at the tragedy of dysfunctional behavioural patterns within our own homes and thus, depersonalise the experience. After watching some of the ridiculously outlandish lifestyles, we console ourselves by saying: “we’re not that bad after all.” But dysfunctional relationships are not just the subject of ridicule but have become normative. We live in a world where we try to come to terms with and even celebrate our limitations, our brokenness, our sinfulness, the painful realities that define both our individual and social lives. It is a world where the ‘good’, ‘the perfect,’ ‘the holy’, ‘the functional’, ‘the beautiful’ are just part of an unattainable Utopian dream.

In contrast to the dysfunctional heroes of popular culture, the Church provides us with Mary and Joseph. But the idea of Mary and Joseph as models of parenthood, however, frightens many of us. We are inclined to just dismiss the possibility that our families can be like the Holy Family. They are spiritual giants compared to us. They make us uncomfortable with our mediocrity. Their sanctity seems to highlight our deficiencies. It is no wonder that many try to demythologise the story of the Holy Family, with the hope that by exposing their flaws, we can pull them down to our miserable level. And so liberal exegetes will try to make Joseph appear like a cuckold selfish old man who is only concerned with his good reputation; Mary, a victim of societal pressure, perhaps even a rape victim who hides behind the lie of a heavenly visitation and miraculous conception. In spite of our cynical disparagement of the two, we secretly ask ourselves: How could we ever come close to the sanctity and special position of Mary, the Mother of God, or to Joseph, the most self-less family guy?

So, what does Mary and Joseph offer us as a ‘realistic’ starting point for our family lives? The answer is simple – they offer us holiness - that holiness is attainable and within reach; Mary and Joseph teach us that family life begins with God. The Holy Family was not a perfect family, in the sense a family insulated from crisis or conflict or tragedy. The Gospels describe events that shattered their tranquility: The Flight into Egypt when they became refugees fleeing a murderous despot, the anguish of searching for a missing child in today’s passage, the death of Joseph leaving Mary a widow and Jesus an orphan, and finally the cruel and shameful death of Jesus. Apart from these crises, Jesus, Mary and Joseph would also have lived with the constant taunting and innuendos suggesting that Jesus was born out of wedlock. The Holy Family, therefore, would have experienced disappointments and tension just like any other family. But what sets them apart from other families, is their faith in God. They understood that a family is never truly a family unless God is at its centre. That is why we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family, and not the Feast of the Perfect Family.

When we hear the story of the finding of Jesus in the Temple, there is much we can sympathise with Mary as a mother. We understand her anxiety and pain. Her Child has run off, and she doesn’t know where He is, for three days! Can you imagine the worst case scenarios going through their heads? Mary is freaking out. She wants to know why Jesus has put her through this: “My child, why have you done this to us? See how worried your father and I have been, looking for you.” But the answer Jesus gives puts things in their proper perspective. This is not just a revelation of Jesus’ identity and His mission. It is also a reminder to all families on what really matters. God is the beginning and the end of all things. Parents often forget this as they constantly fret and worry about their children’s welfare – will they be able to acquire a good education which guarantees them a successful job; will they find a good wife; will they be secure and happy for the rest of their lives? Jesus’ words to His mother set out the main priority and concern for every person. Jesus’ answer raises the eyes of our souls to see beyond the horizon of human existence. It invites us to see God and make Him our goal, our destination, and our fulfillment.

Today, many families are trying to address the dysfunctional patterns and dynamics that plague them: the verbal, physical and emotional abuse that members mete out to each other; the narcissistic personality disorders that result in self-centred behaviour; promiscuity, incest and adultery; the inability to set boundaries or respect them. They look for solutions in the form of family therapy, self-help books, or compensatory behaviour like pornography, adultery or substance abuse. And when all fails, divorce seems to be the only option. What many often fail to recognise is that dysfunctional behaviour is just another euphemism for sinfulness. If sin is the cause of jealousy, envy, strive, enmity, selfishness, unforgiveness in the family; then holiness must be its antidote. Holiness, life in union with Christ and with God, is the source of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience and forgiveness, everything we need, to make our families work.

So, do we need role models? We most certainly do! But not the kind who flaunts their pride and selfishness, the ones who make us feel comfortable with our limitations and shortfalls. We need role models that do not bring out the worst in us, but always the best. We need the kind who can inspire us to move beyond ourselves, to strive for higher things; the kind that will reveal to us all that is good, all that is true and all that is beautiful. Pope Emeritus Benedict in his first encyclical reminds us: “We must learn to believe first of all in the family, in authentic love, the kind that comes from God and unites us to him, the kind that therefore “makes us a ‘we’ which transcends our divisions and makes us one, until in the end God is ‘all in all’” (1 Cor 15:28)” (Deus Caritas Est, 18). Yes, we need a role model to show us that if our families are to grow and thrive, God must be “all in all.”

The Word Leapt down in Silence

Christmas Mass During the Day

Some would naively argue that the concept of the “Logos,” translated as “the Word” in St John’s lyrical prologue, was something radically new, an appropriation of a Greek philosophical concept. But in the Book of Wisdom in the Old Testament, we find not just a subtle and distant hint but a blaring proclamation of the movement of the Eternal Word:

“For while all things were in quiet silence, and the night was in the midst of her course, Thy almighty Word leapt down from Heaven from Thy royal throne, as a fierce conqueror into the midst of the land of destruction” (Wisdom 18:15).

As with most holidays, Christmas generally tends to be a noisy feast filled with strong, joyful carols proclaiming: “For Unto Us A Child Is Born,” “Joy to the World,” “Angels We Have Heard On High,” “Go Tell It On The Mountain,” etc. And this is all true, and very good, and very beautiful. But there is also a silence to be contemplated, a silence that is often missed and dismissed. The great things that God works within His creatures naturally happen in silence, in a divine movement that suppressed all speech. For what could we say? Thus, God’s heavenly secret is kept under the seal of silence unless He Himself opens the lips and makes the words come forth. And this is what happened as the Book of Wisdom said it would happen: “For while all things were in quiet silence, and the night was in the midst of her course, Thy almighty Word leapt down from Heaven from Thy royal throne.”

The Word Himself, God, the desire of all nations, “leapt down from heaven” in “quiet silence,” physically took on silence, becoming a new born human, an infant. And in the wonderful silence in the stable, Mary and Joseph looked at Jesus for the first time and contemplated the mystery of His birth in silence. Today, in the midst of our revelry and celebration, we are called to adopt an atmosphere of silence if we wish to grasp the mystery of His Incarnation and hear His gentle whispering.

When the Book of Wisdom tells us that the “… almighty Word leapt down from Heaven from (His) royal throne, as a fierce conqueror into the midst of the land of destruction,” the author was reflecting on the death of the Egyptian first-born at the time of the Exodus. The Almighty God reached down from heaven as He had promised to Moses and slew the first-born of the Egyptians so that all might know that the Hebrew people were His chosen.  God proved victorious and in so doing, through death gave life to His People. Now the Church takes that profound and inspired meditation on the victory of life over death and offers it to us as a reflexion on what Christ will do.  Once Christ is born, a life like no other has entered the world.  In this child, the Almighty Word that leapt down from Heaven, we encounter an unconquerable life, a life that is reminiscent of what went on before but surpasses it in power and fullness.  He came “so that they might have life and have it more abundantly” (John 10:10).

Although the Incarnation took place in silence and the divine movement often takes place in silence, there is also silence which is imposed by force and violence – a silence which seeks to silence God’s Word. St John tells us that “He (the Word made flesh) came to his own domain and his own people did not accept him.” It should come as no surprise, therefore, that Christmas, a reminder of the birth of the Son of God, must be removed from the public square and its message silence because the message of Christmas, one of life, threatens the prevalent culture of death.

The human race has always known violence to innocence, evidenced by the actions of Pharaoh and Herod and in the last century, Hitler and Stalin. While adults can make their voices heard in protest, the unborn, the sick and the elderly, are easy targets because of their natural silence, if no one speaks for them and on behalf of them. Today, that struggle manifests itself in new and frightening ways - with the proliferation of abortion mills and passing of legislation which legalises the murder of innocents, the sick and the elderly and which seeks to silence dissenting voices.  The violence has become customary, normalised, more imaginative and terrifying. 

But our Lord shows us that life is ultimately victorious. Life conquers through its ability to empty itself out.  The power of the Christian faith manifests itself most especially in being what the world is not.  To arrogance it counters with humility.  To cynicism it reacts with innocence.  To deception it responds with truth.  To glamour it demonstrates with simplicity.  To death it responds with life.  To a cacophony of noise, it offers silence. Christian faith is simply the opposite of everything that the world would expect and want.  It offers “mud,” when the world would want “gold and silver.”  This is what Christmas is all about. Christmas bears a dangerous message which threatens our world and yet, it carries with it the only message which can save the world.

But there is great irony in the liturgy of the Church.  In celebrating a humble birth, we offer our best - we offer our “gold and silver”.  To the silent entry of the Word into our world, we offer our voices in songs of praise and wonderment. We enrich the liturgy with the best that we have to offer because the accoutrements of the rituals manifest the beauty of a world that is not ours and thrusts us forward and upward into an unimaginable beauty, a sign of a world to come. 

Today, we come to the manger offering our best only because we have acknowledged the worst in us: the noise we make in competition with God’s sublime Word; the “mud” we have covered ourselves in - our sins, our weaknesses and shortcomings.  We take courage also in knowing that the Word broke His silence and entered into the noisy madness of our world as He stepped into the “mud” of our fallen existence. Yes, the Eternal Word which leapt down from heaven from His royal throne, has stepped into the filthy “mud” in which we are mired. We were once formed from dust, but now our Lord gives us new life by remoulding the “mud” of our being into a new creation. There is every reason for us to break our silence today and announce: “Indeed, from His fullness we have, all of us, received – yes, grace in return for grace.”

Only one count mattered

Christmas Mass During the Night

St Luke has no intention of telling the story of Christmas as a work of fiction or fantasy. He intends to place the story of Christmas within human history. The context of the Christmas story, the reason why Joseph and Mary had to travel to Bethlehem was because of a census ordered by the Emperor Caesar Augustus over his whole realm. Some have questioned the historicity of this exercise but we are not going to go down this rabbit hole of historical accuracy. Now, I know that a census doesn’t sound very Christmas-y, but this particular census had profound implications on the birth of the Saviour King.

First, let us consider the reason for Caesar’s order. What would a census serve in ancient times? Certainly, data collection in those times would not be used for the purpose of procuring statistics as a basis of planning and analysis. A census in ancient times usually had a dual purpose - as a prelude to military conscription or taxation. The manner in which this census was conducted in this province under the governance of Quirinius, followed a local custom - everyone “went to his own town to be registered.” The “own town” was not the place where the person lived but the ancestral home of their tribe or clan. Since, Joseph was a descendant of David, he had to make the long track to Bethlehem, the City of David, with his betrothed.

Secondly, for the local Jews, this census was both a sign of their humiliating subjugation under Roman rule and a call back to another humiliating event in Israel’s history - David’s attempt to conduct a census of the people which ended in a disaster - a plague that nearly wiped out his people. God’s displeasure was displayed to its fullest measure. One may wonder why? David had earlier committed an egregious crime of stealing the wife of another man and orchestrating his murder. We can’t imagine how a census could come any way close to this hideous crime of adultery coupled with murder. So, what was the issue?

The problem of a census could be two-fold. It exposed David’s lack of faith and trust in the Lord. The Rabbi Eleazar taught: “Whoever counts Israel transgresses a prohibition, as it is said, ‘Yet the number of the children of Israel shall be as the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured.’” Implicit here is the idea that counting people—often done, directly or indirectly, for political purposes or military readiness—seeks to quantify by sight what God has promised by faith. Secondly, the census relied on the world’s standards of power and strength—that is, one gauges a nation’s strength through numbers and the size of its army rather than through the covenantal promise of God Himself.

But this census, instead of being a hindrance to the climax of salvation history, served to bring about its fulfilment. Our Lord’s birth was prophetically foretold in the Old Testament in this passage from Micah (5:2):

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times.”

According to St Matthew, this prophecy was used by the wise men to find Jesus. When the chief priests and teachers of the law gathered with King Herod and the magi from the east to discover where they might find “the king of the Jews,” they knew that the Messiah would come from Bethlehem. It was important, therefore, that our Lord Jesus be born in Bethlehem.

Thus, the census bringing Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem, and for our Lord to be born here, was no mere coincidence but an incredibly specific way for all of the prophecies to be fulfilled. The mighty Roman Empire, its taxation machine, and its sprawling governing power couldn’t care less about a poor couple in an outlying province. The authorities were only concerned with numbers - the more the better, the bigger the tax collection. They failed to recognise that only one single count mattered in their entire empire - the One who is counted as the Son of Mary but also the Son of God. No census would have been able to pick this up. Not then. Not now.

However, Caesar Augustus’s census was used by God for a far more important purpose than Caesar could ever know. God used the Roman census to fulfill the prophecy and point to the greatest ruler of all, the Messiah, the King of Kings. God’s prophecy would be fulfilled when two humble citizens simply obeyed the census of Caesar Augustus, but all, unbeknownst to them, were actually obeying God’s Will. That is the sovereign power that God alone has over human history.

Statistics have always fascinated us humans. Size of national populations and adherents of different religions, number of persons infected or who died from COVID 19. But as for us believers of the Good News of Jesus Christ, numbers are secondary. What should be our primary concern is that we have been adopted into an eternal family and given a new and lasting birth right. This is what we celebrate today - God became man so that men may become gods!

God does not need to conduct a census to keep track of this. That’s why we can have confidence in His Kingdom while living in the midst of broken ones. God’s Word and Gospel is a sure foundation of hope and direction for those living in a broken and hopeless world. This hope does not come from the temporary peace made by politicians, and God’s call to humbly submit to imperfect authorities is not an endorsement of them. No—our hope is in Jesus, the only eternal king. Turn from all lesser hopes and trust in Him, knowing that when you do, God has your name written down in His book of life, to be remembered for all eternity.

Jesus may have lived briefly as a citizen of Caesar’s kingdom but He is subject and slave to no one except His Heavenly Father. In fact, He came to establish God’s eternal Kingdom. The kingdom of Caesar Augustus has long lay in ruin, with most of its citizens completely forgotten, but the Kingdom of Jesus Christ is still very much alive, constantly recruiting a list of citizens across the world and throughout human history. Believe it or not, you are on that list! This is why you should rejoice when you hear the words of the angel who first announced this to humble shepherds: “Today in the town of David a saviour has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.” And your response should simply echo the heavenly choir: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace to men who enjoy his favour.”

Encounter of Joy

Fourth Sunday of Advent Year C

On this last Sunday of Advent before Christmas, our gospel takes us to the scene of the last recorded appearance of Mary in the gospels before the birth of our Lord - the scene of the Visitation of our Lady to her cousin Elizabeth. The Visitation is one moment from the infancy narratives that can prepare us in a special way for the coming of our Lord this Christmas. It provides us with a snapshot of Mary as a loving servant who is familiar with the Scriptures, bubbling over with joy, and confident in the promises of her God.

The scene also provides us with the prophetic words and action of both Elizabeth and the unborn child within her womb. Even here, John the Baptist, still a foetus, displays his prophetic skills as the precursor of the Messiah. It is here, and not at the river Jordan, where our Lord and the Baptist first meets. But lastly, the real protagonist of this story remains quiet and hidden. Like John, our Lord Jesus also remains nestled in the womb of His mother. No one would have even noticed His presence without the revelation and prompting of the Spirit who alerted John, who in turn alerted his mother with a joyful kick in the womb.

John, the child in Elizabeth’s womb, could not contain his joy and leapt, danced, rejoiced at the approach of Jesus. I think it is fair to say that few of us react with such poignant and uncontainable joy when we come close to our Lord. Christmas has this alluring power over us, both old and young. It is capable of igniting this childlike joy and sense of wonderment in us, as we long to peek into the crèche on Christmas night to catch a glimpse of the new born child.

But there is something of Christmas even now, in fact every day. In every Catholic church, there present is Jesus Christ – in His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Fully, truly, really, and substantially present. This is no mere symbol, nor even some manner of imperfect presence. Far too often we are guilty of falling scandalously short of appropriate reverence for the Eucharist. Let us pray that we will experience the same excitement as did John in his mother’s womb. We should be leaping and dancing with joy as we come into the presence of our Lord.

In fact, we should be exclaiming with Elizabeth and asking ourselves this question: “Why should I be honoured to be given such a great privilege to visit our Lord?” Just like Elizabeth, we cannot remain silent observers here, nor treat this moment as something common and ordinary. We need to listen to Elizabeth if we wish to have a proper perspective of Christmas. She alone, inspired by the Holy Spirit, makes a declaration of faith which becomes an essential component of the “Hail Mary” – “Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus”. Her words become the foundation of our Christian faith regarding the true nature of Christ and what we celebrate at Christmas. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches: “Called in the Gospels “the mother of Jesus” Mary is acclaimed by Elizabeth, at the prompting of the Spirit and even before the birth of her son, as “the mother of my Lord.” In fact, the One whom she conceived as man by the Holy Spirit, who truly became her Son according to the flesh, was none other than the Father’s eternal Son, the second person of the Holy Trinity. Hence the Church confesses that Mary is truly “Mother of God” (Theotokos).” (CCC 495)

And finally, we have Mary, “the mother of my Lord.” Mary’s spirit dances in anticipation of the Lord. Having received glad tidings from the angel about the Son she would bear for God, for the salvation of humanity, she travels “quickly” to Elizabeth and upon arriving, bursts into a joyful song of praise. It is unfortunate that we do not get to hear her song of praise, the Magnificat, as this is the climax of this episode of the Visitation. Her ‘bubbling over’, mimics the joy of Heaven. There’s no room for anything but praise and thanksgiving. It overwhelms, overflows, “overshadows” — a word we also hear at the Annunciation.

Mary, our Blessed Mother, is the perfect example of devotion to Jesus, of reverence for His Holy Presence. She leads the Church to keep vigil at the crèche, awaiting the birth of her Son. Consider the words of Saint Teresa of Calcutta: “In the mystery of the Annunciation and the Visitation, Mary is the very model of the life we should lead. First of all, she welcomed Jesus in her existence; then, she shared what she had received. Every time we receive Holy Communion, Jesus the Word becomes flesh in our life – gift of God who is at one and the same time beautiful, kind, unique. Thus, the first Eucharist was such: Mary’s offering of her Son in her, in whom he had set up the first altar. Mary, the only one who could affirm with absolute confidence, “this is my body”, from that first moment offered her own body, her strength, all her being, to form the Body of Christ.”

Amidst the flurry of shopping, visiting, and end-of-year work activities that will surely fill our Advent calendars this season, take a few minutes each day to encounter God, who often chooses to be hidden only to reveal Himself when you willingly spend time with Him in prayer, especially before the Blessed Sacrament. If you longed for the experience to spend time before the manger on that first Christmas night, know that each time you spend time before the Blessed Sacrament in the tabernacle is no lesser experience. If you struggle with prayer and don’t know what to say, dig deep into Scriptures like Mary, and pray the Magnificat with her. Let your soul proclaim the greatness of the Lord this Advent and beyond, through joy, Scripture, and loving service.