Holy Family Year C 2021

A Christmas on a Saturday just means the feast of the Holy Family is on Sunday. Hardly had we time to savour Christmas then we are hurriedly ushered into the Holy Family. We glossed very quickly over the circumstances surrounding the birth of the Son of God. Now we stand at the cusp of the Holy Child’s passage from boyhood to manhood as we heard in the Gospel proclaimed.

The learning curve for Mary and Joseph is steep and the context is the annual obligation enjoined upon Jewish males to present themselves at the Temple on three occasions—Pentecost, Passover and Tabernacles. The one they should not miss on account of distance is Passover. While males were expected to be there, Mary’s presence indicated her commitment.

In our walks reciting the Rosary around the Cathedral, Uncle B and I would usually attempt a scriptural prologue before we recited a particular mystery. Typical of Catholics with poor biblical background, it was our valiant effort to ground the Rosary scriptually. It was one of those days, at the 5th Joyful Mystery, “Finding Jesus in the Temple”, I casually blurted out that “After three days of intensive search, Mary and Joseph find Jesus in the Temple amongst the elders expounding on the merits of Newtonian Physics and Einstein’s Theory of Relativity” and we broke out laughing.

But it was no laughing matter for Joseph and Mary because the boy has now turned 12. He is now considered a young Man and His religious instruction would have to become more intense. The relocation of the boy in the Temple is good place to start our contemplation on the meaning of being a Holy Family.

The title Holy Family is more than a description of their holiness. The first recorded words in Sacred Scripture from the Child to Mary must rank together with His later response to her when she made the request to turn water into wine. Or the occasion where the Mother and His relatives were looking for Him in the crowd. There appears to be a pattern of dismissive insolence or rudeness but not when one realises that the Child and later the Man Jesus is dedicated to the will of God. Even though Mary described both hers and Joseph’s grief at having to comb through Jerusalem for what they considered a lost Child, Jesus in reply referred to God as the Father: “Do you not know that I must be at MY Father’s business?”. This reply could only have deepened both Mary and Joseph’s anguish except that the Gospel noted that Mary pondered this episode in her heart. The same must have been for Joseph. In terms of holiness, the implication here is that Jesus has an intimate relationship with God the Father.

This crisis of a missing Child led to a clarification of His vocation and mission. For the Boy Jesus, holiness is an invitation to enter into an intimate relationship with God. Intimacy is the key word here. We do not carry out God’s will because it has to be done for that would suggest slavery.

What sort of relationship can one conceive of between a slave and a master? Generally it is characterised by submission. Does that sound like a religion we know of? Should not God’s will be embraced out of love more than out of fear? Without the intimacy of love, a person might chafe because a simple command will come across as an imposition. This is borne out of experience. Think of the occasions when a volunteer directs you to move away from each other or to sit elsewhere from your regular pew.

Those of us who value our personal freedom surely resent coercion. However, if we love, nothing is too much to bear. Where there is no love, even a minor matter will become a major inconvenience. Just be mindful especially of our aged parents who have outlived their usefulness or productivity. How easily we give into annoyance when they ask one question too many.

Christmas is basically the expression of the love of the Son for the Father. We frequently hear the verse from John 3:16 that “God loved the world so much that He gave His Son out of love for us”. The Father could not have sacrificed the Son if the Son did not in the first place loved the Father intimately in order to descend and pitch His tent amongst us. Holiness is less a possession. It is fundamentally relationship—with God.

Concretely, this relationship with His Father is lived in obedience through the family of Joseph and Mary. He lived as a member of a family and with that we all know that what is most sublime can be at the same time the most debased. You can pick your friends but you cannot choose your family. Surely, some of the worst fights are between family members, especially when money is involved. The greatest cross comes from the family and it is made more excruciating because we expect our relatives to be more loving and less hateful. In any relationship, the cut is always deeper the higher the expectation.

For good or for bad, we are stuck with the family because everyone must come from “somewhere” but we do not always have to remain there. We all have our history—to be proud or to be ashamed of. But bear in mind though that the worst sinners make the greatest saints proving that there is no familial history that cannot be redeemed because the Son of God who came to save us chose to be incarnated in a family. If history is the history of salvation, then the redemption we desire is mediated through the family. Thus, Pope Francis is right when he asserts that the family is essential for the transformation of the world because the value of love is learnt through the family. If the world is sanctified through the family, then rightly so that we title the family of Joseph, Mary and Jesus as the Holy Family.

Finally, the use of the word Sacrament usually refers to the distinct realities of Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist or any one of the other Sacraments. Underlying all these realities, the basic function of a Sacrament is to sanctify. Through the two Sacraments of service, Christ sanctifies the Church and the world. In the Sacrament of the Priesthood, Christ makes holy His priests and His Church. In the Sacrament of Matrimony, Christ sanctifies the family for the amelioration or the betterment of the world. According to St Cyril of Alexandria, “Our Saviour went to the wedding feast to make holy the origins of human life”. Thus, it is time for the family to embrace this saintly service, for the family is not just a social institution. It is not just a unit of measurement, meaning, the primary component of society. It is not even a remedy for human weakness or loneliness. The family is a supernatural calling, a necessity for the well-being of humanity. Without the family, civilisation will crumble. Without holy families, the world will be doomed. Therefore, families have no excuse but be holy because the world desperately needs holy families. Blessed Christmas.

Christmas Day Dawn Mass Year C 2021

If there is anything we can say of Christmas Midnight Mass, it is that the birth of the Child Jesus has nothing to do with us, that is, it has nothing to do with our merits. Nothing of what we do merit Christ’s coming except perhaps the “felix culpa”—the “happy fault” of Adam that won for us so great a Redeemer. At least that was the sentiment of Paul writing to Titus. God’s mercy is extended to us through the cleansing waters of baptism and the rebirth through the Holy Spirit. This ties in with the Gospel.

The observant Jews, proud of their ceremonial purity, despise the shepherding class for their lack of religious integrity—in short, shepherds cannot fulfil many of the pious obligations. These marginalised few became the first visitors and the first missionaries. The shepherds, response to this privilege of seeing the newly born Lamb of God, thereafter, rejoiced by bearing witness to God and spreading the Good News of the birth of the Saviour.

That we now move within this new normal matrix of exclusion of the unvaccinated should give pause for some reflexions on how we ought to see God in the marginalised and those whom we do not ever think that God could be present to them. Indeed, it is the dismissed or the discarded who have need of salvation. Those who are healthy do not need a doctor and so to these, the excluded, to them is born a Saviour. What does that mean?

In recent past, a point that has been hammered concerns the in-built missing piece which is the universal feeling of incompleteness. This is a natural deficiency which is not a sign of imperfection. Instead it points us to the completion which can only supplied by a Saviour. Our hunger or yearning for wholeness is like a compass directing us towards God for only He can save us.

However, human history is littered with attempts to provide the total solution to our passion and aspiration. Ideologues are quick to seize on this human need for a Saviour as they try to provide Man with the “total solution”. A good example within our living memory is communism. It was proposed as the answer to Man search for the “material equilibrium” that we had when Adam and Eve were in paradise. We should be able to create the heaven of shared abundance we yearn for through the forced distribution of private wealth. Then there are rationalists who believe that “reason” could supply the solution to humanity’s ills and yet in the last century, the same “reason” or logic purchased two great devastating wars for the world. Presently science and technology have been proposed as the saviour we have been waiting for, threatened that we are by climate change and a global pandemic. We are driven, in an age of instant gratification, to search for wholeness through our sensual pleasures—food, drinks, sex or drugs as if these alone can satiate our cravings for fulfilment. There is a dissatisfaction arising from the failure of expectation that has compelled some to embrace different psychological fads and herded a few to experiment with Eastern mystical traditions.

In the emergent light of dawn, the Angels’ message to the Shepherds teaches us one thing. For as early as St Ignatius of Antioch, an early Church Father, the Eucharist was spoken of as the “Medicine of Immortality”. This itself directs our attention to whom we truly need. Jesus is the only Saviour who is the perfect fit for the missing piece in us. We long to be saved but communism, rationalism, technology, psychological techniques, sensual pleasures or even esoteric religions are never going to be the final solution to what we want. As the slogan goes. “No Jesus, no peace. Know Jesus, know peace”.

Whether the world likes it or not, the true and not just true but the only answer to Man’s search is Jesus. And so, if the world continues to search for the missing piece, then the ministry of the Angels continue. They announce to the world that we have a Redeemer. The only thing for us to do, as the Shepherds did, is to give ourselves to the Angels’ message that a Saviour has been born which consequently requires a match between what we proclaim and how we live. These are basic nuts and bolts of an evangelical or missionary life so that from Christ-bearers we shall also become Christ-givers. Like the Angels we give the message to the world that their search for the missing piece will be fulfilled by Jesus the Christ. Blessed Christmas.

Christmas Midnight Mass Year C 2021

What is the standard check-in time for hotels? More or less, it is stated at 3 pm. How would you feel if you went to a posh hotel and the room is not ready at 4 pm? A hotels is supposed to be synonymous with hospitality. The midnight Mass gives us a line which might sound like the inconvenient experience in a swanky hotel where the room is not ready at the appointed time.

So, when Luke notes that there was no room for Joseph and Mary in the inn, there is more to it than meets the eye. This detail is more than symbolic for just as well that the Holy Family was not housed in any inn because we would have lost the Eucharistic symbolism.

She wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger. Many Churches carry the custom of placing the little Baby in the manger during the various Christmas Masses. It is such a heart-warming tradition. We know that a manger is a trough or tray used for feeding farm animals. If they took shelter in a barn, then the manger would have been fabricated from wood. If they settled in a cave, it more likely that the trough would have been moulded from clay or hewn from stone. Wood or stone, the connexions are clear. The manger made from wood shows us the future of the Cross. Thus, the Child laid in the manger will one day be the stretched on the Cross. In built, a manger is also shaped like an open coffin which reminds us of how the Child will one day lie in a tomb to await His Resurrection. More importantly, as the cattle gather to feed on the hay, so too will we surround the altar to feast on the Body and Blood of the Child whose destiny is to feed us in order to save us.

The Gospel context is clear for us at this midnight Mass. A Saviour is born for us. The lack of shelter may be explained by the fact of that a census was taking place but it serves to remind us that even before His birth, He was already rejected and later on, He would be humiliated on the way to Calvary. His sacrifice will ensure that we shall have the possibility to live forever. A question which we might ask is this: For all that He has given and done for us, what are we willing to sacrifice for Him?

It is not an easy question to answer and it does sound like a mean question to ask. On this most serene of nights, it feels like a lecture and a shame. The truth is no one is seeking an answer for now. It is after all Christmas—a time when we should be moved deeply by the mere fact that tonight the Prince of Peace makes His appearance.

According to historical records in 1914, deep in the trenches stretching from Flanders to France, opposing soldiers in World War I laid down their arms and enmity in order to savour the peace that descended on them during Christmas. In fact, this frowned upon ceasefire provided a moment of hope and joy for the beleaguered soldiers in the trenches. For a few brief but magical hours, men from both sides of the line shared food, sang carols, played games while the guns lay silent. Though enemies to each other, the respite came from their shared faith in the Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the King of kings and the Prince of Peace.

Through that miserable wintery fog, there arose a profound recognition that Christmas comes to us because the world is despondent. In itself, this statement is truly an understatement. Why? The world has been in anguish and agony ever since the Fall—ever since Adam bit the apple. Last year we were constrained from being present in person. This year the enquiries that came in were expectant but also apprehensive. Anxiety has surrounded this Advent waiting. Will the same restriction be imposed at the last minute? We desperately need the assurance that God still cares for us. In the dead silence of the night, never mind that we may be unable to even love God, we are given a great gift, that is, the Son of God Himself.

Whatever our disposition, the Prince of Peace bids us make room for the only peace that will ever restore our balance and heal our relationships. Sadly, in terms of our devotion, we cannot even come near to the Crib because we have to avoid crowding. But maybe let the symbol of the manger—the symbol of the Cross and Resurrection—be a timely reminder to us that as we receive the Body and Blood of Lord, He is coming to us. We should worship Him as He makes His home in our hearts—that where we go, we now bring Him along. Blessed Christmas.

4th Sunday of Advent Year C 2021

Apart from being sold a concept of living centred on well-being, we are also subtly shaped by a description that happiness should be adrenaline-heightened. Happiness is sensational as suggested by ads displaying the thrill of a roller coaster ride. Furthermore, there is also the fact that familiarity breeds contempt and no more is the disdain or scorn for the common felt than in the ease with which we buy into the exotic and the esoteric. For example, our Christian mystery is not good enough because it feels dull and uninspiring. Some may be bored with the traditional idea of a demanding God but they are definitely piqued or enthused by the mystical experiences of religions outside of the Christian mystery. It explains the rise in the search for niche encounters provided by the Eastern and Oriental religions. Like Buddhism or Zen spirituality.

Life is actually 99% boring, consisting of habitual humdrum. Every so often we hear the depressing lamentations of a 9am to 5pm routine. Duty is dismissed as demeaning chore. But life has to be regular because we need predictability to plan and strategise. Children with parents for hippies can attest to the sad reality of how disruptive life can be in their growing up years, living with whimsical irregularity. Our current climate conundrum with its capriciousness or volatility should be enough to disabuse us of the idea that a meaningful life is solely defined by the “unpredictable” 1%. We have been socialised or more like “socialied” into believing that 99% is not good enough and that a purposeful life should revolve around that 1% that is extraordinary.

Think about it. A housewife’s whose daily routine revolves around her family can sometimes be made to feel inadequate because her schedule is not as carefree as her careered contemporary who can make decisions on her own, free from any constraints of duty and responsibility. The point is this: there is already a missing piece within us which we spoke about last week. This “lack” is articulated as the instinctive yearning for happiness. Sadly this longing has been narrowly characterised by “running after temporal pleasures and material goods”. Note that on 26th Dec, the Lunar New Year decorations will immediately replace the Christ ornaments, if not already. We are searching for completion. This quest for fulfilment is certainly complicated by our myopic focus on the 1% adrenalin and dopamine-filled excitement.

If we abandon the 99% for the 1%, we will tragically be condemned to hunt for the perfect spouse, the ideal moment, the best employment, the model family forgetting that what we are looking for can already be in our midst. If God is with us, His will most likely be found in the 99% day-to-day regularity of our lives.

In this, we are helped by the Gospel. We have already focused on the great figure of John the Baptist for the last two weekends. This Sunday belongs to Mary and rightly so as the Gospel reminds us that in our midst is the Emmanuel. He is to be found where we are. He not waiting at the next corner or a later turn of our lives. He is not in the next job or the next fiancé or fiancée. Even though the Annunciation is often painted as a stunning event, yet the Angel appeared to Mary in a normal setting of her life.

Christmas is not many days from now. If life is mostly ordinary and once in a while extraordinary, perhaps we may conceive of Christmas as the extraordinary event breaking through our regularity—a kind of respite in our pilgrimage of ordinariness. In Mary, the cadence or rhythm of her life is observed in the simple act of leaving the security of her home and venturing into the hill country of Judah so that she can be of assistance to her aged cousin Elizabeth. Never mind the “distraction” that both the cousin sisters and the two lives in the wombs is painted in jubilant and exuberant colours. We are certainly captivated by the baby in Elizabeth’s womb, the last prophet of the Old Testament and the first prophet of the New Covenant, who by stirring was already pointing in anticipation to the future, “Lamb of God”. Such a spellbinding scene might just cloud the unpretentiousness of a newly expectant younger woman lending a hand to a heavily pregnant elderly. Mary thought nothing of her condition but only of her cousin’s and she reached out without any fanfare.

It is often in the unremarkable setting of life that we bring Christ to others. We do not need to be a dazzlingly spectacular preacher or a valiantly intrepid missionary. The only important person in whatever we do is Christ Himself. Now, if Christmas is like the 1% of life’s excitement, the fact remains that we need the 99% to arrive at the Solemnity. Thus, in terms of preparation to celebrate, where are we in our journey? How will we arrive at the moment where we celebrate Christ’s birth and His coming to us? It requires an openness to God working in our everyday lives, like Mary was. It is a simple process of making sure that our external preparation is matched by corresponding renewal of our interior life of grace. Are our preparations narrowly restricted to the decoration, drinks, food, clothing and gifts? A basic necessity in an interior revival is if one has gone for confession. We clean our houses and we prepare physically to receive Jesus at Christmas but our souls are left in a state of disarray.

Nevertheless, Christmas should be celebrated with vigour because it is the birth of the Saviour. Precisely it is the coming of the Lord that we all eat, drink and be merry. But, concentrating exclusively on merry makings would render our festivity a poor representation of the joy that our Salvation is near. John the Baptist leaping in the womb of Elizabeth is the epitome or embodiment of what an interior preparation should be like. Our hearts burst with joy not because we have more than enough to eat, drink or enjoy. It is enough to know that our Saviour is here.

So, when Our Lady said yes to St Gabriel, the ordinariness of her life became extraordinary because she began to Christ to others—notably to Joseph who was on the verge of rejecting her, to Elizabeth well into her pregnancy, a dumb-struck Zachariah and the baby in gestation John. The same can be for us. God comes to us all the time. It is not only in the grand scheme of things that God is to be found. Helping the poor does not have to take place only when there is a disaster or a calamity. Kindness does not require an excuse. We are good to others not because of who they are or what they can do in return. Instead, we are good because of who we are—graced by the presence of God, meaning that we have Jesus in us. More than ever we need to bring Jesus to a waiting world thirsting for salvation. This will be our challenge because it is not always easy. But, like Mary who said Yes, we can, we dare and we should. Jesus is Emmanuel. He is with us as He was with His Mother and if we say Yes, like Mary, He will pave the way for us.

3rd Sunday of Advent Year C 2021

A statement that everybody desires happiness resonates deeply with us. Is there anyone who does not want to be happy? Happiness has become a massive industry. Everything we consume, which can be anything ranging from food to fun or condos to cars, is geared towards contentment. Both governments and big business have colluded to promote well-being as possibly the ultimate goal of human endeavours. Targeted advertising and psychological profiling are economic tools used to shape and manipulated our consuming habits. In short, the happiness promoted is tied to a continuance of our consuming habits. However, what we cannot escape is a fact that while we have everything to make us happy, the reality is so many are miserable.

Perhaps Gaudete Sunday can help to situate our appetite for happiness. Firstly, the Latin word is derived from the antiphon taken from Phil 4: 4-5 which also forms a part of the 2nd Reading. “Gaudete in Domino semper” meaning “Rejoice in the Lord always”. The change in the colour of the vestment suggests a break from the prevailing penitential mood because the Lord, our Redeemer, is near. According to the Prophet Zephaniah even God dances for us. Thus, when the Lord is with us, when He sambas for us, the proper posture is joy as Jesus Himself reminded the Pharisees that “surely the bridegroom’s attendants would never think of mourning as long as the bridegroom is still with them?”.

So, how should we outline this exultation? Last week, John the Baptist spurred those who sought him out to prepare themselves for the coming of salvation. The clue to our joy is found in their response. “What ought we to do?” Sinners of every shade and shape, converted by the Baptist, wanted to know how their transformation could be worked out in practice.

In today’s Gospel, we hear John speaking to three distinct groups of people—the ordinary crowd, the tax collectors and the soldiers. The answer given by the Baptist revolved basically around the theme of detachment in three simple areas of food, clothing and money. Those who have more should feed those who do not have enough to eat. Extra garments can be given to those who need basic clothing and finally those in power should never abuse their authority to extort from the poor. According to the Baptist, authentic conversion entails letting go of anything that can cling and choke the life out of us.

In the context of Christmas, a season generally steeped in plenty, and plenitude is often expressed materially. From the excess of mirth and merriment it is not difficult to conflate “joy” with material abundance or affluence.

Taking John’s counsel, joy springs not from acquisition but from detachment. Here, we are accustomed to think that detachment requires a stripping away of our possessions. Naturally that we tend to shrink or shy away from any action that suggests a forced separation. Psychologically, it is painful to be stripped of our possessions or to be deprived of our sensory securities because we love our creaturely comforts. The example of Jesus’ encounter with the Rich Young Man is a case in point. The young man was “sad” not because he was unable to dispossess himself of his wealth or detach himself from the good things of life. Rather his sadness was indicative of a heart that was not open to the possibility of joy—the chance to be filled with Jesus.

Detachment is more than the mere divestment of our wealth because there is no guarantee that a dispossessed person is joyful. Just because a person gives up everything, it does not mean he is going to be happy. This just highlights the point that detachment is an attitude which see everything in relation to having Jesus in one’s life. If freedom from a bad habit should be translated as freedom for a good habit, then detachment from possession should be translated as an attachment to Christ—to be taken up by and to be filled with the Lord. The Rich Young Man may have been blinded by his wealth but more than that, he could not recognise himself as one who can be joyful with the Lord.

If wealth tends to obscure our vision and if Christmas is a preparation for the coming of Christ, detachment, in the context of climate change and Laudato si, should mean a return to simple living, a refrain of the extravagance of excesses. It is not a kind of “killjoy” spirituality but rather it must come from an intentionality of living responsibly with respect to natural resources. This is the conversion that John the Baptist might be preaching about because Christmas always opens up the possibilities of fulfilling our wants rather than our needs. Today is 12.12, right? Lazada is a world of wants rather than needs. So, when we begin to live responsibly, this vision of life will allow us to view our celebration not only as a right but also as a responsibility. In a world overloaded by indulgence and extravagance, we moderate our lifestyle to counter overconsumption and wastage.

Thus, joy is more than the sensation we associate with happiness. Joy comes from the freedom that is built on a life which is in line with what the Church currently teaches in terms of stewardship. But more than that, joy is exuberant because Jesus is present. According to St Paul, “we see no answer to our problems but never despair, we have been persecuted, but never deserted”. For St Paul, joy never promises an easier life but nevertheless, we should not be deterred.

Finally, in proposing to the people what to do, it might appear that John was preaching “activism” but he was not. In recommending a simpler lifestyle, John was just pointing out that a freer heart will have space for others but ultimately a freer heart has room for the Lord. Nowhere was there any condemnation of riches because wealth in itself is not bad. However, without realising it, material possession has a way of corroding our vision, thus preventing from appreciating that the Lord alone suffices, that possessing the Lord, we will be joyful. Furthermore, we may have been brain-washed to believing that the goal of life is to be happy. Unlike happiness, joy is not defined by the absence of sadness or the absence of troubles. Rather, it springs from this knowledge that we belong to Christ and this knowledge remains even though circumstances may change. Joy breeds a kind of conviction that we are never lost, that we can never be lost because of Christ. If we are not convinced of Him, we can never exude Christian joy. Only those who are convinced of Christ can convince others. Gaudete Sunday: The Lord is coming. So, rejoice, for our salvation is near.

2nd Sunday of Advent Year C 2021

If Advent is waiting, then the soul of waiting is prayer because supplication bridges the gap between God’s salvific love for us and our yearning for redemption. However, modern man may have lost that sense of eternity born of transcendence as not a few have been condemned to roam the wilderness of electronic distraction. For some, Lazada is the cure for insomnia. It is fascinating that we want to live forever but we have not found a formula that allows us to navigate the passage to eternity, that portal otherwise known as death. Instead of embracing our fear with prayerful waiting, we engage in ceaseless activities and amusements. Our fondness for distractions is challenged by the major figure of this Sunday’s Gospel.

We come face to face with John the Baptist. A voice that cries in the wilderness asking that we be “prepared” for the Lord’s coming—either in His person or through our death. In the first reading, the atmosphere exudes a buoyancy as God welcomes the returning Israelites by filling up the valleys and laying low the mountains. However, while a homecoming radiates euphoria, still restoration must be accompanied by sincere contrition.

Structured into our desire for reconciliation and restoration is the commitment to repentance and reparation. Thus, in the area of restoration and reparation, it might be helpful to explore how compartmentalised our “sacramental senses” have become. For the sake of convenience, we have had to arrange reconciliation according to the availability of the ordinary ministers of the sacraments. The way the Sacrament of Confession has been organised may have socialised us into a sort of proceeding which has separated Contrition from Communion.

Such a segregation is possibly clarified by this question: “Does one have to receive Holy Communion when one attends Mass?”. Many will answer “yes”. The reasoning is pretty simple. The Mass is likened to a banquet and to attend one without eating does not make sense.

While it is an ideal to attend Mass regularly, however, there is no “obligation” to receive Holy Communion. Why? Both Canons #1247 and #1248 §1 answer the question. “On Sundays and other holy days of obligation, the faithful are obliged to participate in the Mass” and “A person who assists at a Mass celebrated anywhere in a Catholic rite either on the feast day itself or in the evening of the preceding day satisfies the obligation of participating in the Mass”. There is no mention that an attendance at Mass obliges a person to receive Holy Communion. In fact, one’s access to Holy Communion is premised on having the “proper disposition” which means that there must not be a lack of faith, sanctifying grace, and right intention.

Without “proper disposition” in place, the answer to the question of Mass attendance followed by an automatic reception of Holy Communion would be affirmative. This is contrary to the accepted tradition that the remedy to improper disposition is to avail oneself of the Sacrament of Penance. For the faithful, the proper disposition to receive Holy Communion requires one who is conscious of grave sin not to receive the Body and Blood of the Lord “without prior sacramental confession”. (Can #916). In fact, one does not even need grave sin. Just simply not adhering to the Eucharistic fast, that is, refraining from food and drinks apart from water an hour before reception of the Sacrament, can keep a Catholic from receiving Holy Communion. This sounds “legalistic” but it comes from the “proper disposition” of having the right intention.[1]

More significantly, in terms of spiritual preparation, what has happened is that the lack of availability for one to confess can have an effect of removing this “need” for the “proper disposition” required for the reception of Holy Communion. The penitential services, accepted as necessary from the perspective of logistics,[2] may have contributed to a forgetfulness of the prerequisite of sacramental disposition. In some cases, putting off confession until the availability of the penitential services, a faithful may be receiving Holy Communion in a state of mortal sin. But not only that. It may also have even created a dichotomised logic which is keen to accept the Eucharist as the action of Christ Himself feeding us through His ministers, while at the same time, slow to appreciate that the same action of Christ is mediated through the absolution of the minister. If the Eucharist is efficacious in giving sanctifying grace, why not the Sacrament of Penance?[3]

Unfortunately, for not a few, the Sacrament of Penance is permeated with dread and fear. On the surface, it could be fear coming from natural shame. “What would Father think of me?”. Beyond fear, it could also reflect how “disincarnated” our sacraments have become. We believe at Mass, the Eucharist is the really, truly and substantially the Body of Christ but we are not that confident that the same absolution comes from Christ at confession. This mirrors our fragmented sense of the Sacraments.

In fact, a majority of the priests of the Diocese who met at a recent meeting expressed how “disincarnated” the Sacrament of the Eucharist has become. Some Catholics have come to accept that online Masses are good enough for their spiritual need. They are satisfied with “spiritual” Communion forgetting that this form of “reception” is directed to the fuller celebration of the Eucharist in person. We do not inhabit the world as avatars. Instead, we are a sacramental people and it is time to reclaim who we are.

To grow in appreciation of God’s forgiveness, Baruch’s returning Israelites are a powerful symbol of our penitential journey back to Him. It is an invitation to return to His love no matter how far we may have strayed. Our Advent preparation is defined by a relationship in which God is the Saviour we have been longing for. He wants to save us.

Thus, we should take this Advent to delve deeper into appreciating how central sanctifying and sacramental graces are in our penitential journey to salvation. The Sacrament of Confession forms the backdrop of our growing in excellence according to St Paul. Jesus the Lord is indeed coming to us. The flattening of the hills and the filling in of the valleys are indicative of our spiritual preparation. Do take note that the parishes of this vicariate will continue to roll out the penitential services. The faithful is free to go to any one of them and the schedule of the different parishes will be made available through our media channels.

However, in making Confession readily and regularly available and not just “restricted” to the penitential services, we want to return the Sacrament of Penance to its rightful place in the personal journey of conversion and commitment to Christ.[4] It is taking responsibility for our spiritual growth since “anyone conscious of a grave sin must receive the sacrament of Reconciliation before coming to communion”. (CCC#1385). Call the office or the priests. The telephone numbers are not difficult to obtain. I would encourage everyone to make personal arrangements in the days to come by giving yourself an opportunity to encounter the Lord’s forgiveness through the Sacrament of Penance.

The Sacrament of Confession brings us back to the figure of repentance, John the Baptist. He stands in stark contrast to the frenzied grip of commerce and the feverish gorging of consumption. We tend to spend and devour more than we should and Christmas seems to be a serious business on these two fronts. However, let the desire for a lively Christmas be matched equally with a strong interior renewal through repentance and the reform of our lives so that when the Reason for the season arrives, our hearts will be ready for Him.


________

[1] The argument will usually come from “God does not really care for such nitty gritty details”. Really? Would one dare to use this logic when it comes to a delicate microsurgery that requires precision with regard to “nitty gritty” details? What if the surgeon were to pick his nose in the midst of an open-heart surgery?

[2] There is no doubt that a specific time frame and a specific parish allow for the congregation of many priests and this helps with providing the sacrament of penance to those as many as possible who avail themselves of it.

[3] It may not be a problem of logistics. Even when confession is readily available, still people do not avail of it. This dichotomy could be a symptomatic of our shallow sacramental theology.

[4] Penitential services are so much more convenient for the priests. “Get it over and done with”. The appointment system requires commitment of the minister to be present for a penitent. It is definitely more inconvenient. But what greater joy than to welcome a penitent faithful at the time when he or she needs it most.

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.

___________

[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.

________

[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

31st Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B 2021

Last Sunday, we dwelt on the nameless model for discipleship and faith. Like an approaching autumn with leaves turning yellow, the remaining Sundays’ readings will take on a more apocalyptic tone. This shift draws our attention to the Last Things—Death, Judgement, Heaven and Hell. In this turn, the theme of discipleship comes into sharper focus as we move from the son of Timaeus to a member of the scribes.

The learned teacher in question bucked the trend of scribal hostility toward Jesus for he genuinely wanted to establish the ground for righteous behaviour. To appreciate where this concern was coming from, note that the Jewish moral landscape is planted thick with laws, 613 (mitzvot) to be precise, consisting of 365 prohibitions (one for every day of the year) and 248 prescriptions (for the bones and significant organs in the body). For a devout Jew, relationship is best demarcated by legal language. Thus, they would constantly debate amongst themselves which of the laws would rank the highest. The genius of Jesus was to combine two strands of the traditions, the essential “Shema” from Deuteronomy (Dt 6:5) and the other taken from Leviticus (Lv 19:18). In other words, the fundamental prayer which every pious Jew will recite twice a day becomes the impetus for the love of one’s neighbour. Love God to love others.

The way of loving as prescribed by Jesus is best understood through the Cross. Note that while the Lord seemed to have placed on par the two commandments, still there is a hierarchy that we must never lose sight of. It is to love God first and to love our neighbour second. This ranking is central to the teaching of Christ because the love of God is the fertile soil for the love of others to sprout.

To love God without loving our neighbour is a form of “disincarnated” love. In essence, love is sacramental because it cannot exist in the abstract. Instead it should be concretised or “embodied” as illustrated by one of the Gospel passages dedicated to the Last Things. In Matthew’s Last Judgement, Jesus will judge our love for Him based on our love for our brothers and sisters. We cannot claim to love God without loving the broken, the rejected and the condemned.

To love neighbour without loving God is merely philanthropy. It is noble and good but it is not enough. We are accustomed to social justice activism, and as such, we have come to equate the good we should be with the good we should do. However, doing good does not guarantee us a place in heaven. Heaven is not an automatic reward. We find it difficult to wrap our heads around such an assertion because it runs counter to an unquestioned assumption that willy-nilly, we will get to heaven. If Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men are to be believed, “And I know eventually we’ll be together, one sweet day”. In fact, when the world tries hard to marginalise God, it has no choice but to believe that doing good is good enough.

Heaven is not a “place” we have been taught to go to. Instead, it is relational. “I believe in the Communion of Saints” aptly captures the relationship that we have been invited to. Sanctity or saintliness is not as stand-offish as being set apart seems to suggest so. On the contrary, holiness is profoundly relational. Only in this way does heaven become figuratively a “place” because the Saints are in communion with Him who is the Lord of heaven and of earth. Under this perspective, one may safely define hell as the absence of relationship with God. Hell is not God’s rejection of us but rather our rejection of relationship with God. Hell is the absence of God.

If love draws us into communion, then the Cross is where love as relational makes the most sense. It gives meaning to the 2nd Reading in which Christ the High Priest establishes the only Covenant that is binding on God for eternity through the sacrifice of Himself, out of love for His Father. He also died out of love for others, for us as there is no love greater than to lay down one’s life for others. Unlike the High Priests who have to offer the holocaust every year, the offering of Christ is for all eternity. His sacrifice is the basis for our discipleship of love.

To appreciate this communion, we must understand what constitutes the love we are called to. In the Vulgate edition of the Bible, the Latin word “caritas” is the translation for the Greek “agape”. However, the English equivalent of “charity” has a rather restrictive meaning, narrowly defining it as benevolence to the poor. But love is more than just kindness. “Caritas” goes beyond the fuzzy feelings associated with love. In fact, its moral character requires that “caritas” must always be love in truth. This we observe in the 1st Reading. The Shema is also expressed through keeping His Laws and Commandments. This is not being “judgemental” but it would mean at times disagreeing with those who go against God’s laws as expressed through the Commandments, through natural law and through the moral teachings of the Church. Love cares for both the material welfare as well as the spiritual well-being of the other. The genius is to disagree without hating. This is indeed an uphill task.

This moral component of love necessarily leads to Calvary first before it arrives at the Resurrection. Our world is polarised by the sin of hatred. There are chasms created by our politics, economics, psychology, and even spirituality which can only be bridged by a discipleship of love as expressed by St Teresa of Kolkata. She found the paradox “that if one loves until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love”. We are not alone in this enterprise. Despite the struggles, the great multitude of saints continues to bid us to join them in the life-giving communion of love. The great figure of St Therese possibly captures the two dimensions of the discipleship of love, both the vertical and the horizontal. She loved God right down to what some would consider to be absurd minutiae as she continually sought ways and means to please Her Saviour. “It is true, I suffer a great deal—but do I suffer well? That is the question”. Her love for God knows no boundary because for her, “When one loves, one does not calculate”. In fact, her love for God was that profound that it flowed horizontally into her mission that “I will spend my heaven doing good on earth”. As we glide and slide into the final weeks of the liturgical year, the scribe’s question, and St Therese heavenly mission on earth both direct our attention to the perennial truth that the love God and neighbour are two sides of a coin. As promised by the Lord, we will be near the Kingdom of Heaven when our love for the Lord overflows into our love for the neighbour.