1st Sunday of Advent Year C 2021

It is no coincidence that we crowned the liturgical calendar with the Solemnity of Christ the King. A climax feels like an end to the year but it is actually a beginning as we enter a period of waiting for the coming of the King.

The basic element of Advent is waiting. What is waiting and what goes into it?

The Prophet Jeremiah voiced a hopeful expectation that a repatriated Israel will be governed by one who is descended from their great ruler, David. This Son of David will inaugurate a period of prosperity, justice and peace. In like manner, Paul’s Letter to the Thessalonians while it expressed confidence in Christ’s 2nd Coming, it also recognised that what has widened was the gap between His promised return and the reality of His Advent. Christians were dying even before the "Parousia". It is within this aperture or lacuna that Paul spoke of blameless living as we prepare for Christ’s return.

In other words, between now and judgement, we do two things. Firstly, we wait. There is nothing else we can do except to wait. Secondly, more than loitering or lingering, this preparation is pregnant with the possibility of a virtuous life. It is living in such a manner that even if death were to catch us unawares, we would have nothing to be ashamed of.

While Advent is the period of preparation for Christmas, that is, of the King coming to us as a Child, born in a manger, still, we are waiting for the King of the Universe. He is the Lord who is also judge of the world. It makes sense that our waiting cannot be passive but must show that we are ready at any time to account for our belief and behaviour. Thus, St Paul’s seminal teaching to the Thessalonians is basically our default mode and there is a formula to it.

Waiting is always stressful. Think of a time when as a parent you are waiting for your child to come home from a party at the agreed upon time. As the time approaches your sense of trepidation heightens. Will he or she open the door at the said time and once you have passed it, the minutes start to tick slowly away and the waiting becomes more excruciating and uncomfortable. How do we get out of this discomfort? Thankfully we need not pace anymore. We have electronic gadgets to take our minds off the edge. Gizmos may be useful but they can also be wasteful of time.

So often when we wait for the next appointment to show up, the period of time in between are often fraught with restlessness as we do not know if we should start on something only to be interrupted by the person showing up. Like waiting in the clinic or government offices, our go to mode for waiting is the handheld device. Our ability to wait is rendered more complicated because life appears to pivot around the principle of pleasure. As Fulton Sheen made a rather apt remark about living in a sensate age, neither governed by faith nor reason but by feelings.

This makes mastering the virtue of patient waiting more difficult. Our concept of waiting is closer to the maxim “Carpe diem”, which is more an opportunistic motto to “Seize the day”. This kind of waiting is not a waiting for the Lord. Rather it is waiting for the best moment. Why?

We are children of instant gratification. Advertisements by nature play on our "lustprinzip" as the Germans would call our instinctive crave for instant pleasure. Nowadays, a sizeable number of ads are created with AMSR in mind. It is auto meridian sensory response otherwise known as “brain tingles” which are triggered by certain sounds and may or may not be accompanied by equally soothing visuals. The best example is the 3X Spicy Chicken from McD. You literally hear the crunch, the crackle and the subsequent slurping in of air to draw us into the burning sensation of spiciness. It operates along a Pavlovian principle that plays on our need for instant gratification.

I heard a radio blurb the other day from a neighbouring country touting the best place to live, to work and to play. Like “Carpe Diem”, the “best” factors in the virtue of patience. We patiently for the best life-partner to come. We long for the best job to have. We search for the best fun to have in living and working. This kind of patience is not alien to us. Almost like tiger waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on a prey. This type of patient waiting fits along the line of fulfilment. Worst is when we wait and dare not take any chances for fear that the “better best” is just around the corner.

In the midst of waiting for the best to coming along, the next question to ask is what it means to be fulfilled. Noticed how life is organised around work and play. Where is the component of man which points to his spiritual or transcendent self? If fulfilment is satisfied by the best place to live, work and play, then why is it that many are still dissatisfied? Why are there many who are depressed considering that ours is a generation that has more than enough to eat, to enjoy life and to be fulfilled?

We might want to look at where fulfilment is “best” located and why waiting is part of the process. As St Paul’s teaching to the Thessalonians is the accepted norm for the time between now and the 2nd Coming, then the answer must be found in the “already” and “not yet” nature of fulfilment. Seizing the day is central not to fulfilling our cravings but rather to the preparation for the coming of the Kingdom either through our death or when Christ comes again. This drill is a training for eternity. It requires us to be watchful and awake.

This brings us into prayer. Nowhere was there in the radio endorsement of a good life was there any mention that we are both body and soul. It is true that “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”. But this saying forgets that Jack the playful boy without prayer will never be happy forever.

Like Lent, Advent has a prayerful component to it especially when we are waiting. The same situation of waiting for a child to come home, our instinctive reach is to reach out for distraction. What if, instead of wasting time, reach out for your rosary. Spend the quiet time in prayer before God. It may not take away the edge of our anxiety but it will give us a better perspective to our waiting. Advent waiting is prayerful because praying is necessary for our spiritual energy as it grants us the courage to stand before God as we wait for His coming whether at the moment we die or when He truly comes again in the “Parousia”.

Christ the King Year B 2021

Last week, we carried with us an understanding that weaved into our belief in the Resurrection is the answer to Man’s deepest hunger. Fundamental to the tenet of life after death is the idea that we will be made whole. In the next life, what had been lacking in the present will be compensated. Whether we accept this premise or not, and obviously Karl Marx[1] did not, the parable of Dives and Lazarus lends weight to this assumption. It is reasonable hope that those born imperfect will be perfected in the next life.[2] If it were not the case, how does one explain the myriad addictions we are slaves to. Simply put, an addiction is more than a bad habit. It expresses a yearning for completion which we instinctively recognise is impossible to fulfil[3] in this life.

This desire for completion or wholeness is our straining for eternity. Nobody wants the good times to end and this is reflected in the structured conclusion of our fairy tales. “And they live happily ever after” is a formula that tries to capture this permanence we crave. Furthermore, no matter how fractious a relationship may be, nobody entering into matrimony ever walks up to the altar with the proviso that the marriage is a temporary arrangement.[4] If anything, the fabulous gown, and the elaborate floral arrangements trumpet the aspiration that this will last forever.

In the context of this final Sunday of the liturgical calendar, there is another temporal tradition that approximates the coveted continuity or the lastingness in eternity. It happens when a monarch dies. When a king dies, this ringing proclamation goes out to assure the nation that there is stability in the kingdom. “The King is dead, long live the King”. In the demise of a ruler, we get a taste of stability or permanence—an approximation of heaven and this brings us to the Solemnity of Christ the King.

Unlike the temporal rulers, His Kingdom is eternal. Through our belief in the Resurrection, we are given the assurance, born of hope, that in God’s providence nothing is ever wasted, not even what the world might consider to be an insignificant life, as in the mindless crucifixion of a powerless Man standing before a representative of the mighty Roman empire. Hence, it is highly symbolic that the final Sunday of the Year where Christ is proclaimed King is still set within November, the month dedicated to the memory of the dead. He is the first-born of the new creation. As the Gospel clearly indicates, His Kingdom is not of this world, for the Resurrection belongs to a reality which is beyond time and space.

This brings us to a relevant question. If the Kingdom is other worldly, then what does it mean to celebrate Christ as King? In the last 50 years or so, the notion of the monarchy has become alien to our democratic mentality. It feels like a holdback from an age considered irrelevant. For example, considering that everyone is created equal, we find bowing or curtseying, in short, “standing on ceremony”, rather pretentious.

But stand with Jesus we must. Pomp and pageantry are not foreign to God as suggested by the “Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus” that the Angels sing. The elaborate rituals surrounding the liturgy are testimonies to the glory that belongs to God. The difference is that they are not pompous and certainly not patronisingly pretentious. As He stands before Pilate, we catch a glimpse of the quality of His Kingship and the nature of His Kingdom. He may not be control but He is not weak. In fact, He stands triumphant before Pilate and we ought to stand with Him so that we may learn what His Kingdom represents.

How do we stand with Jesus? Recall the provenance of this Solemnity. The year was 1925 when Pius XI established the “Solemnity of our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe” (Domini Nostri Iesu Christi universorum Regis) to counter a way of thinking which not only marginalises God but organises life as if God does not exist. The title solemnly proclaims Christ’s holy sovereignty over individuals, families, ideologies, causes, societies, governments, and nations. In other words, Jesus Christ is King over every aspect of our lives.[5]

Thus, on 11th Dec of that year, which marked the 1600th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea, Pius XI established this feast through the encyclical “Quas primas” and within the document, he instructed the Catholic faithful to consecrate or renew their consecration to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and to make reparation for the atheism practised in many nations. In that mandate, the Pope made a connexion between Christ the King and the devotion to His Sacred Heart, a link which leads us into the heart of the Eucharistic life of the Church. As long we celebrate the Eucharist, then Christ the King is always relevant.

However, we face a secularism that is not only alive but has been rather virulent. The recent Popes have in many ways battled with it. Benedict XVI named it as the “Dictatorship of Relativism”. Prior to that, John Paul II characterised an expression of it as a “Culture of Death”. For entertainment, we definitely glorify mayhem in our movies and music. In life and death issues, we promote abortion and euthanasia.[6] In relationships, we resort to pornography and exploitation of the body. These are but some illustrations of how far-reaching the civilisation of death has been.

The irony is that we congratulate ourselves on the advances that we have achieved as an enlightened and progressive society. Somehow, we are oblivious of the ideology that undergirds many of our research analyses and investigations. For example, both human embryo studies and assisted suicide span two ends of life’s spectrum. “Is this life?” at the beginning and at the end “Is life worth living?”. We blatantly breach the boundary of morality in our research under the aegis of “common good”. Thus, under this overarching narrative or norm, the uncertain status of “a clump of cells” that make up an embryo must never outweigh the good of many because common good dictates that we should save as many as we can through scientific investigations. In light of many being saved, what is the sacrifice of a few embryos? Then when life is “used up”, the question that surrounds the end of life is this: “What is the point of living if one is not productive anymore?”.

The ideology that powers our common life is one which is antithetical or contradictory to the Kingdom of Christ. As mentioned earlier, the nature of His Kingdom is eternal and universal. His is the Kingdom of truth and life, a Kingdom of holiness and grace, a Kingdom of justice, love and peace. In the last 50 years, as Church, we have opted for the poor because we are collaborating or rather, we stand with Christ by planting the seed for the Kingdom to come.

This solidarity with our King must begin with the self. Frequently, we think of injustice as being “out there” and we want to make right the “out there”. But the seed of Kingdom must take roots in the fertile soil of our hearts first. It must begin with me. Is Jesus Christ the supreme Lord and Saviour of my life? The beauty of this Kingdom is that He has initiated it here on earth. It is waiting for its completion in heaven. As long as one has been baptised, then each Catholic is invited to be a part of this Kingdom. It is never imposed which means every conscience must decide if it wants to follow Him or the evil one. We all recognise how dire the world is yet we forget that the change or transformation we desire or want for the world begins with the individual. It does not begin “out there”. It begins with me and I must become the change that I want to see in the world. There is price to be paid when we choose Christ over Satan. But fear not as the author of the Letter to the Hebrew encourages us. Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us shake off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus the King—the source and summit of our faith and life. For in Him, we shall triumph.

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[1] For Karl Marx, religion is the opium of the masses. They cling to religion for want of a better vision of life, a kind of pacifier because we have nothing else to hold on to.

[2] If one never got the “justice” that is due to him, we can fairly surmise that “justice” will be served in the next life.

[3] A good illustration is demonstrated by the lack of satisfaction. The mega-rich elite do not seem to be contented with their already massively accumulated wealth. Wealth generation is good but they have more than enough to spend over 100 lifetimes. Yet, they want more.

[4] No couple that intends to marry, does it in a “temporary” manner. In fact, when the couple is quarrelling and yet when they walk up, there is this hope that things will be better after the wedding. The couple would have desired permanence for their union.

[5] This sounds jarringly incongruous in the current make-up of the world. 4/5 of the world is not Christian or to be politically correct is made up of peoples of other religions. It feels almost arrogant to celebrate this Solemnity.

[6] There is criticism that pro-life proponents appear to restrict Catholicism to the single issue of abortion. What about the poor? These one-issue Catholics are bend on protecting life at its inception but do not seem to show concern for the single mother struggling to bring up children. Perhaps the pro-life movement and those who campaign for the poor betray a blinkered “silo” mentality with regard to the topic of life and death. The protection of the unborn and the support for the poor are closely related because one must flow to the other. Campaigning to protect the life of the unborn without caring for the poor misses the point of what the defence of life is truly for. But if we show no concern for the truly defenceless, meaning the “clumps of cells” or the unborn, why should we care at all for the poor? Why are we not closer to bridging the gap between rich and poor? In fact, it is widening even more. It is not fashionable to say that the ingrained and abject poverty we experience in this world has its roots in the lack of care for those who are defenceless in the womb.

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B 2021

Last Sunday, the behaviours of Elijah and the Scribes helped to highlight the relationship between power and accountability. From the two widows we learnt how the virtue of generosity flows from an appreciation of the principle of stewardship. As suggested by a proverb popular amongst environmentalists, we do not possess as much as we have borrowed or have been lent.[1] Thus, power that is accountable and stewardship that flows into generosity are two sides of the coin of God’s Providence.

This Sunday, the first reading and the Gospel are geared towards the end time. The portrait of the “eschaton” is painted with imageries that are ominously foreboding and chillingly dystopian. So many movies revolving around zombies. Yet, the first reading is surprisingly “Easter” in its mood. Despite the unparalleled upheaval the world may undergo, many who have died will awake. The context is clear. It was a piece of literature written during Israel’s exile and thus it sent out a confident message not to be afraid. Indeed we should hope because the Prophet Daniel described nothing more than the Resurrection.

If the Resurrection gives us reason to hope, then we should have confident pondering on the topic surrounding the “end of the world”. The frequently bandied phrase the “end of the world as we know it” is basically fashionable media-speak and nowhere near what the true end will be. In terms of paradigm shift, of changing mindset, the Resurrection should switch our thinking from what is temporal to what is eternal, from the passing to the permanent.

However, this conversion of thought or vision is in no way a denial of the temporal order. It is merely a reclamation of our loss of heaven because we may have subscribed too much to a purely temporal model of reality. For example, we are sensitive to injustice as we should be. Perhaps, we may be a tad too sensitive. The following description is not a nostalgic whim to canonise a preceding age. In the past, people tended to accept the status quo no matter how unfair, to wit, conjugal relationships. Did not some of our grandmothers suffer abuses at the hands of our grandfathers? Times have changed. Women, everyone, including children, are taught to stand up for their rights. Previously, there was a certain fatalism written into the silence of the victim. Currently, we actively advocate for the mistreated and conscientise the abused to speak up. We have moved from resignation to activism. It is a healthy and an enlightened development.

While this is good, it may also carry with it a vision of life that is purely temporal. What do I mean? We all want closure in order to move on. Traumatised victims often find themselves unable to carry on with life. On the one hand, the search for closure is a part of restorative justice. In the Sacrament of Confession, we speak of this as restitution. Through the legal system, victims should be protected or compensated. Likewise, aggressors or assailants should be prosecuted and punished. All ideally well and good. On the other hand, the question to ask is this: “What if the closure were not forthcoming? What happens when there is no closure?”.

History is replete with instances where our justice system does not reach far enough and have failed those who have been wronged. We can become prisoners of the psychological trait called victim mentality. While not dismissing the need for closure but once inside that gaol, how does one not allow the unfairness of life to smother one’s ability to find meaning? Such a question is relevant especially when we suffer.

Like Viktor Frankl,[2] these “end time” Readings provide us with this hopeful perspective or rather a vision which goes beyond the need for closure. To appreciate this point of view, it may help to visualise a scene all too familiar in our conflict-saturated landscape. Some of us may have watched movies depicting closures for families of soldiers killed in action. The American Sniper is a moving drama about a returning sharpshooter who finally got killed by a war veteran suffering from PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder. The end of the movie shows archive footages of crowds standing along the highway to pay their respect to the dead soldier. Tragic though that may be, but there was closure for the killed sniper.

Now picture scores of dead Iraqi soldiers left unattended and rotting in the scorching sun. What about closure for them and their families? For every closure any family gets, countless other families are left to carry on with the scars of their wounds etc. There are many nameless soldiers who have no one to care for them.

The Psalmist’s cry “Preserve me God, I take refuge in you” can convey us deeper into the perspective of the Resurrection. For those who have no recourse to justice, the end time is not the end. As the 1st Reading says, “Of those who lie sleeping in the dust of the earth many will awake, some to everlasting life, some to shame and everlasting disgrace”. There will always be justice, if not in this world, then it has to be beyond this world. Of course, Karl Marx scathingly labelled “religion as the opiate of the people”, a kind of plaster or “koyok” that offers nothing more than a temporary or fleeting relief. The point Marx may have missed is that the Resurrection cannot be contained in time.

Whatever transitory relief we can derive from opium is short-lived. Our hearts are made for the greater, for the eternal and are not satisfied with the momentary. In other words, the Resurrection is not an empty slogan. It is an extremely compelling motive for people to hold on[3] because God will adjudicate what cannot be accomplished in this world.

The need for closure which reflects a yearning for “wholeness” is a holy desire. Sadly, it does not always follow the logic of time. Sometime it requires death before it can even mature for us to appreciate it. Our pining for closure might just reveal a world that has stopped short of eternity. The need to resolve a problem this side of death is symptomatic of a vision which does not extend beyond time. This is exemplified in the matter of death sentence. We have a “disabled” man who is scheduled to be executed in a neighbouring country. They called the move a deterrence. However, killing someone might temporarily assuage our desire for blood but it can never heal our broken heart. We are not meant to solve every problem in this world—sometimes a broken heart can only be healed by eternity.

We are nowhere near Easter with its Resurrection motif. Still the end time beckons us to reflect on the truth of the Resurrection in a world that is markedly unfair. The Readings call our attention to the Resurrection as a triumph of grace. We are reminded of this by many saints. God will always be faithful to those who take refuge in Him. Whilst here on earth, we should a stand for justice but we must never be discouraged that sometimes the resolution we seek can only be obtained once we are dead and gone. In the Resurrection, death is never a failure because what cannot be healed in time will be made whole when we rise to the glory of the Lord. God’s justice is provident and His providence is just.

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[1] “We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children”.

[2] Viktor Frankl was a Holocaust survivor who found meaning despite the great suffering he underwent and that gave him the will to live. There is a correlation between meaninglessness and addictions, criminal behaviours and depression. The danger of meaninglessness is the mistaken notion that emptiness can be filled with hedonistic pursuit.

[3] Written on the wall of a concentration camp in World War II: “I believe in the sun even when it is not shining. I believe in love even when not feeling it. I believe in God even when He is silent”.

32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B 2021

We rounded up last Sunday with love for God and neighbour. True discipleship is a translation of our love for the Lord into love for our neighbour. Today our reflexion is guided by two widows and their experience of power.

We can begin with an irony. In the Gospel, Jesus excoriated the scribes for swallowing the properties of widows. The behaviour of these leaders sounds much like the frequently highlighted scourge today and that is “clericalism”. It is a disordered attitude of superiority that is disliked immensely by the present Pope. Consider then the 1^st Reading showing Prophet Elijah in full “clerical” or hierarchical mode. He demanded a near-starving widow to serve him first.

Of course, Elijah’s behaviour might come across as authoritarian. We could perhaps take a closer look at “clericalism” to appreciate better what the lessons these two widows can bring. With respect to Catholic leadership, we have been taught to esteem our bishops, priests, and deacons. Through the Sacrament of Holy Orders, these ordained ministers are called to lead, to teach and to sanctify God’s people. According to St Ignatius of Antioch, “Where the Bishop is, there is the Catholic Church”. That is how central the hierarchy is, in the person of the Bishop, to the definition of the Church. A priest acts “in persona Christi” and no personal sin of his can even blot out this power which Christ Himself conferred on His ministers. Yet we all recognise that exalted though the clerical state may be, the minister is not infallible in his judgement. Neither does he possess moral superiority. For example, if one could speak of “Apostolic collegiality”, perhaps, the one scriptural record of it is to be found at the Garden of Gethsemane. All as one, the Apostles fled and abandoned their Master.

In both the 1^st Reading and the Gospel, one can home in on the “clericalism” of both Elijah and the Scribes. That would actually miss the point that the nature of power is such that its strength is found through consolidation. Thus, the experience of the two widows is not “clericalism” per se but rather of power or the misuse of one’s authority. Just think of how naturally a leader coming into power will consolidate his or her power base. In nature, a new queen bee will kill off the older queen or drive her out of the hive. In our human set-up, vitiated by original sin, power to be felt, usually devour those who have no means to resist. The abuse phenomenon highlighted in the last three decades is based on this power differential. Hence, a poor widow against the might of any powerful machinery generally does not stand any chance against it. “Clericalism” is just one expression of how power is obsessed with itself.

Thus, a label itself can be “restrictive” because when we fixate on a particular expression of abuse of authority, we might miss out on the reality that the same power differential is at work with Big Pharma, Tech Titans and Deep State. The core issue is not really about “clericalism” even though it might be problematic. The two widows’ experiences merely call our attention to the true nature of power.

Essentially power is derived. In the responses of the widows, while waxing lyrical about their generosity and faith, the fact is, at the heart of giving their everything and trusting in God is the idea of dependence. Both the widows are compelling reminders of our total dependence on God. This reliance runs contrary to what we have been socialised to think, that power is autonomy and control—the freedom to do what we want and the ability to coerce others. More or less, we have come to associate power with might but it is not. Authority is not more effective the more you have it. Power’s strength lies in the quality of one’s relationships.

Hegel himself said that there can be no master without slaves. It shows how “dependent” masters are on the subservience of their slaves. Bullies are only powerful because the bullied have ceded power to them. In our unequal world of the mighty and the defenceless, of the potent and paralysed, if we believe power is obtained from those who are oppressed, then we are mistaken. In His ministry, Christ showed us that ultimately His power was derived from the relationship with the Father. His state was divine but He did not cling to His divinity (which He shares with the Father) but emptied Himself to assume the condition of a slave.

Power is efficacious through renunciation. The “kenosis” or the self-emptying of the Crucified One is indeed a compelling example of how we should approach power and authority. We think of it in terms of having or possessing. The generosity of the two widows redefines our understanding of power’s purpose. In the scribal demonstration of clerical clout and in the dispossession of the widows, two relationships come to fore, and they are dependence and providence. The scribes who behaved as if their largesse were an expression of their status forget that all they own is dependent on God’s providence. Thus, the widows, one in putting everything into the box and the other giving everything to Elijah, do so with full confidence in God’s providence.

In giving or surrendering, what is suggested is that the giver has and the recipient has not. The transaction between benefactor and beneficiary is based on possession and privation. Since the two widows barely have anything, their giving cannot be an expression of benefaction or possession. Instead, hidden in the act of giving up is the Christian idea of stewardship.

Generosity flows from stewardship—that we own nothing and the two widows recognise that. The narrow focus on “generosity” might just miss the point that power is one of the most difficult stewardship to bear and its strength is proportionate to our dependence on God and not contingent of the scale of oppression. If everything is dependent on God, power has to be too.

The silence of two powerless widows speak the loudest calling those who are powerful to account for themselves before God and others. Power is a reflexion of God’s omnipotence and in the Son’s abnegation we see power’s true vocation that it must always be at the service of others and never for itself. In Him, power’s potency comes not from the ability to command or compel but from His absolute dependence on the Father. The Crucified One commands no army and yet His power over Satan’s kingdom comes from surrendering everything including His divinity. Through the two widows we appreciate that the currency for heaven is not possessions, power or prestige. It is faith in God and like Jesus, generosity in total self-surrender because God will provide.

All Souls’ Day 2021 Year B

There are two works of mercy with regard to the dead. The first is to bury them and it forms one of the corporal works of mercy. The second is to pray for them and that is considered a spiritual work of mercy. Today, we come to fulfil this spiritual duty to pray for our dearly departed as well as for those who have no one to remember them.

Why do we pray for them? Because we believe in purgatory.

In terms of economic functionality, we classify works that we cannot do without as essential services. Purgatory is an essential service of mercy. A week ago, I made a reference to Dante’s Divine Comedy, where in the book called Purgatorio, we have an Angel guarding Purgatory’s gate who dangled his keys while announcing: “I hold these keys from St Peter who bade me err rather in opening that shutting out”.

Contrary to what we think, Dante regards purgatory not as punishment but rather it represents God’s profound mercy. The Catechism of the Catholic Church gives this succinct statement of the doctrine of Purgatory: “All who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven” (CCC 1030).

Purgatory is more preparation than punishment. It is a state where repentant sinners are readied for their entrance into heaven. The closest we get to a feast remembering this merciful work of God is today. The Church encourages us to pray, especially for our departed ones—spouses, children, family members, friends, and many others—whom we believe and hope are most likely in Purgatory.

A statement like this does not resonate with us. This morning’s liturgical vestment is deliberately black rather than purple. Black jars our sensibility and it may even annoy us because our “immediate fulfilment” perspectives expect the passage from Death to the Resurrection to be instantaneous. We demand that God’s mercy be “forgetful” until we encounter Christ suffering on the Cross and dying in between two thieves. He forgave Dismas but He did not remove the justice that was due to the repentant sinner. Mercy and justice are two sides of a coin and in forgiveness there must be justice. Think also of Zacchaeus on top of the sycamore tree. He made good whatever wrong he had committed through restitution—through restoration.

So, in mercy there is always justice and thus “waiting” belongs to the mercy of preparation. As “waiting” is an “earthly reality”, it is bound by time. Since in God there is no time, the “waiting” has to be different in God. We have to speak of waiting because we want to be careful about the sin of presumption. We presume too much when we apply our standard of mercy without justice to those who have died. Presumption arrogantly makes us more merciful than God.

Cardinal Newman was right to remark that “in one sense, all Christians die with their work unfinished”. Hence, purgatory is where the finishing touches are added. It is a “time of maturing” between death and heaven. If purgatory is preparation and not punishment, then every day should be All Souls’ Day because our prayer is part of the preparation for those “waiting” for heaven. Yesterday and today are days of the Communion of Saints. The Church Triumphant is praying for us. So too the Church Penitent or Suffering. The souls in purgatory are praying for the Church Militant. They know the struggle that we go through. However, they cannot do anything for themselves.

A common epithet on tombstones might help us understand the relationship we have with the Church Suffering. “Where you are, I once was. Where I am, you will be too”. It is a sober reminder that once the portal of death closes, souls can do nothing for themselves. While they can pray for us, they need to depend on us. So, All Souls’ Day prompts us firstly, not be negligent in praying for those who have gone before us and secondly, not to be unrepentant. While we are still on earth, we must make preparation for heaven. Part of the groundwork (earthwork) is to live so that when we die, our purgatory will be hopefully be a breeze.

All Saints 2021

Statues, icons, medals, prayer cards and stained glasses are sacramental reminders of the saints. But they can also act as barriers to thinking about them. What a memento does sometimes is to keep the signified at a safe distance. A good example is the Crucifix. As a symbol, it is an even more powerful reminder. Have you seen movies where a character spotting a Crucifix behave immorally? Actually, we do not need to watch movies to see this. Do we, on the road, with our rosary hanging prominently from our rear-view mirror, curse and swear at other drivers? The hanging rosary, like the Crucifix we wear and the Bible on the shelf have become Catholic ornamentals or decorations and no more.

The point is, all these sacramentals can become mere or empty tokens—empty or devoid of meaning. Symbols are powerful pointers or basically useless relics. Today, we are celebrating the Saints who have gone before us. As a generic Solemnity, it commemorates all the Saints and since none is specifically celebrated, this feast can be “tokenised” into an empty remembrance.

Nevertheless, a day dedicated to “all” the Saints has to be common or general because it expresses a truth of our Credo. I believe in the “Communion of Saints”. The accent is on “Communion”. It refers to no specific saint because the Solemnity is training our sight on the multitude of Saints who composes this sea of holiness—a reality beyond an individual Saint. In the context of social distancing and isolation, this notion of “Communion” should take on a more personal meaning. To know that we are in touch with those who have gone before us marked by the sign of faith can be deeply consoling and it can grant respite from our isolation, loss and disconnexion.

On one level, this “Communion” is a reminder that great help is available to us if only we turn to the Saints. As St Therese of Lisieux gave the assurance that she would spend her heaven doing good on earth, we should have recourse to the saints at all times. They are waiting to render assistance. However, more than their utilitarian function of helping us, they beckon us as models of faith and action. Imitation belongs to the art of mimicry—we copy and echo them. Since many of them have such colourful lives, they give us hope that we too can be redeemed and saved.

Linked to this hope is the Catholic practice of retaining saintly relics. It might not be as ghoulish as we think. Ironically though, we are fascinated with the macabre and yet at the same time repulsed by it. We want movies to be gorier and bloodier. Think Michael Bay—big-budget and high-octane action. Yet, we recoil at the Catholic practice of preserving parts of a Saint. Take the case of St Jean-Marie Vianney. On the occasion of his failing an examination, he heard a disparaging remark from the tester. “Brother John-Baptist, you are a complete ass!”. He replied with a wisdom which only the innocent can give, “Monsignor, if God could bring victory to Samson with just the jawbone of an ass, imagine what He will achieve with a whole donkey!”. Every piece of relic of a Saint that we have the chance to venerate, gives us hope and encouragement. If Christ can do remarkable things with this Saint, He can work on us too.

Today it is hard to sell the Saints. We have kept them at a distance. Hardly do our children know of the Saints except in a functional manner—like St Anthony of Padua or St Pius of Pietrelcina. They may know recent ones but not many youths can recount the lives of the more venerable Saints. We have kept them at a distance because it is getting even harder to sell heaven. Initially, we could, as in Confession, think in terms of “fear of hell and the loss of heaven”. Given the comforts of luxury, heaven is quite far from our minds. More so when our idea of heaven is staring “boringly” at God. We should ask if heaven is as far as we have distanced it? If we are honest, the many addictions we have are really indications of this heaven-hunger we have not attended to.If you have been regularly attending Masses, we frequently highlight the lives the saints. Why? Firstly, All Saints’ Day runs the risk of being an empty celebration if we conveniently ignore the Church sanctoral cycle. Secondly, there is a matter coming from our understanding that a Sacrament is an “outward sign of inward grace”. If the “Communion of Saints” is generic, then every Saint is a lived example of the “Communion” that exists amongst all the baptised—living or dead. Thus, an individual saint is a sacramental—an “outward sign of the inward grace” of “Communion” that we are commemorating today. Saints are not dead, like the decorations removed from the shelf and dusted off once in a while. Instead, every Saint on earth was a living Gospel of Jesus Christ our Lord. Now in heaven, they give us concrete proof of how we can, with the grace of God, join them in