1st Sunday of Advent Year A

There is a financial crisis affecting some Eurozone countries. These economies are not willing to bite the bullet of trimming their budget, suffer the consequences of their past excesses so that they can arrive at a stable future. Instead, some have sought to bail their way out of their mess. In a certain way, these crises reveal an inability or unwillingness to live in the present; to bite the bullet.

Today the 2nd Reading speaks of the present. Much like the economic crisis, this present to which we are called to is not unrelated to the past and the future. The 1st Reading points toward that future where we will truly worship God our Lord and be guided by His ways; a future that will see us walking in the light of God. The Gospel recalls an ignorant past; a past tainted by the sin of unpreparedness.

Thus, the 1st Sunday of Advent sets the tone for the present. It invites us to wake from our hypnotic slumber. The word hypnos simply means "sleep" in Greek. But, in English, it has taken the sense of “induced trance”. To be hypnotised means to be under the spell of someone or something. In the 2nd Reading, St Paul, in his concern for the present, exhorts the community to awake from their “hypnosis”—their sleep. What was understood literally as sleep in St Paul may now be understood for us as hypnosis.

What do I mean by hypnosis? In the context of living in the present, both the past and future can have a hypnotic grip on us. Firstly, when we are hypnotised by the past, we are caught in it. For example, people who re-live their past hurts are often trapped in the past. How many times have you quarrelled with your spouse, your friend or your colleague and resort to bringing up the past? “You did this”. Whilst there is justification that for some whom the past continues to repeat itself, for example, a husband’s repeated infidelity, the fact remains that some of us are trapped by our past history of hurts and the inability to move beyond mistakes made.

Our focus is on the present. But what sort of present? Watch out also for the possibility of a hypnotic and enclosed present. This enclosed present which is not really “living” may be observed in a young child especially a boy playing his computer game. He is so engrossed that he often loses track of time, he forgets to eat and he does not have an inkling of what is taking place around him. Watch what happens at a wedding dinner where the adults interact and there are also children there. Instead of teaching the children to have a sense of what is around them, the child is encouraged to enter into this enclosed world of the Game-Boy, iPod, the iPhone and now the iPad. Usually the argument is that they are too young to understand and one day they will. And this leads me to the third hypnosis.

It concerns the future. In fact, some people live in the future or they simply fear the future. On the one hand, for those who live in the future, they are somewhat hypnotised by a “perfect” future to come. Do you know that 98% of the population in this country is waiting for the perfect moment to begin eating healthily? I like to eat unhealthy barbequed meat and usually the eating habit is like 'This will be my last piece’ and then when I have finished this last piece, I take another one and say, ‘this really will be the last’ until the whole 1kg is gone. For those who need to gain their optimal weight [I try not to say lose weight because we tend to look back for what we have lost], is not their usual excuse “Tomorrow I will start or stop”? "Tomorrow I will start to exercise". "Tomorrow I will stop smoking". Just like those children socialised into an enclosed present, that future often does not arrive. What about those who live in fear of the future? They are so crippled by the anxiety of an imperfect future that they unilaterally decide not to bring new life into such an uncertain future forgetting that Christ is and always the Saviour.

At Advent, we catch a glimpse of how the past, the present and the future all come together. The season of Advent is the liturgical expression of our understanding of eschatology—about the nature of the end time. How is the end time characterised? The end time is not a description of an end that is in the future. Instead, the end has already begun with the coming of Christ. There is a quote from the Letter to the Hebrews which reflects the coming together of time: “Iesus Christus heri et hodie ipse et in saecula”—Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever. Thus, when Christ our Lord is with us, the past, the present and the future flow into one, where the present is necessary and is the only place possible to straddle ours and God’s time. It is the only time we have to redeem our past and to prepare for the future envisaged by Isaiah in the 1st Reading. This means, the present, unlike Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of Now”, is never enclosed as if divorced from the past and distanced from the future. St Paul's exhortation to wake up challenges us to be open to the present; a present where we endure the painful purification of our past sins as well as prepare ourselves for the realisation of the future so beautifully described by Isaiah in the 1st Reading.

I received a cartoon e-mail which I cannot project onto the wall because it has a four-letter word. It showed two dinosaurs standing on a rock outcrop surrounded by water and pelted by rain and in the distance was Noah’s Ark sailing into the horizon. The dinosaur’s extinction was explained by a caption that they had missed the boat. They forgot it was today that the ark set sail!

Christ by coming 2000 years ago set in motion the beginning of the end time. Advent reminds us not to be trapped by a painful past, hypnotised by an enclosed present and fooled by an unrealised future as to miss the boat of Christ's salvation today. Today is the only day to board the Ark of Christ’s salvation, not yesterday and not tomorrow.

Solemnity of Christ the King Year C

This coming Tuesday we will commemorate Blessed Miguel Pro—a Jesuit priest—who lived at a time when the Mexican government was rabidly anti-Catholic and anti-clerical; an era considered by a writer to be “the fiercest persecution of religion anywhere since the reign of Elizabeth I of England”. He was executed publicly before a firing squad—a move by the government to shock the Catholics into submission but grossly miscalculated. At the time of his execution, with one hand clutching the rosary and another a crucifix,

he raised his arms in imitation of the Crucified Christ and as the shots rang out he shouted: “Viva Cristo Rey”. Long live Christ the King.

At the time of Fr Miguel’s death in 1927, the Solemnity of Christ the King had just been instituted two years before. But, the idea of proclaiming Christ as King was not new. For example, the Gospel today clearly referred to Him as the “King of the Jews” and the Second Reading spoke of His being the preeminent one. The novelty of the Solemnity lay in the fact that it was established as a response to the rising totalitarian tide of communism and fascism. Communism was entrenched in Russia and at about that time Benito Mussolini was emerging as a dictator in the Italian political scene. The encyclical Quas primas of Pius XI addressed the Kingship or the “kingliness” of Christ and its relevance for the individual Christian. Communism and fascism were premised on the principle that the government’s ideology was the sole reference for people’s lives. Thus, against the absolutist claims of totalitarian regimes, the encyclical reminded Christians that their ultimate allegiance was to God. [1]

We have been celebrating this Solemnity for 85 years and we speak of Christ as King almost without second thoughts. But, how do we conceive of Him as King? Today I would like to dwell on how our imaging of Christ as King has the power to inspire or not.

Last count, there were about 200 countries in the world with just a handful of them monarchies. Some of these monarchies are on the path to irrelevance. In the context of democratic equality, children cannot connect with the image of Christ the King. Let me give an example. This was a painting started by Hubert Van Eyck who died and so was completed by his brother, Jan.
Look at the painting and you would agree that it confirms the accepted convention that the image of Christ as King may not be that relevant.

In fact, if you take a closer look, He looks stern, remote and inaccessible.

He is like the “cannot-touch type” of royalty we read of today. We are familiar with this type of royalty, the type that yearns for our adulation but live in fear of our obsessive stalking. The idea of a remote or formal king does not resonate with us. What we want is one whom we can identify with, one who is like us; an approachable, compassionate and gentle king.

It is a very appealing image of a Laughing Christ.

The question is: Do we want an accessible king, someone who is approachable OR is our desire for a compassionate and gentle king a revelation to the world that gentle compassion is short in supply? The projection of an ideal we desire may just be a confirmation that the ideal is wanting. We, in yearning for a laughing Christ, reveal a world that is sad. This hunger for a loving king who is understanding and who reaches out to us reveals our feeling unwanted and unloved. Humanity is not at peace with itself and perhaps it explains why we find a stern image of Christ as King disturbing—convicting us even. At a time when we feel insecure with ourselves, the best image for our king is one who is non-threatening and non-intrusive.

After Vatican II, we removed all the communion railings, the tabernacle in some Churches was moved to the side, all in the name of making God more accessible or approachable forgetting that distance [inaccessibility, or remoteness] creates space for us to appreciate a reference point. Why do you think the institution of the royalty and celebrities attract us? We may think that the doing away with the institution of the royalty is a triumph of democracy but actually, the demise of the royalty corresponds to the rise of the cult of celebrity. [2] Their captivating spell lies in their inaccessibility—their remoteness. But, when they get too close, they lose the allure. [3] When they become common, they lose the power to inspire—for good or for bad. [4]

How many of you pray when you need God? You should not put your hands up for you might just embarrass yourself. The point is, when we do that—pray only when we need God—we prove the point I have been labouring on. When God is reduced to the familiar, when we demystify Him, He becomes forgettable; like the pair of pliers or the spanner we have in the tool-box. We do not care about them until we need them.

The image of a Laughing Christ is not bad in itself. It might even inspire. But, in the imaging of Christ, the distance is a reminder that He is the reference point and not we. A good way to understand the necessity of distance or remoteness is through the formula of the Council of Chalcedon: He is like us in all things but sin. When we forget the “but sin” part of the formulation, then we will become the reference point and not Him—we begin to fashion Him into our image and likeness. In short, when we want Christ to look gentle, soft and warm, then He will no longer be a challenge. When we are comfortable in our mediocrity—sin of any kind—then we will not relish any challenge. What then?

Various choirs for today’s Solemnity sang “Majesty” followed by “Hail Redeemer King Divine” for the entrance hymns. The wording and phrasing do not really mean much because by and large, our imaging has neutered and emasculated our King. He is one of us. Full stop. Period. Never mind that He is forever the sinless one.

A principle of iconography might help us understand how we depict Him does not have to fulfil our criteria of a nice, warm and “emo” King. Look at this icon.

The truth is I have deliberately chosen a “softer” and less stern-looking icon of Christ.

However, the compassion, the so-called gentle, nice and warm feeling you want to remind you that Christ is near—so much one like us—and not far is to be found in His eyes.

This next icon shows a remoteness in His face that is mitigated by the nearness of His compassionate eyes. The eyes are in fact riveting because they are windows into His world.

In conclusion, if we erase the distance, wipe away the blood and hide the painful suffering of the crucifixion and demythologise the divinity of Christ, we sanitise the image of our King to the point of an empty symbol. He serves a purpose to make us feel good in our otherwise miserable existence. But, Christ the King came down to be with us to inspire us to follow Him to heaven. He can only do that if in our imaging, we do not turn Him into nothing but an image of ourselves. Otherwise, Blessed Miguel Pro and the countless martyrs in our 2000-year history had died in vain. Only a Christ who is both near and mysterious has the power to inspire. Viva Cristo Rey!

FOOTNOTES:
[1] St Thomas More showed good example when he said, “I die the King’s good servant but God’s first”. He was faithful to his king to the best of his availability but when the King’s purpose went against God’s law, he chose God and paid the price of his conscience.
[2] If we think the monarchical system were slavery then we have exchanged one form of slavery for another. It explains why we are enamoured with the sordid details of socialites and celebrities’ lives
[3] Sometimes it is good that priests should not be too “human". Why? The reason is if they let slip a wrong word, especially a wrong word, the person hearing it will say, “If a priest can speak in such a manner so can I”.
[4] Closer at home, think of priestly or religious vocations. In times past, priests and religious were set apart. They were set apart not because they were holier or better but because they had been called by God to mirror as best as they could, a life that was to come. The reference point was God’s calling. We are set apart because of God’s call and not because of what we can achieve. Instead, a period has passed whereby priests and religious felt that the call was best expressed by becoming just like anyone with the end result: “Why do I want to embrace your life when you are trying so hard to live my life”. And we keep wondering why there are no vocations. Many of our Sisters congregations are dying because sisters try to look like lay people. The Brothers congregations suffer from an image problem—being neither here nor there. The worst part is their being measured in terms of "not a priest". But, priests are not really in a better position because they are pathetically “saved” by their function. Without their sacramental functions, they are as irrelevant as religious brothers and sisters are. Perhaps we are challenged in this age of "utility" where a person's worth is measured by how useful he is. In this age, especially religious priests, brothers and sisters need to rethink that their first calling might be to "who" they are in themselves--not so much to what they can do.

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Funerals are amongst the hatch, match and dispatch functions of a priest. Some funerals are routine—ripe old age, expected time-to-go deaths. Some are difficult—tragic and unexpected death. A funeral not easy to conduct is when a child predeceases his or her parents. Even if a parent were already 85 years old, still the 65-year-old offspring would be the “son” or the “daughter”. No parent ever wants to live longer than his or her children. They say that time heals all pains but for a parent who has lost a child, the pain is particularly piercing.

I started this homily by describing an experience which may help us empathise with Habakkuk, the prophet of the first reading who felt deserted by God. Many who have had to experience unexpected and tragic deaths, felt forsaken by God. They are often muted by God’s silence and their faith is badly shaken.

In the light of God’s promise to fulfil Habakkuk’s trust in Him, perhaps we can speak more about the faith God is also inviting us to. Firstly, we already know more or less the content of our faith because St Paul, in the second reading, encourages Timothy to be faithful to his ministry and to witnessing to Christ. Secondly, we know that the result can only be astounding as the Gospel reminds us that great wonders can be achieved with just a little faith.

But, for many of us, when we speak of faith, we buy into a myth that we may not even be aware of. Let me clarify, by myth, I am not referring to the content of our faith. It means what St Paul affirmed in the second reading about Jesus Christ, the Son of God, as Saviour of the world is not a myth. By myth, I mean rather our approach to the content of our faith. For many faith is believing the believable. This is a reasonable statement in the sense that we believe in what can be believed. "Seeing is believing" is a form of believing in what can be believed.

But, faith is not just content, that is, what to believe in. It is also whom we believe in and how we believe. Our approach to faith, what we understand by having faith, actually describes our relationship with God. In fact, having faith is a description of the quality of that relationship, which is the “how” of faith. Often, with God, we delineate the “how” of faith as we define the parameters and set the rules for engagement. In short, we want to control the environment. What is a controlled environment if not a laboratory? In a controlled environment, something is believable only if it can be tested empirically. However, as long as we move within a controlled environment, what is faith but proofs—proofs that God has answered our prayers. The “how” of our relationship reduces God to one who exists only to grant our desires. In that case, faith still falls within the realm of science and our need for control.

Let me share with you on what struck me most in our recent experience. When we embark on a pilgrimage, we pretty much enter an environment beyond our control. The fact was, we did arrive safely at our destination and we did thank God that He had answered our prayers etc.

But, what about not arriving at our destination safely? If the weather or natural calamities had delayed our journey in such a way that we were stranded in transit or along the way, the coach met with an accident and some of us were injured and some even died?

Like Habakkuk, the first question would be, “Where were you God”? and second, “We set out on this pilgrimage of trust, and yet you have abandoned us”? As long as the result does not fall within our controlled expectations, then the usual interpretation is that God has abandoned us.

GK Chesterton mentioned something about faith and in a piece he wrote on the difference between Christianity and paganism and it makes sense in the context of the Gospel. He says, “Charity means pardoning what is unpardonable, or it is no virtue at all. Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all. And faith means believing the incredible, or it is no virtue at all”.

The quality of our relationship with God must accord with what the Gospel says at the end: “We are merely servants”. It means that in our relationship with God, we must restore God’s sovereign freedom to its rightful place. Faith as believing the incredible is believing in God even when He seems to be silent.

We have established that faith has a content—"what to believe", and a subject—"whom to believe in", God. Our struggle or challenge often is how to believe against all evidence that He is not present.

At Altöting, the Chapel dedicated to Our Lady, we found many votives. A votive could be anything—candles, stitches, paintings, photos, poem and amongst them was one which may help us understand how faith should be lived. Someone wrote to Our Lady: Thank you for not answering my prayers for 18 years. The person must have placed much faith in Our Lady to act according to her desires but only to encounter the sovereignty of Our Lady’s intercession. In the 19th year, her prayers must have been answered in a way more suitable for her than if, through the intercession of Our Lady, the Lord had granted it the minute it was made. Sometimes our request cannot be answered for reasons only known to God.

Today’s Gospel is an invitation to many of us who have found life to be unbearable because God seemed to have abandoned us or God seemed to be silent. Faith is trust, not certainty. Our restoration of God’s sovereign freedom to Him will enable Him to forge for us a solution beyond our expectation.

In conclusion, sometimes people say that, in response to the tragedy they have encountered, they have lost faith, as if they have lost their house keys or their wallets. The truth is, we can never lose our faith, we may be struggling to allow faith to shape our lives according to God’s sovereign desire. In the light of the apostles asking the Lord to increase their faith, we ask that He will grant us the grace on how to allow our lives to be more and more shaped by our trust in Him.

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Have you heard this alternative story about four people who went to see the Wizard of Oz to ask for gifts and these four were not Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tinman and Lion. One asked for valour, the second for courage, the third for patience and finally the last for humility. Guess who went away looking like the Ugly Duckling?

It is a joke but never mind if you did not get it because it was just an illustration of the theme of this Sunday’s readings. In general, they point in the direction of humility. The first reading praises the person who is humble, a person who is conscious of who he really is. This person will find favour with God. It ties in with the Gospel where the key phrase is “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the man who humbles himself will be exalted”.

However, in a world where cosmetics is champion, humility is certainly a virtue that is best forgotten or ignored like the Ugly Duckling. And yet, it was humility that saved the world. Christ humbled Himself, becoming obedient unto death, even death on the Cross. The second reading does not exactly put it in that way but it certainly gives the impression that the gathering of the New Jerusalem is around the Mediator of the New Covenant. Who is He but the one who is humble, whom God has exalted and given a name which is above every name and at whose name, all creation must bend.

If humility saves the world and yet we are caught in a world which views humility as the Ugly Duckling, how can we better appreciate the humility necessary for the salvation of our souls?

St Ignatius speaks of humility as three modes of being. The first mode of humility is characterised by lowering myself in as much as I can, so that I will be obedient to God’s law. In this mode of humility, I will not commit mortal sin. This basically characterises many of us. We try to live decent lives and not commit mortal sins. The second mode of humility is better than the first as it consists of a “detached” disposition. In as much as God can be glorified and my salvation can be assured, I choose neither poverty nor riches, neither honour nor dishonour, neither long life nor short life. The analogy here is the equilibrium of a see-saw. And here, I would not commit a venial sin. It is the nature of holiness that when we embark upon the path of holiness, not only do we try to refrain from mortal sins, we also try to conquer venial sins It is an ascetical ascent as we dispose ourselves to God’s grace. But, for many of us, the difficulty might be in the commission of venial sins. We are too attached to them to let go. For example, gossip is a sin too delicious to let go of. Finally, the third mode of humility consists of this: All things being equal, for the greater glory of God and for the salvation of my soul, I desire and choose to be with Christ poor rather than wealth, contempt with Christ laden with it rather than honours. Even further, I desire to be regarded as a useless tool for Christ, who before me was regarded as such, rather than a wise and prudent person in this world. This is close identification as I choose to follow Christ on the royal road to Calvary.

Now, not only do we live in a world where cosmetics is champion, we also live in a world where competition is champion. For example, those of us who give the “middle finger” at a car that cuts into our lane, we may view it as a venial sin which we no longer think twice of committing. But, a closer inspection will reveal that it is not so much a venial sin as it represents an insatiable need to win. Tell me you have never purposely inched your way closer to the car in front of you so that the car in the emergency lane cannot cut into yours? Of course, you reason that the manners of Malaysian drivers leave much to be desired and that is why you will not allow the person in but still, the real rationale is because we do not want to be a loser—the one who has no guts to challenge the other driver. Humility = weakness.

The truth is, it is not a mark of humility to let the other person through. It is not a mark of humility that sends the message out: step all over me. What is humility is perhaps the curbing of our desire to win all the time. And it cuts across every facet of our lives and not just our driving etiquette. In arguments, I do not need to have the last word. Let me give an example. By telling you this story, I think I am going to “sin”. At our recent pilgrimage in Lourdes, I had a fall in the toilet. According to an email sent to me, I fell because I was pissed drunk. I attempted to reply to the email but it back-fired. Finally, I just left it at that. Why? I did not have to justify myself and more importantly, there was no need to win the argument. Now why have I “sinned”? I am well aware that even by this little revelation I have “attempted to justify myself”. I seemed to have the last word! The point is, between friends, siblings and spouses—this is often the scenario—the need to justify or have the last word.

This is where we need to differentiate between “neurosis” and “kenosis”. Humility is self-emptying—kenosis—like Christ who emptied Himself of His divinity. But, some of us may mistake “neurosis” to be “kenosis”. What is neurosis? Let me give a working definition. Let us say we have a student who is a masochist and a teacher who is a sadist. At the end of the year, the teacher decides not to set an exam. Everyone cheers except this one student, the masochist. Humility and suffering are companions and the point is that not all suffering endured is humility. It could just be a neurosis; much like the masochistic student who loved to be "punished" with exams.

A holy priest in Manila used to remark that those who seek humility may be sinful. His explanation was that in order for us to feel humble, somebody has to sin. There is truth in what he said. Neurosis is a false sense of humility and there is a thin line between neurosis and kenosis. Here, the Ignatian principle might help. “All things being equal” meaning that if it does not involve sin, then we choose to stand with Christ humiliated. This is where true kenosis is. A suitable interpretation to explain this is when a situation is really beyond our control, it is when we begin to exercise humility. Humiliation is not something we actively search for but whenever we choose to follow Christ, be assured that there will be humiliation.

Finally, humility as a virtue needs to be supported by the Resurrection. Perhaps, humility’s struggle to be accepted as a viable virtue is but a reflexion of our struggle in believing the Resurrection. In a world where competition has gone wrong, humility is crowded out because we believe that the last and final word must be uttered in this world. But we are assured by the Gospel. “When you have a party, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; that they cannot pay you back means that you are fortunate, because repayment will be made to you when the virtuous rise again. The final word does not need be uttered in this world because the Resurrection gives us the assurance that our faith will be vindicated. Thus, to be truly humble, you need to hold to the truth of the Resurrection.

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

Salvation is a touchy issue for some of us. In this country, it is called a “sensitive” issue. But, seriously, how can we conceive of salvation but more importantly, whom is it intended for? In the Gospel, someone asked Christ pointedly: “Sir, will there be only a few saved”? The question was a number game and the person who asked probably had in his mind that salvation was restricted to the Jews. He was not wrong because the Jews thought themselves to be God’s chosen people. They still do. But, note that even as early as the time of the first reading, the question in the Gospel was already rendered academic or moot because the concept of salvation there was unmistakeably universal. God willed the salvation of all mankind. There was no restriction as to how many and whom was to be saved because God’s blessing on Israel was always meant to be shared amongst the nations of the world. “I am coming to gather the nations of every language”.

If God wills the universal salvation of mankind, then the relevant question is how is this universality to be achieved? This is where it becomes touchy or sensitive. Let me give an example.

Once I had to celebrate a Mass for a particular place. There was a purpose for the Mass: to pray that the students will pass their exams. I had been told that a large section of the congregation would be made up of non-Catholics and the suggestion was to tone down the “catholic” feel to it. No need to be so “catholic” about Jesus as the Saviour of the world.

I actually said to organiser, “Personally, I don’t really care what you want to do but what you are requesting begs this question: ‘Why do it when you need to apologise for being Catholic?’”

The Church believes that Christ is the Saviour of all mankind. He did not come to save Christians only. He came to save everyone. The theory that Christ’s salvation is intended for everyone is known as apokatastasis or apocatastasis. At the end of time, everything will be restored in Christ. Gaudium et spes, the Pastoral Constitution of Vatican II, described the Church in relation to this work of restoration that Christ is doing. In respect of Christ restoring all creation, the Church is the ‘universal sacrament of salvation’.(GS45).

We now wade into deeper waters. Some Catholics already have difficulty accepting that Christ is the Universal Saviour of the world—a claim which sounds arrogant. [1] And now, the Church is brought into the picture—to be the “universal sacrament of salvation”. According to the controversial document Dominus Iesus, what we say of Christ can be said of the Church as well. Christ has a significance and a value for mankind and its history and so does the Church for He did not merely constitute a community of disciples but He constituted the Church to be His instrument of salvation. As such, He and the Church forms the “whole Christ”. Thus as there can be no salvation apart from Christ, there can also be no salvation apart from the Church that is one with Him.

This is intolerable language in this age of “inclusivism”. How dare we?

The point is, when I go to a mosque or a temple, I do not expect a Muslim to pray quietly or a Buddhist monk or Hindu priest to chant softer because I am there. When the Buddhist speaks of Karma, he means that everyone and not just Buddhists are subjected to the judgement of karma. In other words, religion, if it were to be true to its character, must necessarily make ultimate truth claims. And even if it sounds alien, that is what it does and it should never apologise for its claims. For us, the name Jesus means “God who saves” and would it not be a contradiction that God can only save “Jews” or “Christians”? If God can only save this or that group of people, then He is no better than a magician for God is Saviour only in so much as He saves creation in its entirety and creation includes the whole of mankind.

Thus, from the universal claim of salvation, we come to what is personal to each of us. The universality of Christ’s salvation is not a guarantee that we will be saved. The mere fact of being baptised does not equate to “salvation”.

In conclusion, three questions can be posed from today’s readings. First, who is to be saved. Everyone is to be saved. That is the meaning of the universality of salvation. Second, how are we saved? The unequivocal answer is that salvation comes from Christ through His Church. This explains the Catholic focus on the sacraments. She is the sacrament of Christ and so she makes available His life-giving sacraments to those of us who have been incorporated into His Body. The role of the Church is to make the means widely available. It explains why the Church is evangelical in her mission. In bringing Christ to the world she becomes a part of His apokatastasis. Third, the Gospel speaks of entering the narrow gate. The question now is “Are you saved?” The narrow gate indicates that salvation is not cheap. It is not expensive from the point of view that we have to “earn” our salvation. "Salvation is not cheap" means that we need to cooperate with the grace of God in order that we may avail ourselves of the salvation that He wants to give.

I often say this to underline how privileged we are and what a heavy burden it is to be a Catholic. I tell people that there are more popes in hell than there are bishops. There are more bishops in hell than there are priests. There are more priests in hell than there are laypeople. But, consider the proportion. There have only been 200+ popes and you will work out that there are actually more laypeople in hell than there are priests, bishops and popes. But that is playing the number game as in the Gospel. What is important is to note as Christ Himself pointed out in the example of the narrow gate. The more you are given, the more will be expected of you. This may sound like some kind of “work” or duty enjoined upon you, but, the truth is we have been immensely blessed to be called by Christ into His Church. Let us live that vocation to the fullest of our abilities. Let us exude the joy of our Christian calling so that the world will know that indeed Christ has come to gather all peoples unto Himself.

FOOTNOTE:
[1] Part of our problem is the result of mutually excluding “sensitivity” and “expressing the truth”. Some of us think that “expressing the truth” would make us “insensitive”. The philosophy of “inclusivism” seemed to have placed a premium on “sensitivity” to the detriment of truthfulness. Expressing the truth and being sensitive are not mutually exclusive. What we should strive is to be truthful without being strident or that we should sound “triumphalistic”. In a world characterised by competitive capitalism, the challenge is to “sell” the truth of a religion without the arrogance of aggression and superiority. In the marketplace of shifting opinion, the truth of a religion is to be found in the authenticity of one’s life.

The Assumption Year C

In glossy tourist brochures, Malaysia is pictured as a country that is representative of Asia. You may have come across the tagline and advertisement “Malaysia, truly Asia” emblazoned over double-decker buses in London, for example. One of the distinguishing features of our fabulously Asian country is the mix of peoples. However, I cringe each time we speak of Malaysia in terms of Malays, Chinese and Indians because it is a form of patronising arrogance that can only be explained as a blindness peculiar to Peninsular Malaysia. Malaysia is more than Malays, Chinese and Indians because she is also the true indigenous natives or the Orang Asal of the Peninsula, the Sabahans and the Sarawakians of Borneo Malaysia. In fact, the Sabahans and Sarawakians make the Church in Malaysia a Bumiputera Church simply because they make up the larger proportion of Catholics in Malaysia.

Anyway, it is precisely this narrow blindness that Malaysia is Malays, Chinese and Indians that the Solemnity of the Assumption has something to say to. Why? Despite the picture that is painted for all and sundry that everything is hunky-dory in this Asian melting pot of cultures and peoples, all we need is to scratch the surface and beneath the false façade of racial and religious harmony, we discover a debilitating despair and also a collective denial. There is a disquieting despair because the future for freedom and the health of the financial system (politics and economy) does not seem to inspire confidence. Otherwise how to explain the brain haemorrhage? I wrote this homily at 4:30 in the morning and I wanted to describe this cloud of gloom as a kind of malaise, when I realised that I could be opening myself to trouble because some people may jump to the conclusion that I have spoken badly of the Malays when in fact, the word malaise spelt as “malaise” merely described our depressing condition rather than defined a race. If everything were hunky-dory in what we claim to be a functioning democracy, why do we need draconian laws? [1] The point is, we all know that it does not take much to ignite a situation. In fact, it does not take much to lob a Molotov cocktail or an animal’s head into any religious place of worship. There seems to be no future for some people under the Malaysian sun. Here I want to be clear that I am not interested in making a critique of the political or economic system of the country but I am trying to verbalise the hopeless desperation that many of us feel quietly. Tell me that I am wrong but you know that I am not.

Thus, the temerity of the Catholic Church is relevant to our current despair. The point is how audacious we are to celebrate the Assumption on a Sunday, the dies Domini, the day of the Lord? Who is this Mary that even Christ the Lord makes way for her? Crucially, how can she be relevant to what we are feeling inside but dare not express openly?

Let me start by re-telling a nursery rhyme which many of you are familiar with. There are different ways of reciting this rhyme but here is how I would do it. It is called “For want of a nail” or “For lack of a nail”.

For want of a nail, a shoe was lost. For want of a shoe, a horse was lost. For want of a horse, a general was lost. For want of a general, a battle was lost. For want of a battle, a kingdom was lost. All for want of a tiny insignificant nail. All because a tiny nail went a-missing.

The rhyme illustrates for us that small things can have significant consequences. In the economy or the history of salvation, Mary is that tiny insignificant nail. But, here is the twist. She may be the insignificant nail but the story is not about the nail but rather about how God uses the nail to prevail against evil.

Look at the 1st Reading. On one level, it speaks of the past. It points to the rescue of Israel from the forces of the great Pharaoh and the mighty Egyptian army. The imagery is poignant because here you have the woman given a pair of wings, reminiscent of what God said, “I will give you eagle’s wing”. And where does she flee to? The desert. The desert brings the reader back to the past event of the Exodus. But, on another level, the reader is brought into the present Roman Empire which does not think twice when she snuffs out kingdoms along her conquering march. No one in the known world of the Evangelist could withstand the power of this Empire. The past and the present point to the future. For, history has proven that this tiny little ostracised Jewish sect was to be the downfall of the empire. Christianity was to conquer the Roman Empire—not by force but by conviction.

The Assumption is definitely a reminder that in the schema of God’s plan, there is a future. We call it the Resurrection. Death is not a sign of defeat but rather God, by the death of His Son, has prevailed over darkness. And it all started with a tiny and insignificant nail. The proof is found in the Gospel. There, you find a young woman, in danger of being stoned to death for adultery, audaciously singing the Magnificat extolling the great deeds of the God who saves. The Magnificat is both a promise of the future and a hope for the present. We can only arrive at the future when we live in the present. But, unfortunately, in the current climate of despair, we either fear the future or we live in the past. When we have no faith in the future, it is possible that we are struggling to believe the Resurrection. Many people question what could possibly come out of the present. And the usual response is either we cling to the nostalgic past [like the honk of the “roti- man" (bread-seller), according to a Deejay] or we languish in the pessimistic present.

According to the 2nd Reading, the Assumption points towards the future fulfilment of a pledge and yet it is grounded in the hopeful present that even though the evil and corruption that surround us may seem insurmountable, we are assured that Christ is even more powerful and He has prevailed. Therefore, the Assumption is not irrelevant. Instead it offers us consoling hope in our present pessimism. We may be small nails but Mary shows us that God can make something out of nothing. It just means that we must dare to sing the Magnificat for “He has shown the power of His arm. He has routed the proud of heart. He has pulled down princes from their thrones and exalted” the lowly insignificant nail.

Later, after the Profession of Faith, you will sing the offertory hymn. Listen to the words as they point us out as insignificant nails but really, the hymn is a faint echo of the Magnificat as it extols what God can do even if we are small and insignificant.

FOOTNOTE:
[1] Like a neighbouring country where people are “law-abiding”. The truth is that they are only law abiding in as much as there are fines for every minor infraction of the law. Plato gives a cynical explanation of why people are just, that is, why people keep the law. He says, “Justice is for those who have no courage to be unjust”.

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C

This evening we have the Rite of Acceptance. The readings are pertinent to what we do. The first reading describes a future unknown—the after-life—which we should not be afraid of. The second reading speaks of how we are to conceive of the after-life—in terms of faith and hope. We are to live in faith and hope as we long for the after-life. Turning to the Gospel, we find the same focus on the after-life but this time, with a twist. Instead of the servant springing into action, it would be the master who serves the servant.

How are the readings relevant to the Rite of Acceptance?

First, the spotlight shines clearly on a topic many of us are uncomfortable or unfamiliar with—the after-life. This after-life is a reality that catches many unawares. We never know how close we are to death and different people respond differently. In general, there is a universal fear of death. For some cultures, it is a taboo subject and so, the first reading addresses this fear on the basis of historical experience. “That night had been foretold to our ancestors, so that, once they saw what kind of oaths they had put their trust in, they would joyfully take courage”. Trust has a historical basis as we see God’s faithfulness to Israel during the Exodus. But, because we cannot fathom what the after-life holds, the second reading encourages faith and especially holds up to us, the figure of Abraham, our father in faith. He left the very place he had called home for an unknown land promised to him and his descendants. According to the author of the Hebrews: Faith is the assurance of things hope for, the conviction of things not seen. However, nowhere does trust and faith encourage complacency—the complacency we are warned against in the Gospel. Instead faith leads to vigilance and the Gospel ends positively by describing the vigilance of the servant who is rewarded with the unthinkable. It the end, it is the Lord who becomes the servant.

We have two possibilities before us. The first possibility belongs to our faculty of choosing. We can choose not to fear and put our trust in the God who never fails. Thus, be vigilant because the reward is beyond expectations. Or second, and this is not always a matter of choice. Many are most “stuck” because of the “unpredictability” of death. Death is almost like a veil of darkness beyond which we peer.

Our response to the unpredictability of life often takes us along the path of a planner. In order to navigate the unknown we plan for any eventualities. We would want to make sure that every variable is under our control. For example, we are encouraged to engage a financial planner as we plan our financial future.

But, our response should not be just the mode of a planner. We must keep before us that no matter how much we plan, life has a way of behaving independent of our planning. When things do not turn out the way we have mapped out, planners usually develop cynicism. Cynicism is often a response to repeated failed attempts at corralling or controlling life.

A pilgrim, on the other hand, is one who accepts life as it unfolds. When I was studying in Dublin, I remember my complaints were always met by my Jesuit brother who used to remind me that “it could be worse”. A planner like me got really annoyed with such a view of life that seemed rather fatalistic bordering on apathetic. But, as I struggled to shape my life according to my schemes and schedules, I began to realise that he had not been wrong. Neither had he been fatalistic. Instead, he had a better pulse of life. Life’s failures and disappointments were the final statements in life but they were real occasions for spiritual growth. A pilgrim dares to accept life as it unfolds because he knows that there is a planner who is larger than the life we know.

This Sunday, the pilgrim invites the planner into a life of faith. Like Abraham who uprooted himself for a new country to stay. The only compass a pilgrim has is his faith in God. However, faith is not foolhardiness in the sense that it is an “either or” option—that one is either a planner or a pilgrim. In fact, we are both. We plan, in as much as we are a logical and a rational people. Organising life is part of what makes us human. And yet, we must never forget that we are pilgrims—people on a journey—recognising that this is not our homeland forever.

The rite of acceptance we celebrate invites this group of people to embrace a life which makes them pilgrims on a journey towards life eternal. The only price the pilgrims pay is faith and vigilance to the Lord’s call. The fulfilment of God’s promise is always beyond our expectation. At the end of this pilgrimage, the vigilant will be rewarded by the Lord who will come to serve him Himself. That is a promise we can stand on.