25th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

If you understand the tricky business of organ transplant, then you’d begin to understand the parable in today’s Gospel. Harvest is not only a time-consuming affair but it is also a timely one. When the harvest is ripe, one has to gather quickly. In a sense, both the workers and the vineyard owner are desperate. One is desperate enough to hang around the whole day waiting for employment and the other desperate enough to go in search for more labour to expedite the harvest. The urgency ends with God paying disproportionately to those who work. What are we to make of this God?

Firstly, it seems that God is an unfair God. And we all know “unfair”. For those who experience injustice, an unfair God who is generous does not resonate well with us. For example, there are people with top grades who know the unfairness of being denied a place in the university. We know of qualified people whose promotion is denied but instead it is given to less qualified people. In short, merit is unmerited in an unfair society. An unfair God only amplifies the humiliation of the experience of blatant miscarriage of justice.

Therefore, the Gospel is disturbing to say the least. It tells us that we have this God who is generous but his generosity is not bound by the limits of fair-play and justice. And the First Reading sort of supports this point. “Yes, the heavens are as high above the earth as my ways are above your ways, my thoughts above your thoughts”. God’s way of behaving is not like ours.

To understand this God, we need to consider the question Jesus asked: “Are you envious because I am generous”? Thus, the question is not about justice or fairness but of envy. The first batch of workers had agreed upon a set wage. The subsequent batches of workers were promised a fair wage. Thus, there was no question of injustice. They were paid according to what they had agreed. The sore point came when those who did the least amount of work got the same as those who did a full day’s work.

Envy is something which afflicts all of us. And the language of envy is “that’s not fair”. It often leads to resentment and if left unchecked will eat into our very being. Envy is also amplified if we feel ourselves victimised.[1] Perhaps, our experience of “unfairness” is actually the experience of envy.

The hearers of the parable knew what Jesus was talking about. It was not injustice or unfairness that they were reacting against. The truth was that Jesus had been consorting with sinners and the Gentiles. The Jews and the Pharisees represented those “called” by God at the start of the day... and as such, they thought that they should be privileged. The problem is that God seemed to treat with kindness the late-comers: the sinners and the Gentiles. It was not unfairness on the part of God but envy on the part of the Jews and the Pharisees that God should ever be so kind to those who do not deserve it.

The reaction of the Jews and Pharisees is occasion for our deeper reflexion. As stated, the Jews and the Pharisees represented those privileged to be the first people chosen by God and sinners and Gentiles were plainly Johnnies-come-lately. The relationship between the privilege of the first and the last to be called has a bearing on evangelisation. First of all, the call of God is gratuitous and unmerited on our part. It is God who calls and at any time one is called, the appropriate response is gratitude. Secondly, if one were called first, the honour is more responsibility than it is privilege.

And this is where we need to be more aware of our responsibility to those who come after us. Are we doing enough to bring the Good News of our calling to people who have yet to know Jesus Christ? That is the gist of the 2nd Reading: I want to be gone and be with Christ, which would be very much the better, but for me to stay alive in this body is a more urgent need for your sake.

In summary, at first glance, we who aim to form a society under the principles of justice and fair-play are somewhat taken aback by the Gospel because God seems to be unfair. But upon closer reflexion, we realise that the Jews and Pharisees were envious of God’s generosity and sadly, their envy blinded them to their responsibility. A calling does not accord greater privilege. On the contrary, we are yoked with greater responsibility to bring the good news of salvation to people everywhere. On our shoulders lies the Gospel. To be called first is to be a light to the world. We are to be the Good News and that is why the 2nd Reading ends appropriately: “avoid anything in your everyday lives that would be unworthy of the gospel of Christ”.

FOOTNOTE:
[1] Just as an aside, you know that we sometimes remember things we read or hear. Well, I remember a primary text from Plato on the question of Justice. I can’t remember which one of his works but I remember very clearly that one of his characters in a discussion said something like this: “Justice is for those who do not have the guts to be unjust”. We dare not be unjust and so we don’t like others to be unjust. There is an element of envy in this, I think!!

Triumph of the Cross Year A

The feast of the Triumph of the Cross became prominently observed in the Western Church only in the 7th century. In case you’re interested, prior to the cross becoming our universal symbol, Christians used the symbol of fish because the Greek word for fish (ἰχθύς, capitalised ΙΧΘΥΣ) stood for the acronym: Ἰησοῦς Χριστός, Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σωτήρ. Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour. Now, let us get back to our subject matter, the cross. In the 4th century, St Helena the Empress Mother of Constantine was credited as one who led in the discovery of the Cross of Christ. It was taken away as a war trophy by the Persians in the AD614 and 14 years later Emperor Heraclius returned part of what was retrieved to Jerusalem.

The cross is a powerful symbol for Christianity and yet Catholics and Protestants approach this symbol differently. The usual thing is to look at it and say that Catholics tend to emphasise Christ's death on the cross (it explains why we have the body – called the Corpus) whereas Protestants emphasise Christ as risen (it explains why they have an empty cross). Christ on the cross reminds us of the sacrifice he made whereas the empty cross points to the power of Christ over death. Furthermore, Catholics are supposedly “worshippers” of Mary and the Saints, therefore, the Protestants will try to avoid “graven images” (read = statues).

But beyond the Protestant “aversion” to idolatry, the first reading may actually support the Catholic approach to this powerful symbol and it is connected with the Eucharist we celebrate. St John Damascus writes that the serpent was raised up on a piece of wood like a “standard” and those who look at it with faith are cured of the serpent’s bite. Therefore, Christ dead on the cross is the source of life for those who look at him. We see Christ hanging on the cross with blood and water flowing from his side—the fount of sacramental life in the Church because water symbolises baptism to wash away sin and blood symbolises the Eucharist that gives life.

That Moses raised the serpent standard in the first reading is being translated into the Mass we celebrate. In Mediæval times, there arose the practice of “ocular communion”. Ocular has something to do with the eyes; with what is visual. This spiritual practice came about because people were simply “more aware” of their unworthiness to receive the Lord. At that time, the frequency with which we receive communion would have been unknown to them. The practice of “frequent communion” only started in 1905.

So, in Mediæval times, people would come to Mass and wait for the consecration when the host would be raised and looking upon the elevated host, they would profess silently like St Thomas, otherwise known as the Doubter: “My Lord and my God”. They did likewise with the chalice raised. After that, they would go in search of another Mass where the consecration was about to take place. The triple bells we hear let people know that Christ will be raised up and that to look up and look at it is to look at the Saviour for redemption. Today we may be a few hundred years removed from this practice and may thus call it a superstition. Since the Mediæval or Middle Ages is commonly known as the Dark Ages, we associate that period with barbarism and superstition. But, it cannot be disputed that such a practice arose because of a firm belief in Sacred Scripture, a deep desire for salvation and a trust in the power of God.

In some ways, we are no different. We wear the cross like an ornament or tattoo the cross as an embellishment. I saw a girl the other day who had a rosary tattooed on her ankle and leading to her foot was the cross. I haven’t a clue what that symbolised for her but for us, the cross is really a symbol of salvation because it is a symbol of love’s triumph over hatred. On Friday, a parishioner came to see me. She comes to Mass daily. She has been robbed many times by snatch thieves. Still, she faithfully attends daily Mass by walking from her home down the road to church. So, on Friday when she came, after yet another robbery attempt (she was blue and black on the face because she had struggled with them and had managed to ward them off) I offered to bless her. Yes, there is a blessing for victims of crime or oppression. There was a sense of powerlessness and frustration. I was utterly disgusted by the incidents of her being robbed. As I was opening the Book of Blessings, I was also letting out my frustrations. I said, “Let’s pray that those thieves (I used a stronger than the phrase “those thieves”) will meet with a bad accident that they be so badly hurt but do not die. They should suffer”. When we got to the page, we collected ourselves and I started to pray: “Lord, your wicked Son ...”. She flinched and instinctively I knew I had committed a Freudian slip because the prayer actually read: “Lord, your own Son was delivered into the hands of the wicked, yet he prayed for his persecutors”. I was that consumed by hatred that it came out through the prayers. When you hate so much, it is bound to come out somewhere and somehow.

But, in the cross, there was no hate even if it were an instrument of hate. On the cross, Christ not only preached love but he practised love till the end that he cried out from the cross: “Father, forgive them”. The 2nd Reading expresses this as “self-emptying”—a Kenosis of his divinity so that we might be saved. Today, more than ever, we need men and women of the cross; Christians of the Kenosis—self-emptying so that others might have life. Kenosis will always involve dying and suffering. In order for love to triumph there will be the cross as Blessed Teresa of Calcutta says, “Suffering is a sign that we have come so close to Jesus on the cross that He can kiss us and that He can show that He is in love with us by giving us an opportunity to share in His passion”.

It is so relevant for us all. Given the fearful, oppressive and tense climate we have today, it is really easy to give in to anger, hatred and despair especially when there is this naked display of aggression but the cross is a powerful symbol of victory over evil; of love over hatred. And as we continue with the celebration of the Eucharist, we remember that Christ had to be lifted up so that we may have the strength to embrace His life. Let the cross we wear or sign on ourselves not remain a mere symbol but truly become the outward sign of who we really are: Followers of Christ, Prisoners of Love and not of Hate.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

The central theme today deals with fraternal correction. It is not an easy thing to do because people don’t like to be corrected but more so people do not like to correct others. I would like to explore why this is so and perhaps see how we can embrace this sacred duty enjoined upon us by Christ Himself—to correct and be corrected.

First of all, it’s not easy to deal with diversity. For example, how many of us believe that all religions are the same? One hears enough of the idea that every religion just represents a different pathway to the same God. Here, the intention is not to debate the veracity of the statement that all religions are the same but to note that the idea or statement shows an inability to handle diversity. If that were so, we might also face the same difficulty with regards to fraternal correction. This inability to deal constructively with diversity is translated into: “We all believe that everyone’s opinion is right. Let’s not be judgemental”.

The difficulty we encounter with fraternal correction points to us the challenge we face with regard to what is right and good. If every opinion is to be tolerated because we need to respect people, the question is, “How can we act in a good and right way”? Every opinion to be accepted means that we do not know what is truth. Therefore, “doing” good is not good enough because we need to know what is right and good before we can do it. Knowing what is right and good leads us to know the truth. Therefore, to say that everyone has the right to be right is not saying anything at all. In fact, it makes living even more difficult.

The Doxology we sing might give us a clue. “Through Him, with Him and in Him”... it comes from the Greek word “Doxa” which, apart from the meaning of “opinion”, also means “right worship”, that is to give glory to God. To be “orthodox” means “to know and practice the right way in which God wants to be glorified.” This “right way” implied that some ways are wrong ways, even if we were to show respect to the persons who hold them.

That there is truth cannot be doubted. People often say, “Don’t judge” because we are tolerant and this “do-not-judge” attitude extends only to areas concerning sexual preferences or life issues like contraception, abortion or euthanasia. However, when an MP makes a statement against a particular race, people are up in arms against your man. This is proof that the exercise of knowing the truth is selective.

Some things are just not right which means that there are truths to be known and we can know the truth because Christ is the Truth. Christ taught the Truth and He continues to teach us through the Church and speaks to us through our conscience. Conscience is not integrity, sincerity or preference. One can kill with sincerity and conscience is not involved. Conscience is a hard, objective thing—a challenge to self, a call to conversion, and a sign of humility. In this case, it means that one must really listen carefully to the teachings of the Church. The Church and conscience are not mutually exclusive.

In the matter of fraternal correction, we are pointing to some standard of behaviour which should command us. It is truth’s ability to compel us to behave rightly. And here, Christ Himself offers practical help to us. We are not dealing with the issue of “forgiveness” but on how to approach an erring member of one’s community. Christ says, firstly, do it in private, then before a few and finally before the whole community. Failure to convince a person leads to excommunication.

It sounds drastic but in reality, fraternal correction is an exercise of love. Our Lord offers practical help but what He is not saying is that fraternal correction can only be an exercise of love. St Paul in the second reading calls it simply a “debt of mutual love”. Sometimes we think that keeping quiet is part of that mutual love. But it is not. Parents with young children have this tendency of keeping quiet. A child is naughty and they think that “disciplining punishment” does not fit in with today’s enlightened child care. As it were, one is to show greater patience. The problem arises when the parent can no longer tolerate the nonsense. He or she hits out at the child. Ultimately, the child sees not the fact that he or she has done wrong but only the anger of the parents. Knowing something is wrong and keeping quiet is tantamount to allowing someone to destroy himself. Thus, correction requires courage and involves risk. Risk that your action might be misinterpreted. However, it does not mean that we go out of the way to “repay the debt of mutual love” by pointing out people’s fault. Many suffer from self-righteousness.

Nobody likes to correct. The attitude we ought to take, if we do not want to reduce morality to “my standard”, is fraternal correction is an exercise of love for our brothers and sisters. The basis of one’s correction is not so much “I am right” but because “I love you”.

Nobody likes to be corrected. So a good attitude is to never go away without thinking about it. The basis to receive correction is “Let me see if there is truth in what you say”. Ultimately, we must be guided by the love of the Truth who is Christ Himself.

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

Last week I spoke of a phenomenon that arose from the experience of failure of expectation. When the authority we trust, be it our parents, our teachers, the Church, concretely the parish, the government, the police etc, fails us, we begin to look for alternative sources of security. And the slogan “Christ, yes; Church, no” is an example of how we deal with a failed authority. In the 20th century, the failure of authority has given rise to a general suspicion towards anything which is “organised”. [1]

Thus, this slogan mentioned above is often expressed as “I am into spirituality but not into religion”. Religion, composed of tenets and practices, belongs to the “organised” world, a world of “authority” which means that it should not be trusted. Today, I would like to do something which is not exactly revolutionary and it deals with the rehabilitation of the word “religion”. It is a word derived from the Latin “religio”. The origin of the word is obscure but it is accepted by some circles that it is derived from “ligare” which means to bind or to connect. Re-ligare would have the meaning to reconnect or realign.

The intent of the 2nd Reading may be read along the lines of “religion”, not so much of “organised” religion but rather of making a re-connexion between what we believe and how we ought to live. Last week, we may read Peter’s confession in the context of him coming to believe in Jesus, whereas this week, we realise that Peter’s confession does not take into consideration the real consequence of believing in Jesus. There seems to be a gap between Peter’s confession and the acceptance of the consequence of his confession.

Before a Catholic or two Catholics get married, we conduct the “pre-nuptial” enquiry. In the case of a marriage between a Catholic and a “non-Catholic” (be he or she a Protestant or of another faith), I tell the Catholic party that there are more “Catholics in hell than there are of people from other religions”. It sounds harsh, considering, but that’s the implication of being a follower of Jesus. Think about it, I am not saying anything more than what we claim ourselves to be. Whether one is aware or not, this is the consequence of Peter’s confession and Jesus’ reply: You are Peter and upon you I will build my Church. We, Catholics believe that we are the Church that Jesus established. Given that belief the higher expectation of us is justified. Isn’t that what Jesus says? The more is given, the more is to be expected. [2] In today’s Gospel, that expectation is called the cross.

For years, I have never bothered about asking people to be Catholics. That’s not because of an exclusivist position, meaning that only Catholics are saved. Rather, it is because of this higher expectation of us that I have thought to myself, “Life is hard, why make it any harder?" So, anyone who has this notion that after baptism, life is going to be bed of roses ought to have the head examined. After baptism, the testing, trials and temptations will come [3]. This paints a rather dismal picture of what it means to be a Catholic or Christian.

The truth is life is NOT hard. It is just that the human spirit is made for the ascent, the climb, which is the so-called hard part. It might seem hard but in fact, the ascent, the difficult, the challenge is the food of the human spirit. We are when we are challenged, tested, and tried. This is why true religion is inherently transcendental because it takes us out of ourselves. On the one hand, there is a fascination with spirituality, but this fascination ties in with the fear of making commitment. [4] This is a fear that we encounter today, even more so with young people—whose idea of freedom is basically “keeping my options” open. Religion on the other hand, is about re-aligning oneself to the will of God and that desire, intention or commitment itself is fraught with the possibility of suffering.

Therefore, take up your cross and follow me is naturally our motto. It cannot be otherwise. When Jesus speaks of his impending suffering, he is not glorifying suffering. Instead, He is telling us that suffering will come when we align ourselves with God; when we live God’s will or do God’s work. Like Jeremiah, we may never know what we are letting ourselves into and at times will like Jeremiah say to God, “You have seduced me and I am now a laughing stock”. But, St Paul calls the cross a “living sacrifice”. Not a once-in-a-life-time sacrifice but a living sacrifice which requires that daily, we surrender our love for security, for an easy life and for whatever that is good, beneficial or advantageous that the world can promise.

Our faith gives us strength but it does not protect us from the pains or hurts of life. But, like I said, the human spirit is made for the arduous ascent. It is at home when the going gets tough [5]. For us who are usually “kiasu” [afraid to be on the losing end], we might want to prepare or shield ourselves for the “tough” days. The point is the “tough” days will come. The only preparation we can make is not in the future but in the here and now through the daily sacrifices in life [6]. The martyrs did not purposely go out and say “Nah, nah, nah nah... make me a martyr”. They were probably afraid like we are. But it’s through the daily sacrifices in life that they are able to step up to it because grace will be given only when it is needed most.

When the big sacrifice comes, God’s grace will meet us there for in the cross, we are carried not by our own strength but by the one on whose shoulder sits the cross of the world.

FOOTNOTES:
[1] That’s the underlying assumption of the X-Files TV series.
[2] In a sense, being Catholic does not really confer “better” benefit. It is a great privilege and honour to be counted amongst the followers of Jesus Christ.
[3] Suffering comes not because we deserve it but because following Christ means that his cross will cast its shadow upon us.
[4] In fact, spirituality thrives in such a situation because it can take in experiences which are diverse, inclusive and less dogmatic. When something is less “dogmatic” it requires less “commitment”.
[5] The human spirit thrives not because we glorify suffering but because suffering accepted in Christ at once humanises and divinises us.
[6] Now you know one of the reasons why this church is not air-conditioned. Our discomfort is a reminder of the sacrifices we make in love of and for God.

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

The profession of faith—the Creed—when we celebrate Mass falls into the category of experience which we term “ritualistic”—meaning, it is something which we sometimes recite automatically so much so that we think nothing of it. But the reality is, we stand or fall on the profession of faith.

In the Gospel, in conducting an opinion poll, Jesus seemed to be unsure of himself. The fact was that Jesus’ question was a challenge to faith as it prompted the 12, led by Peter into a profession of faith. In asking about himself, Jesus is asking us about ourselves. In a sense, the question “Who do you say I am?” is at once a question about who Jesus is and who we are—a question which brings us directly into the heart of the Church.

The definition of Church is thus bound inextricably or inseparably to the question that Jesus asked of the 12 and the answer given by them. In this way, one can say that the Church exists in order to answer the question of Jesus: Who do you say I am? And the only answer that the Church can give is simply, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God”. Anything less is not the Church.

Only then, does it make sense that Jesus promises to Peter: You are Peter and upon you, I will build my Church and no power of hell can prevail over you. This is an assurance which is accepted by faith but is now challenged. What challenges our faith is the “Church”. If you like, let’s call the challenge or properly the “obstacle” to our faith, the “Institutional Church”.

This obstacle to faith which we term as the institutional Church may be derived from our experiences of powerlessness. How so? A good example is our country. The growing phenomenon of “gated communities” is testimony to the powerlessness of the police force to provide ample security for the citizen. [1] When an institution is empowered to carry out a duty and is powerless to do so, people begin to lose confidence. When people are powerless, they look for alternative sources of security. It is not just a crisis of authority but also a crisis of confidence in authority.

This lack of confidence in authority is in a way transposed to the Church. And it happens on many levels. For example, in the experience of poverty, a form of powerlessness, the Church is seen to be favouring the rich and has no compassion for the poor. It may not be our experience but it seems to be the experience in some Latin American countries. But, what is more damaging to confidence comes from the witness of people in authority—people in power who have betrayed our trust. Was that not one of the reasons for the loss of the 2/3 majority in Parliament by the ruling coalition? Ask yourself what the perception is of the “integrity” of the government? The point is that it does not take much to cross from the integrity of the government to that of the Church. Catholics witnessed the failure of those tasked to take care of the Lord’s vineyard in the horrors of the sex scandals that erupted across some parts of the Church. And we are still paying for that.

When human credibility fails, it does not take much to lose confidence in the institution, more so in an institution like the Church. In our case, this damaging loss of confidence is translated into a lack of confidence in the teaching of the Church; a lack of trust in the governance of the Church; and finally a lack of faith of the Sacraments of the Church—a loss of confidence in the creed, code and the cult. So much so that we now hear people say: I believe in Jesus, but I don’t believe in the Church—spirituality is in but religion or organised religion is out.

However, the Gospel shows that this position is inconceivable with the intention of Christ because there is a necessary connexion between Christology and Ecclesiology. Christology is the understanding of who Jesus Christ is and Ecclesiology is the understanding of what the Church is. We cannot have Christ without the Church. Christ set up the Church so that in and through the Church, he continues to shepherd, teach and sanctify. For Christ to be present, the Church must exist. [2]

What I have said may or may not make sense to you. But, it does to me because a crisis of confidence in the Church is ultimately a crisis not of the Church but about the promise of Christ. Since there is this link between Christ and the Church, the question is, can Christ be present in a structure so peopled by sin? Looking at the “apostolic succession”, looking at the bishop surrounded by his priests, do you believe in the promise of Christ to be with us?

I am standing here on the promise of Christ himself. Christ is with us not because of who we are or what we are capable of but because of who He is—God with us and God for us. In a sense this gospel is relevant to people who are disappointed or angry with the Church, people who believe that any church is the same or people who are on the fence. It is a challenge to faith in Christ. Despite the failure of witnessing in the Church—and you see weaknesses always in the Church—one soldiers on because of the promise of Christ—God with us. When we experience failure, we criticise. Check this out in your own experience. Your husband fails you and you criticise... your wife, your children etc. Criticism that is constructive is important but what is equally important is also to pray for those who fail, particularly those who fail in shouldering the responsibility of their office.

In conclusion, I love the Church because She is the Bride of Christ, the promise of Christ to be with us. Despite the imperfection of the members of Christ’s Body, the Church remains to be the womb and the freedom where I can live out Christ’s question to me: “Who do you say I am?” [3] This is important because in a world buffeted by the winds of relativism, “You are the Christ” is the Church’s resounding answer, the Church’s unequivocal identity. Anything less (than “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God, the Saviour of the World) is not the Church.

FOOTNOTES:
[1] In a sense, the acceptance of gated communities is capitulation to our powerlessness, a retreat from civil society and a return to the “wild, wild west”. The implication may not be fully realised as we celebrate the security of being in a “gated” community. Even in the most “civilised” societies, there is such a thing as gated community living. But that’s not a sign of failure or retreat from civil society but could be a testimony to “paranoia” or just the insecure need to be a class above others.
[2] Between the Son of God-made-flesh and his Church there is a profound, unbreakable and mysterious continuity by which Christ is present continuously in and to his people. He is always with us; always with the Church, built on the foundation of the Apostles and alive in the succession of the Apostles.
[3] Where Christ is the Church must also be. “Who am I?” is really a question about “Who we are”. The first words of the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Lumen gentium) give us a clue: “Christ is the light of all nations”. It means that the Church, the question who we are is answered by talking about Christ, not about ourselves, not about “who we are”.

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

As the world shrinks, we hear terms associated with this phenomenon like “Melting Pot”, “Global Village” or “Clash of Civilisations” bandied about as if these experiences were something new. The encounter of Jesus is proof that “cultural or religious” differences are not something new. Even then, they were already possible sources of conflict. In fact, quite soon after Pentecost, the Council of Jerusalem [the 1st Ecumenical Council] was called to resolve the question of admission of the Gentiles into the Christian community. In today’s Gospel, Jesus ventured into foreign territory and was confronted by the unfamiliar. This encounter has universal significance because it touches on the topic of inclusion—a topic which is not unfamiliar with our experience. Who is to be included and who is to be excluded. Is salvation restricted by blood-line? What qualifies for “inclusion” or salvation?

We know that Matthew’s Gospel was written for a Jewish audience. This meant that the interactions of Jesus with “outsiders” would be under closer scrutiny. Why? Because the Jews were somewhat jealous of their special status as a people of God and they viewed salvation in a more restricted way. But, through Jesus’ action, Matthew showed the Jews that the mission of Jesus to save was really a universal one. In this way, the encounter with the Canaanite woman was logical simply because before withdrawing to the region of Tyre and Sidon, Jesus had conflicted with the Pharisees on matters of dietary cleanliness. Dietary restrictions, something akin to the “halal or non-halal” labels, are a way of dividing people into “you are in and you are out”. The healing of the Canaanite woman’s daughter is one way of saying that even “dogs could eat off the crumbs of their master’s table”. In short, the action of Jesus tells us that no one is excluded from the kingdom of heaven. In this encounter with Jesus, the Canaanite woman effectively shifted the goal post of salvation (or inclusion) from being a Jew to anyone who has faith.

Anyone who has faith can eat at the table. Faith and not blood-line, not skin colour, not special “race” status, is the divide which places a person here and not there.

Thus, the faith of the Canaanite woman may have a thing or two to instruct us. Our experience of faith is somehow restricted to asking, demanding and expecting God to bend to our will. But, the Canaanite woman showed us that faith was perseverance; faith was persistence. She was rebuffed by Jesus not once but thrice. First, she came to beg from him but he replied her not. Then again, she begged and he answered, “I was sent to the lost of the House of Israel". Undeterred, she begged the third time but Jesus replied: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house-dogs”.

At this point, one should have been totally turned off but she interpreted the rejection as a test from Jesus and proceeded to answer with calculated calmness that she should be allowed to enjoy the scraps from the table. In a sense, she showed that faith was hard work.

Today, the working of our mind is logical and it follows a rather simple linear trajectory. This simplicity is a by-product of a scientific technological rationality. You heat water at sea-level, it will boil at 100ºC and be converted into steam. In that way, we bring that mentality into our prayers and our expectations of God. Is it any wonder if our relationship with God is often construed along the line of a slot machine? I pray so you give just like I slot a coin into the vending machine and logically out comes a can of Coke.

This could explain why we give up on God especially on a silent God. We interpret a silent God as one who is uncaring, uninvolved and distant. As a result, we turn to Bomohs [Shamans or Witch-doctors]. We turn to some “charismatic” leaders who seem to be able to break through the wall of God’s silence. If not, we resent God and “punish” God by giving in to “destructive” addictions like gambling, excessive drinking or pornography etc.

The Canaanite woman’s perseverance teaches us that a silent God is perhaps one whose silence is an invitation to ask again. A silent God purifies our faith. A silent God strengthens our faith. A silent God may even make our faith heroic. Whenever prayers are not answered, I am reminded of this scratching on the wall in a concentration camp: 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.

Some of us may be like the Canaanite woman. We have loved ones who are sick. Or even we ourselves may be ill with a life-threatening sickness. No one here can say that they have never known anyone who had died of cancer. Especially in cancers, we pray and God doesn’t seem to answer. I have come to believe that sometimes God does not answer our prayers not because our faith is weak or we haven’t done enough. On the contrary, God’s silence may be because He knows that our faith is strong, that He gives us what He knows we can carry.

You may ask how I have come to the conclusion that when God does not answer, it is not because our faith is weak or we haven’t done enough. First, I am 47 and I have a mother who’s been sick since I was 7. After praying for so long and hoping that as she ages, she would get better, au contraire, she has become worse. I can say, “OK, never mind. Life sucks and you can’t win all the time”. But, my elder brother has a daughter born with a congenital problem. She underwent an operation at 11 to repair her 2-chambered heart and ended up brain-damaged. “How much more wrong can things get”? Finally, my younger brother is a practising Catholic and a good man but his 2nd child is “slow”. He and his wife are struggling to come to terms with the reality.

One of my brothers asked this question once: Has our family been cursed by God? I thought long and hard and have come to the conclusion that our “misfortunes” have been God’s blessings for He has reckoned us strong enough to stand in the company of the Suffering Christ. I am not proud that I have come to this conclusion because it does mean that discipleship is so much harder, that I am resigned in a fatalistic way to suffering. And I do know of people who are suffering or in trouble. My attitude comes across as if I were uncaring.

Yet, sicknesses, misfortunes or setbacks are always invitations to deeper faith. In a sense, I am not happy but I am not unhappy about it. There’s a big difference between these two states that is liberating because it gives space for faith to grow and work—faith to accept that what cannot be put right, what is wrong, in this world will in Christ be made right in the life to come. The Canaanite woman challenges us who are privileged by baptism to deepen our faith in God beyond just asking, expecting and demanding. Faith means completely allowing God to take control of every aspect of our lives.

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary Year A

It’s a day of obligation and it’s also time to meet people who don’t regularly attend mass. Some Catholics have a narrow understanding of “days of obligation” not realising that every Sunday is also a day of obligation. And, it is often on these “off-Sunday” days of obligation that people come around—like Ascension, today Assumption, All Saints and Christmas. To some people, a larger than usual crowd on these days is a sad commentary of the practice of some Catholics who do not seem to realise the importance of Sunday Mass. But, you know, I think of this phenomenon of a larger crowd on such days of obligation as an expression of “Catholicity” at its best. Why? It is proof that Holy Mother Church is big enough to accommodate the differing degrees of affiliation people have with her. It is like, “Once a Catholic always a Catholic, even if one were a lapsed Catholic”. So in the context of a broader and wider sense of “Catholicity”, I will try to explain (1) why we celebrate the Assumption of Mary and (2) come to appreciate better the meaning of a day of obligation.

Firstly, the official teaching on Mary’s Assumption is very recent. It is as recent as 1950. The Pope declared infallibly that “when the course of her earthly life was finished Mary was taken up, body and soul, into the glory of heaven”. But, the commemoration of the Solemnity itself dates back to the 6th Century. In fact, the Orthodox Churches celebrate it as the Dormition—the Sleeping of Mary. Essentially, Mary, the “Theotokos”, the Bearer of Christ who was conceived without Original Sin would undergo a process of death which would be different from those who have been afflicted by Original Sin. Mary after her earthly life entered heaven without the “pains or struggles” associated with death.

Secondly, the term “body and soul” reminds us of Christ in the Eucharist. When we receive Holy Communion, we do not just receive a “piece of Christ” but the whole of Christ. Mary’s Assumption is therefore a reminder that we are not just some kind of entrapped spirits in bodies. Such a philosophy of “entrapped spirits in bodies” has far-reaching consequences. An example of this would be the disregard of the physical world. When we disregard the physical world, redemption or salvation would no longer be “of” the world [matter] but would rather be an “escape” from the world. Thus, Mary’s Assumption into heaven makes it clear to us that “creation” (meaning the world) is central to the idea of Christ’s redemption or salvation. In fact, St Paul in Romans 8:22, speaks of creation (or world) as groaning as it waits for salvation. It follows that if the world or matter is not something to be forsaken but because it has been “saved” or “redeemed” by Christ, it makes sense that the body is treated with great respect when someone has died. We do come across this fanciful idea that after cremation, the ashes can be scattered in the open. Behind this “scattering” hides this sense of “freedom” from the constraints of the world. Well, redemption does not begin when we leave the body, it begins with the body. In fact, an understanding of creation and redemption which is detached from the concern over the physical world has led to the environmental disasters that we are experiencing now.

Thirdly, teaching on Mary’s Assumption is described as infallible. We hear of “Papal Infallibility” but, how did the Pope arrive at this teaching? He actually contacted bishops throughout the world and also consulted theologians to ask if “the Assumption” was sort of believed in by the local Catholic communities. In short, he checked with the “sensus fidelium”—the sense of the faithful. Sensus fidelium is defined as the sensitivity and capacity of all the faithful to appreciate and discern the practical meaning that revelation and the Christian faith has in contemporary world. Sensus fidelium is possible because through baptism we share in the gifts and guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Fourthly, as you can see, the exercise of Papal Infallibility was not an exercise of arbitrariness. Instead, the Pope after consultation and with good purpose declared this about 5 years after the end of yet another great war. The 50 years preceding 1950 witnessed amongst other things, the genocide of the Armenians, the death of 6 million Jews at the hands of the Nazis and the start of what we know now as the Nuclear Age. In the midst of the desecration of human bodies, the Pope intended the celebration of the Assumption of Mary to make clear the sacredness and the high destiny of every single human person.

Fifthly, we can say that the Assumption is really an “Iconic” celebration because Mary can be called the “representative” of the Church—the icon of who we are. Listen to what the Preface of the Assumption says, “Today the Virgin Mother of God was taken up into heaven to be the beginning and the pattern of the Church in its perfection and a sign of hope and comfort for your people on their pilgrim way”. In fact, the Preface of the Ascension says: Christ, the mediator between God and man, judge of the world and Lord of all, has passed beyond our sight, not to abandon us but to be our hope. Christ is the beginning, the head of the Church; where he has gone, we hope to follow. So, where Christ is, there the Church will be; where Christ is, there Mary will be and where Christ is; there we will be if we follow him. Assumption is a reminder of our heavenly destiny.

In summary, Assumption may be a day of obligation but perhaps we may better understand that “obligation” is really a sad commentary of how poorly we have received and internalised the salvation that Christ won for us. Maybe, as we come to share Mary’s triumphant entry into the glory of Christ, we may begin to re-engage our faith in a way which sees us moving away from “have to” to “want to”, a conversion from obligation to love.