The Crisis of Faith

Third Sunday of Easter - Year A

Crisis is not an attractive word. The word often suggests that we are facing a catastrophic disaster; if it didn’t feel this way, we wouldn’t call it a crisis. Imagine the feeling – it feels as if segments of the sky are falling on our heads, we have vivid visions of the earth rending asunder beneath our feet and tsunamis approaching just over the horizon. But yet again, a crisis is not quite a disaster, not yet. During lucid moments and on hindsight, we come to recognise that though there was a sliver of threat of an impending disaster, the crisis was more accurately a call by our whole psycho-somatic system for immediate and drastic action. In fact great good can come out of a critical situation if such action is taken; or if unaddressed, then it could turn out to be the disaster foretold.

A crisis of faith, like any other crises, follows the same pattern. A crisis of faith takes place when you reach a dead end, then realise you simply have no faith in your faith. Our inability to find a way out of our problems makes us feel abandoned and betrayed by the Lord. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus would have certainly experienced this. The shocking demise of their Master had left them questioning their faith; they have become uncertain about their prior convictions and beliefs, which had appeared so certain when the Lord was alive. And as a result of this crisis, this seeming catastrophe, they are now rendered emotionally insecure, bewildered and, wandering as sheep without a shepherd.

Wherein precisely lies the crisis in modern times? Of course, there are the age old catalysts– unanswered prayer, the darkness and silence of God in the midst of personal crisis, laxity in prayer life and the inability of immature faith to deal with hard questions of life. The surface causes for such a crisis are as varied as individual experience. But today, the causes and occasions for giving rise to faith crises have evolved and multiplied. In fact, as Pope Benedict XVI himself had observed and proposed in his Motu Poprio, Porta Fidei (PF), that there is a serious crisis of faith and this is the reason: faith is no longer a self-evident presupposition in life (PF 2) In other words, our society and culture have become unfamiliar with the vocabulary of faith. More often than not, we are beset by a variety of forces that are totally secular and even sometimes anti-religious and anti-God.

A faith crisis arises not because faith contradicts or excludes reason. On the contrary, it is the failure to exercise the full capacity of our reason in service of faith that occasions such a crisis. The age old adage attributed to St Anselm reminds us that “faith seeks understanding”; it does not, however, suspends or abdicates reason. Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, from the beginning of his pontificate, has called our attention to the problem of a self-imposed limit on the use of reason.  One result of this narrowing of reason is making religious and moral questions part of the subjective realm; in other words, a matter of personal preference. In this way, faith has become a matter of sentimentality. Faith no longer has anything to do with knowledge. In other words, I believe because I “feel” that it is true and not because it’s reasonable to do so based on objective knowledge. In a society that thrives off the ‘feel-good’ philosophy, the prevalence of faith crises is understandable especially when faith is associated with the absence of discomfort, pain, suffering, tragedy, or in short, the cross.

Thus, today we are witnessing a crisis that affects not just on a small isolated level of individuals grappling with issues of faith. We are witnessing as never before a crisis at a scale that affects thousands and millions within the Church itself. Some are in open rebellion against the faith of their fathers. Other people are not yet ready to discard the faith they may still cherish for purely sentimental or cultural reasons. But they have serious doubts about so much of Catholic teaching. Some articles of faith they are willing to admit, but others they have strong reservations about, e.g. contraceptives, abortion, gay marriages, or anything that does not square with their modern sensibilities. Some have their faith shaken by the scandalous behaviour of clerics in the Church; these former heroes and giants of faith now stand with their feet of clay exposed. Today, there is a whole new vocabulary of relevance, subjective meaning, and dissent that it is no wonder so many have serious doubts not only about this or that feature of Catholic life, but even about its value at all.

With the compartmentalisation of faith and its restriction to the private and subjective sphere, it becomes more and more difficult to hold a conversation or dialogue concerning ultimate questions.  Yet, this separation of faith and life does not correspond to our nature, it does not match the deep desires of our heart. Our desire is to find meaning in our life, to see the link between the fleeting moment of our circumstance and the big picture. Our desire is for truth, beauty and goodness, and we want this in an objectively real way and not merely for a subjective and sentimental cheap substitute. These aspirations of the heart are what make us human – in fact, our thirst for God is what characterises us as human.

It was this innate yearning and aspiration of the two grieving disciples that led them to open their hearts and door to the stranger on the road to Emmaus. This encounter helped them to discover the central point of the Christian message, a point which the separation of faith and life will constantly miss – faith is to be found not in the absence of pain and suffering but in the crucible of life’s troubles. Only by embracing the cross can our faith grow stronger. Yes, faith will survive, even in the midst of a worldwide crisis, but not without pain – the pain of the cross. Such as there can be no Easter without Good Friday, we as Christians cannot live the resurrected life of the redeemed unless we are prepared to embrace the cross. Because of this central fact, every crisis of faith need not end in the loss of it, but rather is a call “to rediscover the journey of faith so as to shed ever clearer light on the joy and renewed enthusiasm of the encounter with Christ.” (PF 2)

In a modern world with few moral champions, Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta stands as one of the most well regarded religious leader in recent history. Her work among the poorest of the poor is legendary and her faith, an inspiration to millions. Yet, as it turns out, the missionary who brought light to those in deepest darkness was herself in darkness. After her death, some personal letters were made public in a book. In one of her letters, she wrote an undated address to Jesus, "Where is my Faith - even deep down right in there is nothing, but emptiness & darkness - My God - how painful is this unknown pain - I have no Faith." This must have come as a shock to many, for example, one reporter mockingly quipped that she should be made the patron saint of doubters, but to those who have travelled the necessary road to Emmaus, the story of Mother Teresa is all too familiar.

How do we make sense of this? Pope Benedict’s Regina Caeli reflection on the Story of Emmaus provides the answer to this mystery: “This road to Emmaus on which we travel can become a way of purification and maturation of our believing in God.” In other words, a faith crisis is meant to help us grow in faith, not smother the smouldering ashes. It would seem that God’s greatest challenge is to teach us to trust Him, and the only way to trust Him, is to enrol us in the graduate school of hard knocks, wintery darkness, desert dryness, and walk us through the path that passes through Calvary before it reaches the Garden Tomb. It is possible to be not only sustained in this arduous journey but actually to grow into a much deeper and more authentic faith, when we constantly return to the twofold table, once made known the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and to us at every mass – we are nourished and refreshed as we feed on His Word and His real presence in the Eucharist. It is here that we will discover the object of our deepest longing, it is the Risen Lord, who died for us but has now vanquished our oldest foe, death itself. And it is in this two fold fount of grace, that we will discover that every faith crisis need not end in disaster but in new life!

Holiness never goes out of fashion

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

In the past, sin was regarded as something shameful and scandalous; today, holiness and piety are regarded as anomalies, the result of shame-driven neurosis that needs to be contained and cured.  We frequently hear the following caution from well-intentioned persons, “Don’t try to be too holy” as if the condition of being too holy could even lead to either permanent brain damage or our damnation.  Both in secular media as well as among liberal theological circles, we witness a tendency to vilify saints matched by the canonisation of villains. Thus, the emergence of a new genre of the ‘anti-hero,’ the flawed, post-villainous figure, lacking in any of the traditional heroic characteristics, but nevertheless the new idol for emulation.

Holiness as a life-goal is no longer fashionable in our society, and perhaps, even within the ranks of the Church, and there are understandable reasons for this. First, holiness has often been associated with an otherworldly mysticism that supposedly leads people away from the crying needs and concerns of daily life. The holy person then appears to be a dropout from society. Holiness has also been confused with neurotic perfectionism—the illusion that one’s best is never good enough, thus filling us with a perpetual gnawing feeling of inadequacy. Finally, holiness has been confounded with a legalistic mentality that insists on rigorous adherence to moral codes often stated in negations—no drinking, no smoking, no drugs, no dancing, no card-playing, etc. Thus the preferred domain of wet-blankets and party-poopers.

For a culture that has grown weary and even intolerant of holiness and perfection, Jesus’ words at the end of today’s gospel must be a cause of confusion: “You shall be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” For many of us, the commandment to be perfect triggers feelings of anxiety and discomfort.  We are painfully aware of our weaknesses and inadequacies, yet we continue to drive ourselves to reach impossible goals.  Then, when we fall short, we label ourselves as failures and often feel hopelessness and ashame. To compound matters, Jesus seems to be advocating a new kind of evangelical perfectionism. Perhaps, the real problem is that many confuse the commandment of Jesus to be perfect with the call to perfectionism. “Perfect," in this context, means "complete, finished, fully developed.” Who doesn’t wish this?  Notice that the term does not mean "flawless!"  

People who struggle with perfectionism often believe that they could be doing better – for them it is always a personal struggle to outdo themselves. They are much too hard on themselves, expecting perfection from themselves and becoming bitter and even hating themselves for coming up short. They fail to understand God’s grace and the nature of His unconditional love.  They forget that perfection belongs to God alone, but the story doesn’t end there.  God sent His Son Jesus Christ to die as a perfect sacrifice for sin.  This is the glorious message of hope and grace in the gospel.  Though we sin, though we are flawed, we can be forgiven, saved, sanctified, and perfected.  St Paul assures the Philippians in Chapter 1 verse 6, “For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.”  Christ completes us. Paul reminds us that perfection and the call to holiness isn’t a singular one-off event but a process of sanctification as we continue to learn to walk in the path of Christ.  Perfection is never possible by our own efforts, that’s the illusion posed by perfectionism. Perfectionism can indeed be an obstacle to perfection in holiness. This is because it prevents us from allowing God to perfect the good work he has begun in us. Thus, we should struggle against perfectionism, yes, but always be ready to embrace perfection, especially in the area of spiritual excellence.

For a Christian, the way to reach perfection is to strive for holiness. Perfection and Holiness are synonyms. What is true perfection? Christ's words are clear, sublime and disconcerting: "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." This passage plainly teaches that our attitudes toward other people must be the same as those of our Father in heaven. If not, we have no right to claim to be His children. It impresses upon us the necessity of conforming our lives to the qualities and standards of divinity. To have God as our model is a dizzying thought! Yet the Church reminds us that, all the faithful, whatever their condition or state in life, are called by the Lord to that perfect holiness. Holiness is always a call to every Christian of every age, a challenge for anyone who wants to follow in the footsteps of Christ. Mother Teresa of Calcutta wrote: "Holiness is not something for the extraordinary; it is not a luxury of the few. Holiness is the simple duty for each one of us."

Lastly, today’s gospel reminds us that holiness is never theoretical, it is always ethical. The ethic of holiness does not lie in the strict observance of some external code or set of rules. Holiness is something deeper than morality. Since, it implies closeness to the Living God, it does not conform to the conventional standards of reason and wisdom. The ethic of holiness lies in the transforming experience of the new birth of a Christian. It is an ethic that does not repay injury with injury. It is an ethic that challenges us not just to settle for the minimal but always aspire for loftier goals. And finally, it is an ethic that is not just based on retributive justice, on fear of divine punishment, but one which must always be rooted in love, unconditional love. We are driven to service of our neighbor through the paradoxical love of the cross, the love that is demanding, sacrificial, and also unconditional, going out to all people regardless of whether they are friend or foe. 

For a world that has grown accustomed to sin, holiness does often seem outdated...old-fashioned. But, as Pope Benedict XVI has taught: "Holiness never goes out of fashion; on the contrary, with the passage of time it shines out ever more brightly, expressing man's perennial effort to reach God."  Make no mistake, holiness will cost something. Those who aspire to make holiness their priority in life must count it no strange thing to be mocked, ridiculed, slandered, persecuted, and even hated. And in a world where faith and religion is held up to scorn, holiness has now become the new scandal! A Christian who faithfully lives up the high calling of perfection must submit to the fate of being called fool, idealist, and a fanatic; to have his words perverted and his actions misrepresented. But this is his edge – this is what makes the Christian salt of the earth and light of world. This is also what makes his life witness paradoxically attractive to every soul thirsting for greater spiritual depth in a world that can only offer shallow lies. In all this we remember the world does not set the standards for us. In matters of spirituality, mediocrity is never an option. Only the highest standards of excellence is demanded. We follow only one standard – “to be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” As for holiness, we can never have enough of it.

Realignment of Our Orientation

Solemnity of the Epiphany 

"Catholic mass is soooo boring! Why can't we include some rock music within the Liturgy?" I guess it has been a long time since someone walked up to me and said that the mass was lively. The reverse seems more plausible. “Aaaargh, mass was boring … as usual.” This is because the important criteria for the assessment of a ‘good’ and ‘lively’ mass is whether it was entertaining, creative, or exciting. In other words, the mass must meet my expectations in order to qualify for a passing mark. Ironically, many have forgotten the true story of Christmas. We have forgotten that the only criterion is the one displayed by the shepherds who made their way to the side of the crib, or the group of wise men who traversed distant lands braving all forms of difficult terrain and weather conditions in order that they may present their gifts before the child born in Bethlehem. That criterion is simply this: we are here to worship God.

Over a period of time I have overheard people discussing the setbacks of a Catholic mass and the futility of coming to Church. A teenager, talking to a group of her peers said that: “Mass is soooo boring. The music doesn’t rock at all! I don't know how a priest can say the same things every Sunday.” A man declared: “I am Catholic, but I don't see the need to go to church. After all, I know a lot of bad people who go to church and I know a lot of good people who don't go to church.” A lady stated that: “I'm a Catholic, but I don't go to church every Sunday. The homilies are so bad, I can't stand them. When I do go, I sometimes take a novel with me to read during the homily.”

Our initial reaction to any of these statements may often be to offer sympathy and our own agreement. Yes, mass is boring and seems even pointless when we don’t seem to get anything out of it. The argument might be raised that if people have fun, they will like going to Mass. If they don’t have fun, they won’t go. So we make a list of suggestions on how to remedy the situation – simply, make it lighter, shorter, less painful and uncomfortable, more fun, more exciting, more creative, and definitely more entertaining. We fail to recognise that these statements are actually quite revealing. They suggest that many people do not attend mass because they have come to worship God. In fact, many people attend mass because they are looking to be entertained.

Today’s Solemnity of the Epiphany offers us a realignment of our orientation. The magi, as did the shepherds on Christmas Day, offer us the supreme goal of our lives – it is to encounter Christ our Lord and offer him our worship and adoration. Unlike other astrologers who were busy studying constellations and stars that could guarantee good fortune and ward off bad luck, unlike King Herod who was so absorbed in his own self-importance, and unlike the Jewish priests and ruling elite who were concerned with self-preservation, the magi were able to transcend their own selfish goals and ambitions to discover their salvation in the Christ-child. In this sense, the Mass is a kind of epiphany, a manifestation of Christ in person, body and blood, soul and divinity, calling us to transcend our self-absorption. Epiphany is an invitation to restore the sense of the sacred, to return Christ to his rightful place as the real star of the celebration, and to give priority to worship in our encounter with Him.

Pope Emeritus Benedict once taught that “the liturgy is not a kind of ‘self-manifestation’ of a community,” in other words, it is not an Epiphany of man. Rather, it should always be an Epiphany of God – Christ who manifests himself not only as man but under the form of bread and wine. Pope Benedict noted that when priests or parishioners reflect on how to make the liturgy “attractive, interesting and beautiful,” they can “risk forgetting the essential: That is the liturgy is celebrated for God and not for ourselves.”

 If God is absent from our celebration, then we are lost – without a star, we become the stars. The Mass, therefore, is a bridge between heaven and earth, a serious business which can never be taken lightly. The Mass was never meant to be a form of entertainment, any more than the sacrifice on Calvary was meant to be. The whole point of Holy Mass is not to create a human experience, but rather to encounter mystery. Our experiences at Mass must be conditioned by and predicated on these goals: we are here to discover Christ and worship Him.  

Sometimes, the young are cited as the justification for introducing innovation and ‘fun’ into the liturgy, in the form of livelier music, relaxing the rubrics and rules regarding decorum and dressing, and turning the priest into an entertainer. This is the argument many self-described pastoral types make: and see how it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If, week after week, our young people are given the message that the Mass is supposed to be “fun”, entertaining, rocking, etc., then they will expect it always to be that way, and they will learn to judge it according to these malformed standards. Giving the kids a ‘good time’, is a tragic short-changing. The idea that a Mass must be entertaining and must hold the attention of children by means of gimmicks is a mistake. We will create a kind of spiritual blindness and deafness in the young. They will come to mistake their subjective experience for the voice of God. They will come to mass hoping to attend a ‘circus’ and certainly not dispose themselves to worship God.

In the three gifts offered by the wise men to Christ, we are invited to restore Christ’s rightful place in our liturgy.  The gift of gold symbolises our acknowledgment that he is king. The gold that you see on the altar is not a symbol of human opulence but the glory due to the King of Kings, worthy of our humble submission. The gift of frankincense symbolises our worship and adoration due to one who is not just a mega rock star or super-hero – he is God worthy of our praises. Finally, the gift of myrrh reminds us of the solemnity of our celebration which is a re-enactment of his sacrifice on the Cross. The cross is hardly entertaining because the cross demands that we deny ourselves of the need for amusement and stardom. Christ must suffer and die in order for the world to be saved. This is his destiny. We as his followers must also be prepared to follow his example and accept his fate. The way of the cross leads to heaven.

Today, as we pay homage to the King of Kings, the Lord our God, and the Saviour who died on the cross for us, let us never forget that he is always the Star and focus of our celebration. He may have to suffer this injustice whenever we can’t tell the difference between what we sing in a bar, in our bathrooms, or what we hear at a concert with what we do in mass. A renewed sense of the sacred in Church would allay such fears and provide a sensible distinction between what we are doing in the Church and what we are doing in the pub downstairs.

The Loftiest Title

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God

A week after Christmas, most shopping malls are already over the hype that led up to that celebration. But our own Christian celebration of Christmas, however, has not ended. Though, it is the shortest liturgical season in our Church’s calendar, the Church does not hesitate to pull out all the stops to surprise and entice us with a slew of celebrations. While the world celebrates the threshold of a new year, the Church invites us to pause to consider one of the major implications of Christmas and the Incarnation: the woman who gave birth to Emmanuel – God with us. The Mass of today salutes her who in her womb bore the King of heaven and earth, the Creator of the world, the Son of the Eternal Father, the Sun of Justice. By virtue of her relationship to Jesus Christ, the Church honours her with the loftiest title possible for any human person, “Mother of God.”

How can it be, that a human being, the Blessed Virgin Mary, becomes the Mother of God?  Why would the Church, or to be more precise, the Holy Spirit inspire both St Luke to record the event of the Visitation and St Elizabeth to utter these words, ‘Mother of my Lord’? The easy answer is: God willed it so, He willed to be born of a woman. But here comes the technical answer: We hail Mary with such a lofty title in virtue of her role in the plan of salvation which Saint Paul so beautifully summarised: “When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman… so that we might receive adoption as sons.” To acclaim Mary as the Mother of God is to acclaim Jesus Christ as the Son of God, God made man. The title of Mary is actually Christological. To deny one would be to deny the other.

Objection to this lofty title is not something new or which arose from the Protestant Reformation. In fact, objection to the title "Mother of God" arose as  early as the fifth century, due to confusion concerning the mystery of the Incarnation. Nestorius, the Bishop of Constantinople, was the major inciter of this controversy. He argued that Mary gave birth to Jesus Christ, a regular human person, period. To this human person was united the person of the Word of God (the divine Jesus). This union of two persons, the human Christ and the divine Word, was "sublime and unique" but merely accidental. The divine person dwelt in the human person "as in a temple;" a kind of divine ‘possession.’ Following his own reasoning, Nestorius asserted that the human Jesus died on the cross, not the divine Jesus. As such, Mary is not "Mother of God," but simply "Mother of Christ"--the human Jesus. Sound confusing? It is, but the result is the splitting of Christ into two persons and the denial of the Incarnation.

The matter was finally settled in the Council of Ephesus in the year 431. The Council condemned Nestorius and officially declared the faith of the Church as this: that Jesus is one person, with two natures--human and divine, united in a true union. He has a divine nature from all eternity and in time taking a human nature from Mary. Second, the Council affirmed that our Blessed Mother can rightfully be called the Mother of God. Mary is not Mother of God, the Father, or Mother of God, the Holy Spirit; rather, she is Mother of God, the Son, Jesus Christ. The Council therefore came to this conclusion by virtue of this simple syllogism:  Mary is the mother of Jesus. Jesus is God. Therefore, “Mary is the Mother of God.” Thus Mary was accorded this grand title not for reasons of sentiment or piety, but as a bulwark against heresy and a safeguard for the Truth of the Incarnation. Mary protects both the humanity and the divinity of Jesus. Today, when the divine motherhood of Mary is being challenged, we need to recognise that more than her dignity is at stake – it is our belief in the Incarnation and in the divinity of Christ that is potentially at risk.

The Church rejoices that the human role in the divine plan is pivotal. The Son of God comes to earth, appears in order to redeem the world, He becomes human to incorporate man into His divine vocation, but humanity takes part in this. If it is understood that Christ’s “co-nature” with us is as a human being and not some phantom or bodiless apparition, that He is one of us and forever united to us through His humanity, then devotion to Mary also becomes understandable, for she is the one who gave Him His human nature. She is the one through whom Christ can call Himself “The Son of Man” without ceasing to be the Son of God.

Having considered the theological controversy of this title, there is another subtler problem which the Church has to address in defending the titles of Mary. The Church, more than ever, has to justify the need for such honorifics and titles, in a culture that treats these things with suspicion and disdain as they are deemed offensive to both the virtue of humility and the egalitarian ideals of democracy. Our Archbishop Emeritus has often been the target of slanderous speculations that he covets titles of honour conferred by the government on public personages. Let’s set the record straight. The lofty title of Tan Sri, the highest honour to be accorded to a civilian citizen, is actually accorded to him in his capacity of being a visible face of the Catholic Church in Malaysia. In conferring such a title on the primate of the Church in Malaysia, it is actually the Church which is being recognised and honoured.

Those who generally criticise titles being conferred either on the living or the saints may really be labouring under a deeper hatred for authority. Wishing to rule themselves, to free themselves from the Sovereign authority of Christ even as some of them refuse to refer to Him as "Lord," they desire the extinction of all distinctions – between God and man, between the hierarchical church and the lay faithful. To accomplish this, at least in the "theological" sphere, it was necessary to create a "flat" deity, a one-dimensional "god" to whom all creation was little more than a huge, bland "soup" - a mixture of beings with no strata, no hierarchy, no authority, no royalty and, ultimately, no virtue. With no superiors, no Saints and no degree of spiritual excellence, with the disappearance of distinction and hierarchy, we finally also witness the vanishing of humility and obedience. In an accurate and filial understanding of Christianity, the proper veneration of the Blessed Virgin by way of the reverence shown to her glorious titles, is one of the most elegant examples of acknowledging the order superimposed by God on His Creation. The recognition of these titles places us in a balanced, proper relationship with the Sacred, by allowing us to exercise humility while still being able to enjoy our dignity as the Adopted Sons and Daughters of God.

Finally, whenever we offer fitting praise to Mary through Her glorious titles, we imitate the Blessed Trinity in a very concrete way. According to the gospels, each Divine Person of the Trinity has bestowed a particular title of honour on the Blessed Virgin. God the Father, through His messenger Gabriel, gives her the title "Full of Grace." God the Son, addressing the Beloved Disciple from the Cross, publicly recognises her title of "Mother", "Behold your mother". And, again, God the Holy Spirit, through her cousin Elizabeth, enshrines forever her title of "Theotokos", Mother of God. If such is the honour paid directly to our Blessed Mother by God, how can we even dare to suggest that our own poor human praises can ever be either sufficient or over-abundant? And so at the beginning of a New Year, we join our voices to Christians of every age as we lovingly invoke her titles and seek her intercession, “Pray for us O Holy Mother of God … that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ”

The Genealogy of Jesus

Christmas Vigil 2016

Of all the ways to start a best seller, this isn’t one of them. “A genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham…” followed by a long list of names, most of them unpronounceable… Yawn. It’s likely many would have doze off before reaching the end. It’s no wonder that this passage is one we tend to overlook. Many, including priests who have the benefit of choosing the shorter version, would be inclined to skip verses 1 to 17 and go right to verses 18, which says, “This is how Jesus Christ came to be born.” We just don’t know what to do with it. So why does Matthew begin the Christmas story with a genealogy?

Genealogies were significant ventures in the past because they were ways people stayed connected. In most eras of human history and in different parts of the world, family names and family histories were integral, living factors in people’s lives. In scripture, the genealogies were not only devices which sought to compress centuries of human history into a single paragraph but more importantly served to demonstrate God’s faithfulness to his people in every generation, a faithfulness that remain intact in spite of humanity’s sinfulness.

Genealogies meant a great deal to the Jewish people too. Knowing your genealogy was important to a people who cared about maintaining their identity. Genealogies were important to show that they were part of the Chosen race; it was a prerequisite qualification for temple priesthood; and finally, it served to support the cause of royal claimants to the throne of the ancient monarchy of Israel. That’s exactly why the genealogy of Jesus is so important: it proves that he is descended from the unbroken line of Abraham and the David. The genealogy of Jesus serves as a kind of provenance, a certificate of origin. But in the usual ironical twist of the ordinary, we encounter a surprise ending: after detailing this whole illustrious line of ancestors (with a few questionable characters thrown in for good measure), it became clear that the line is broken at the very end. Joseph is indeed a direct descendant of David and Abraham, but Jesus is not of his issue!

The beginning of the Christmas story in Matthew has several important lessons for our generation too.

First, the genealogy, by connecting the birth of Jesus to human history, seeks to present this event as a new beginning for creation. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that the word ‘genealogy’ and ‘genesis’ have a common root, which means beginning. Here St Matthew deliberately wants us to begin reading his book with a sense of recalling the past. He wants to take us all the way back to the beginning and see his book, beginning with the birth of Jesus Christ, as a fresh start and a new beginning. Matthew is saying in the first line of his gospel that this world has two beginnings. The first one took place a long time ago in Chapter 1 of Genesis when God created the heavens and the earth, and everything was good. But we know how that story ended. Man has yearned ever since to correct the fatal mistake of his forefathers and undo all the damage that sin has brought to the world. The good news which St Matthew announces on this night is that the birth of Jesus does exactly this. Christ is the new beginning.

The original creation, which is damaged, flawed, and broken, is now being restored and transformed in the person of Jesus Christ. And so for all of us who are longing for a fresh start, and who are longing for everything in this world to be put right, the birth of Jesus is what makes this possible. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). The birth of Jesus is a new beginning for all of us, and for the whole world.

Second, the birth of Jesus also proved that God fulfills his promises; in particular, He will go to ridiculous lengths to keep his promise to save us. From the moment of man’s fall, when Adam and Eve sinned by disobeying God, God has set into motion this great plan to bring about humanity’s redemption and salvation. We hear this promise reverberating through the centuries as humanity and Israel plodded along. The only one way to redeem man was to provide a substitute, not just any sacrificial animal, but a perfect man, a perfect sacrifice that would take the place of sinful man. And, through Jesus, God gave the whole world a substitute. That’s why Matthew makes it clear by giving us this genealogy that Jesus is the Son of Abraham, the promised sacrifice. But God has also promised his people with a king. Jesus is that king because this messed up world of ours is in need of a ruler who will undertake this cosmic clean up and reclaim the universe for God’s glory. In, Jesus we see the fulfillment of the promise made to David that his descendant will reign forever.

The fact that God keeps his promises is great news because it means that God will work through ridiculous circumstances to save his people. He will spare no effort to save us, because God always keeps His promises. There comes a point when we are tempted to cut our losses and call it quits. But not God. No matter how unfaithful the Israelites were, no matter how hopeless things seemed, no matter how impossible it was to keep going, God never abandoned them, God kept going. The genealogy becomes an account of God’s sublime faithfulness. Through wars, famines, betrayals, slavery, exile, and turmoil, God is going to make sure that Jesus comes.

And that brings me to my final point. When you examine some of the names listed in this genealogy, you would certainly come to the conclusion that God will work through ridiculous people to accomplish his will. Thus the genealogy highlights that the birth of Jesus includes us all. Most of us are embarrassed of and do all within our power to sugar-coat the narrative, conceal the skeletons in our closet, the black sheep of the family, the shady characters that sully the pristine purity of our family tree. But here in this genealogy, St Matthew lays it bare and sets out a family line that hides nothing and reveals everything. Listed among the list are illustrious patriarchs that figure prominently in the Old Testament, kings, and persons of power and position. But the list is not re-edited to weed out the questionable characters.

Included in the list are four women. What is significant here was who these four women were? Why are they mentioned and not others? We have Tamar, the prostitute who tricked her father-in-law into incestuous union to ensure that she could continue the line of her husband; Rahab, another prostitute who was the ‘Matahari’ of her days, betrayed her own people and sheltered the enemy spies; Ruth, the grandmother of David, who was a foreigner, a Moabite, who seduced her employer and married him; and then we have Uriah’s wife, the woman involved in David’s scandalous adulterous affair and cover up and the mother of Solomon. So in this list you have great people, but you also have people with a past. The genealogy leaves a paper trail of men, women, adulterers, prostitutes, heroes, and Gentiles open for public scrutiny. Right from the start, Matthew is telling us that Jesus is immersed in the gritty and seamy side of fallen humanity. No matter who you are, people like you are already part of Jesus’ story. Right from the start, God chooses the most sinful, broken, and unlikely people to be his players and actors in His divine drama of salvation. Man’s wilfulness, sinfulness and brokenness cannot hinder the purposes of God. That’s great news.

So enduring a torturously long reading of the genealogy wasn’t simply a waste of time. This is no boring prelude to the exciting stuff that’s going to come later. In fact, this is story-telling at its best. Right from the beginning, St Matthew wants us to understand that the birth of Jesus marks a new beginning, it demonstrates the fulfilment of all of God’s promises, and finally announces the good news that Christ’s coming is for all kinds of people, saints and sinners alike. As we continue to keep vigil and await the moment when we remember the birth of that wonderful baby in Bethlehem, let us take in this amazing picture of God’s plan of salvation, a plan that he seeks to fulfil against the odds, a plan that refuses to be waylaid by human failing and weakness. Let us on this night, join this wonderful story. It’s a time for a fresh start; it’s time to start believing that God has not abandoned you because he always keep his promise; and finally it’s time to realise that this story includes you, no matter how unlikely a person you may be.

Nomen est omen

Fourth Sunday of Advent - Year A

In many cultures, choosing a name for a child is of paramount importance. Hopefully a meaningful name is chosen that the child can live with for the rest of their lives. Choose a wrong name, and your children may end up hating you for the rest of their lives. Often parents consider many things when choosing a name for their child. The choice may be to honour a family member or a close friend, or in admiration for a famous person. The Church’s tradition of naming a child after a saint has often guided our choice, but today, many young parents are often misguided by resorting to the names of celebrities, the new saints of our modern secular pantheon. The naming of a child is beautifully ritualised in the introductory dialogue for the reception of a child during the first part of the Rite of Baptism, where the priest always begin by asking the parents, “What name have you given your child?” Of course, this beautiful rite is purely ceremonial as the name of the child is often printed and stuck to the child’s clothes.

There is a Latin maxim that explains the significance of naming: Nomen est omen; The Name is a Sign. Therefore, a name is more than just a simple accolade or moniker intended for identification, a kind of serial number. A person’s name sometimes, mysteriously, is a sign or omen of what is to come for that person. To name a child is a great privilege and the name carries the hope and promise for what the child will bring to the world. In the culture of the ancient Middle East, a person’s name was essential to personhood. Names are more descriptive in the Hebrew and Greek then they are in English. They often refer to the character, purpose, etc., of the one being named. Your name identified you as an individual, a member of a family or a tribe, a freeman or a slave. Names were often given as representations of the hopes and dreams of the parents or even of recognition of divine assistance. Children were given names by their parents, which were significant to the circumstances of their birth or the destiny of the child.

Today, the Christmas Child whom we are expecting receives a name. The name given to Jesus was not chosen by Mary and Joseph. Although it would usually be right for a father to choose the name of son, as in the case of John the Baptist, this was not to be so in Jesus’ case because as the text indicates, Joseph is not the biological father of the child. Jesus receives his name from On High. His name was chosen by God, His true Father and told to his earthly mother and foster father before the child was born. In fact, long before the child was born in the cave of Bethlehem, God, His true Father, had already named him for us through his angels and prophets. In the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, we read, “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isa 9:6)

But perhaps, the most beautiful name is the first name by which he is known – “Jesus”, our English rendering of the Greek, which is in itself the translation of the Hebrew ‘Yeshua’ or ‘Joshua.’ The significance of God’s choice is evident in the name. The Hebrew name of Jesus means ‘The Lord saves’ (CCC 430 – ‘God saves’) or simply ‘Saviour’. Similarly, the word, ‘Christ’, is a Greek translation of the Hebrew word, ‘mashiach’, which means ‘Anointed One’ or ‘Messiah’. In either language, his full name, ‘Jesus Christ’ means ‘Saviour, the Anointed One.’

The significance of his name was understood by his early disciples and followers. His name meant that he was anointed by God to bring salvation to the Hebrew people. His name, Joshua, was more than a reference to the ancient hero and judge, Joshua, who led the Hebrew people into the Promised Land. But Jesus here is far greater than Joshua of old. His name meant that he would save the people again, but not with military power. This Joshua would save the people by restoring them to the covenant between God and God’s people, the covenant made with Abraham by God. Jesus Christ was the anointed one sent by God to lead the people into a new salvation. This Messiah would lead the people into a renewed spiritual relationship with God free from oppressive power of sin. When God’s angels told Mary and Joseph to name the child Joshua, God had a special plan for this infant. That plan would be revealed gradually over many years.

Jesus did live up to his name. The little baby grew up to be the Saviour of the world. He saved us from our sins by taking them on himself, carrying them to the cross, and dying for those sins. The one who was “conceived by the Holy Spirit” and “born of the virgin Mary” went on also to suffer under Pontius Pilate and be crucified, die, and be buried. That saving death was shown to be saving when this same Jesus rose from the dead, thus showing that his death was sufficient to pay for all sins and thereby remove the sting of death. Forgiveness and life come with the death of Jesus, now risen and victorious over death, and that equals eternal salvation for you and me and all who trust in his saving name. He is Jesus—the Lord who saves.

What’s in this name of ‘Jesus’? Everything. To the believer, it is the most beautiful Name in the world because He has saved us from their sins. To the sinner, lost in sin and darkness, this Name pierces that darkness and sin with a message of hope and salvation. He shall save His people from their sins. And that is why the Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us that “the name of Jesus is at the heart of Christian prayer. All liturgical prayers conclude with the words "through our Lord Jesus Christ". The Hail Mary reaches its high point in the words "blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." The Eastern prayer of the heart, the Jesus Prayer, says: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Many Christians, such as St. Joan of Arc, have died with the one word "Jesus" on their lips.” (CCC 435)

The name chosen by God for this infant born in Bethlehem is a message of hope for God’s people. God has not abandoned humanity. Despite the hardship and sorrow of earthly life, God’s saving grace is always at hand to provide hope, courage and strength for the present and for the future. Yes, friends, this Jesus is your Saviour. His name gives it away. His name, Jesus, gives away all the gifts he has to give you: Salvation. Rescue from sin, death, and the devil. And a safe haven forever in God’s kingdom. In his name, all prayers are made and answered.

Nomen est omen. The name is a sign. The name is Jesus, a sign that this child would be your Saviour. It is with such confidence that St Peter can confidently exclaim that “there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved”(Acts 4:11) and St Paul declare, that “God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Phil 2:9-11)   What a name! What a name, indeed!

We are called to bear witness of God's love

Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe 

I guess a sense of unworthiness is probably something most of us experience at some time or another. We may feel unworthy for a particular task, unworthy of another's trust, unworthy of another's love. And that's not surprising. We know our failings and our weaknesses better than anyone. I guess this sense of unworthiness is most apparent in the area of our relationship with God. There is awkwardness when confronted with God’s invitation. Why would God choose me? Why me? I don’t think I have it in me to respond to his call, accept his invitation and be a witness to his immense love.  But this hesitation to heed the call of discipleship may have less to do with genuine humility than it has to do with a rather selfish, narcissistic and self-serving cultural influence. We can all recognise the self-centredness of our contemporary culture, a culture that constantly believes that we are self-sufficient and that it all begins and ends with “me”. It’s a culture that makes us believe that you can’t achieve or get anything unless you work for it, or unless you deserve it, or unless you’re born with it. It’s a culture where personal merit counts for everything.

Here is the good news. And trust me, it is good news: God’s love and choice is not about personal merit. It's not all about you. You are loved and chosen in spite of the fact that you don’t deserve it. We are all that lost sheep that the shepherd goes in search of. Now... could that take the pressure off a little? Yes, it can when we come to recognise that the call of discipleship, the call to witness to the love of God is often too heavy for any man or woman. That is why it is sheer humility that recognises that we can accomplish nothing without Divine Assistance, without being propped and held up by grace itself. It is a recognition of the truth, albeit a painful one, that Christ actually doesn’t need us. It may not sound like it, but that's Good News. Why? Because none of us are capable, on our own, of fulfilling the good works that God has called us to. We can't make it on our own, and if everything relied upon else, it'd be a disaster. Instead, we need Him. We - priests and laity alike - need to turn over everything to Him, holding nothing back, and entrusting all to the Holy Spirit.

If our perpetual sense of unworthiness makes us question God’s choice, how much more could we question the choice of Juan Diego, the seer of Guadalupe, whose feast we celebrated two days ago. Why would God grant this singular privilege of witnessing the Marian apparition to this simple Aztec peasant, a new convert to Catholicism, whose simple faith was nourished by the most basic of catechesis? In fact, Juan Diego himself was keenly aware of his unworthiness when entrusted with the mission of delivering Our Lady’s message to the bishop, “I am a nobody, I am a small rope, a tiny ladder, the tail end, a leaf.” “I beg you to entrust your message to someone more known and respected so that he will believe it. I am only a simple Indian whom you have sent as a messenger to an important person.”

Without refuting this, but recognising his humility, it was Mary who addressed him lovingly as “Juanito, Juan Dieguito”, "the most humble of my sons", "my son the least", "my little dear". “My dearest son, you must understand that there are many more noble men to whom I could have entrusted my message and yet, it is because of you that my plan will succeed.” Yes, there were certainly many other more credible, more qualified candidates to witness to our Lady’s favour. And yet it was to this “little one” that found favour in Mary’s eye.

In Juan Diego, we indeed see the example of one who has been called and chosen to bear witness to God’s love. Such love is truly gratuitous, it is unconditional and unmerited. The lesson provided in the choice of this simple witness is that a true gift or giving is not to be based on receiver’s merit or else it is a reward: It should not be based on the condition of recipient’s worthiness but of the willingness and generosity of the giver. In fact God, through our Blessed Mother, chose to grant this favour to Juan Diego, though he was unworthy of it. That in itself is testimony of the depth of God’s love.

But if the choice had nothing to do with Juan Diego, what part did he play? What part can we play in this whole divine saga of God choosing us to be his witnesses. Here is the truth, a truth that has been spelt out throughout the pages of Sacred Scripture and across the Christian centuries in the life testimonies of saints, confessors and martyrs: The act of giving always create choices or conditions: the acceptance or rejection. Receiving requires unconditional acceptance; you can have it if you will accept it. You can’t have it if you reject it. And so we have the prophets, the apostles, the saints and martyrs – they were presented with the choice of either accepting or rejecting God’s choice of them. And they chose it, as did Juan Diego.

Often, it's when we are at our lowest, when we have failed, when we are most acutely aware of our weakness, that the Lord comes to us and works his wonders. It is to the lost sheep that the Shepherd comes in search of. And it's then we have to trust in him, to launch out into deep water, knowing that it's not our strength or our talents that matter, but his. St John Chrysostom reminds us that as long as we are sheep, we overcome and, though surrounded by countless wolves, we emerge victorious; but if we turn into wolves, we are overcome, for we lose the shepherd’s help.” At every mass, we utter the act of humility when the Body of Christ is lifted up, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed.” And at every mass, we witness the great miracle of his love – the Eucharist!

St Paul was undoubtedly speaking of the likes of Juan Diego, when he wrote,  “God chose what is low and despised in the world ... so that no human being might boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor 1:28,29). It takes a long time for most of us to realise our true stature before the Lord. And that is why, from time to time, God lifts up a saintly person, one like Juan Diego and invites us to hear Him say with Jesus, the Son of Mary, "I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to the childlike." Mt 11:25

I’m sure that many of you are aware that St John Paul II named Our Lady of Guadalupe, or Our Lady of the Tepeyac Hill as the ‘Star of Evangelisation.’ And the main thing for that title is because of what happened afterwards; so many conversions took place. Till that time, Christianity was seen as a foreign religion and tool at the hand of the invading colonialists. But after the apparitions to St Juan Diego, thousands of Indians began flocking everyday to the missionary centres seeking baptism. According to records, some priests had to baptise as many as six thousand people a day. This evinces that conversion is always the work of God, not that of men. We are merely poor instruments who bear witness to his Love.

Today, we continue to invoke the prayers of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Star of Evangelisation, we pray for the grace and the courage to bear witness to God’s immense love. And if there is still anyone out there who feels intimidated, who still feels fettered and weighed down by a sense of unworthiness, that we are not good enough or could never measure up to God’s demands, well let’s remember St Juan Diego – a living proof that you need not be someone important, eloquent, well-educated, talented or good at public speaking to be a witness of God’s love. The fact that you are not all these things and yet God has chosen you is proof enough of the message you’ve been commissioned to proclaim.

The God of Hope

Third Sunday of Advent - Year A

So often we have expectations of what life is supposed to be or what this life is supposed to provide to us but we are disappointed.  What are we to do? The most common answer would be to go in search for another solution.

The Bible is full of stories of persons who struggle with unmet expectations. Take for an example St John the Baptist whom we hear about in today’s gospel. Due to his courageous denunciation of Herod’s adulterous liaison with Herodias, John the Baptist was thrown in prison. In that lonely confinement, John heard of the “works of Christ.” He sent a message to Jesus, asking: “Are you the one who is to come, or have we got to wait for someone else?” John was at a crossroad: should he settle with Jesus, the less than promising Messiah, or should he start looking all over again? Had Jesus not fulfilled the expectations John entertained? Had the Baptist hoped that Jesus would be a different kind of ruler, and perhaps usher in a political regime?  Or was John the Baptist struggling to back up what he had said about Jesus? All these could be real possibilities.

John had preached about the Messiah's kingdom coming with power and justice and baptising with fire and the Holy Spirit. In fact, the Baptist kept harping that a greater One is coming; a stronger One, One whose sandal he was not worthy to untie. John the Baptist created very high expectations in the people.  But instead of an explosive charismatic fire-brand sort of a figure, Jesus came across as a fizzled-out firecracker. We are presented with an image of a pacifist rather than a rebel leader, preaching a message of meekness, powerlessness, vulnerability and forgiveness. This was not going to go down well with the constituents who had grown impatient with the yoke of Roman imperialism. Unable to reconcile the contradictions and imprisoned in his thoughts, John may have doubted his own preaching. Perhaps, as he now sits in prison, John himself may have begun to doubt whether he had backed the wrong man and had wasted his entire life for a foolish cause. And so he sends a delegation to either confirm or dispel his suspicions.

Jesus then gives this reply which makes allusions to the signs of the Messianic age as prophesied by Isaiah: “Go back and tell John what you hear and see; the blind see again, and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised to life and the Good News is proclaimed to the poor; and happy is the man who does not lose faith in me.” These are words of assurance, not only for the Baptist as he prepares to meet death at the hands of Herod, but also for all generations. Even though the way of discipleship will be exceedingly difficult and sometimes we are tempted to give up when our personal strength gives out, we will be sustained by the words of Jesus – “the blind see again, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and deaf hear.” No matter how bad things may seem, no matter how reality falls short of our expectations, no matter how dark the situation may appear, we are confident of the victory won by Jesus Christ.

The miracles cited by Jesus can be read on multiple levels. The prophecies in the Old Testament are not just simplistic predictions of an age filled with miraculous magic shows, but rather they are part of a wider drama in God’s plan of salvation.  As the drama reaches its climax, evil is finally defeated and the Messianic Age, or the Kingdom of God is established for ever.  Jewish expectations generally thought in terms of a Wrathful God raining down fire on Israel's political enemies, namely Rome in the first century, thus leading to their defeat. It would be clear from the content of Jesus’ preaching that this wasn’t part of his master-plan. Jesus pointed out the other half of the equation.  The battle was on a vaster scale – a cosmic conflict between the Kingdom of God and the forces of evil. Thus, the miracles served to demonstrate this. In themselves, they were the first glimmers of that kingdom, the defeat of suffering and pain. 

As history would demonstrate, the defeat of Rome proved not to be a military defeat, but a spiritual defeat.  Christians did not rise up in armed rebellion to overthrow the Roman Empire; they proved victorious, however, by converting the hearts of their enemies and persecutors. The Kingdom of God, therefore, is not a political entity, nor is it some future post-apocalyptic kingdom, but the rule of Jesus in the hearts of Christians.  It is the Church Invisible. Jesus was a Messiah who would show his people how to obtain spiritual freedom – a freedom ever more important than political freedom. And he would do so gently and firmly, with the spirit of Love. He came to show the Jews that God is a God of mercy, not of anger or destruction. He came to bring salvation, not political emancipation.

The temptation still lingers among the faithful as to whether God will answer their prayers and choose to intervene; and if He seems to delay, or not meet up to our expectations, will we then lose hope in him in our waiting. But this season of Advent reminds us that our fundamental duty as Christians is to ‘wait’ for the Lord. The word used for “wait” suggests earnestness that God can and will do something with this situation and that we are looking forward to what lays ahead. The Prophet Isaiah reminds us that “…those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.” (Is. 40:31). When dissonance happens between what we want and what God seems to be give us, what should I do about it?  Should I tell God, “Adjust to my expectations”? Should I look for another Saviour? Of course not! We need to align ourselves to God’s will, not Him to ours. 

In waiting for the Lord, let us never lose heart but hold on to the promise of Christ – “Happy is the man who does not lose faith in me.” We need to allow Jesus to walk out of the shadows of our expectations. Confronted with so many who have become indifferent to religion and faith, it is futile and fruitless to add our complaints to the voices of discontent, disappointment and frustration. God’s master plan for the salvation of the world will always be bigger than our tiny little agendas. Advent reminds us that we must constantly open ourselves to the broader vision of faith and hope that allows us to take in a glimpse of that plan; this will be our true source of joy – knowing that God’s thoughts will always be above ours and His ways will always be far better than any effort we can muster. It is a joy that can only come in trusting in a God that will always exceed our expectations!

Waiting Vigilantly

First Sunday of Advent - Year A

Today, being the First Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday in our Liturgical Calendar, the Church once again proves to be paradoxical and counter-cultural. We speak of the end right at the very beginning, a clear reminder that what sometimes may appear to be the end, such as death, may actually be the beginning. This also helps us to keep in mind that all things come to an end and that our lives are rushing to this climatic moment in the history of salvation. The gospel stresses the suddenness and unexpectedness of this moment. The fundamental message here is the need to be ready at all times. It is futile for Christians to waste time calculating when the Day will arrive. Therefore, you also must always be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. We should always be living with this keen awareness that the End may just be a breath or a heartbeat away.

Since, Christ’s coming and the End is sudden and unexpected, how would I ever be sure that I’ll be properly dressed for the occasion? The truth is that I can never be certain. This is when the second reading, St Paul’s letter to the Romans, throws necessary light on my predicament. One of the crucial features of Paul’s strategies in all of his exhortations was to generate very strong and potent imageries in the minds of his hearers and readers. Here in this passage, St Paul uses the image of clothing, dressing and nakedness to stress the fundamental duty of every Christian, who is called to live in accordance with their dignity as children of God. My preoccupation with being ‘dressed up’ at the moment of my demise is actually misconceived and a distraction from a graver matter – being ‘dressed’ in Christ – or ‘putting on the armour of Christ’ or being ‘clothed in Christ.’

The clothing metaphor symbolises the identity and character of its wearer and it is hence universally understood that believers are being exhorted to adorn themselves with this identity in the world in which they lived. To put on the Lord Jesus Christ means that the Christian is to be cloaked, clothed, garmented with the character, the disposition, the attitude, the habits and the virtues of Jesus Christ. That is why we are called ‘Christians’ – a Christian is a ‘little Christ’ or ‘Christ-like.’  A Christian is revealed and distinguished by the nature of the “clothing” of honourable and righteous behaviour, which is the “armour of light”, that is, the Lord Jesus Christ. To put on Christ means throwing off the putrid and tattered garments of sin and darkness, in order that one may adorn oneself with the sturdy armour of light. It’s putting to the death the old self and putting on the new man that is continually being renewed in knowledge. Therefore, the most important duty as the Day of the Lord draws near is to live as children of the light, beautifully adorned in the robes of Christ, who dispels the darkness of sin and death.

Advent is a time of waiting. But how are we to wait? It is important to note that this kind of waiting is not waiting passively. On the contrary, waiting for God is an active waiting. It requires not that we do nothing, but that we do only what we can do. Waiting actively means not trying to do God’s work for Him. For those who faithfully waited for God’s defining intervention in liberating Israel from its woes, God broke into the world in a new and unexpected way. The Word became flesh - that was never expected to be part of the deal. Active waiting requires profound humility – we must know our limits. We cannot set the timetable, we cannot determine the action plan, we cannot dictate the solution. Which, in turn, requires slowing down, listening and making ourselves vulnerable to God’s will and plans. Therefore, waiting makes us keep in step with God’s timing, to prepare us for what He wants to give us in life, and to sift our motives.

Active waiting requires us to do exactly what Jesus tells his disciples today, “Be on your guard, stay awake, because you never know when the time will come.” Our Church year begins with this Gospel that makes a call for vigilant waiting, since the time of the Lord’s coming is uncertain. Notice here that Christmas has a firm date, but the Lord’s coming into our life and death, into the life and consummation of the Church does not. It is as if, the Church, through the liturgical year, provides us with this constant caution and exhortation, that Advent could be at any time, at any place, and on any occasion. And so we must always be on our guard, we must always be awake, because we will never be able to predict when the Lord will come and where we must give an account of the time and opportunities that have been entrusted to us.

We are in the time between Jesus’ first and second comings and Jesus has told us to watch and wait, doing the jobs he has given us to do. As we do unto others as he did unto us; when we give food to the hungry and drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, give clothes to the poor and visit those who are sick or in jail; as we make disciples of all nations, we are working and waiting for Christ’s return. We may not know the date, time or circumstances of his return. But one thing that we can know from the scriptures -  Jesus will return, and like the servant in the parable, his absence must not lull us into forgetting about the master and what he wants us to do, but to actively wait and be prepared for whenever that moment of his arrival might be.

So, let us wait with great expectancy and hope. The work of the kingdom of God, the work of the Master has been entrusted to you and me, his servants. And he expects us to be faithful servants. There is little point in worrying and fretting over when the master will return. Neither should we be lulled into a complacency that would dull our sense of readiness for his return. The most important concern we have is that we faithfully carry out the work he has given us to do so that when he does return he will find us faithfully working on those tasks he has given us. As faithful servants, we must “wait.” Yes, we must “wait,” for to wait is the mark of obedience, the expression of humility, and the sign of our willingness to do the Master’s will.

Patience and perseverance in Prayer

Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Sunday- Year C

Have you noticed how the existence of God either becomes apparent or is questioned during time of crises? Some people, who are practically atheists for most part of their lives, begin to mutter invocations and offer prayers that they would otherwise not do on an average day. Desperation can drive you to faith, albeit shallow. On the other hand, many good persons of faith may begin questioning the existence of God when bad things happened. “Where is God when bad things or injustice happen to innocent God-fearing people?” The question actually betrays their anger and frustration – they blame God either for being the author of suffering and injustices or failing to take corrective action. The vast majority of prayers, by believers and unbelievers alike, are often requests that injustice would be replaced by justice - that God would make wrong things right. What happens to my faith when the thing I prayed to be made right remains wrong? The so-called good God that we believe in cannot exist and allow such terrible things to happen, unless he wasn’t all that good to start with!

All of these may be boiled down to a single question: Is God just? Why does God, if he is a God of justice and a God who hate sins permit injustice in the world?  Many Christians wind up with these standard pat answers: God is disciplining us, or God is punishing us, or God is teaching us a lesson, or God’s ways are mysterious. Usually, the atheist remains unconvinced. The upshot to simplistic theology, however, is that while we expect to be punished for our misdeeds, we also expect to be rewarded for our good works. Consequently, our expectation can quickly become inflated. When we aren’t immediately showered with blessings we are often quick to complain. When believers face hard times, when their prayers go unanswered, the logic fails. Those who remain fixated on the privilege of being faithful may grow resentful, even accusatory towards their Maker. And so when bad things happen to good people many sometimes shake our fists at God and ask, “Is this how you treat your servants?”

But the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge in today’s gospel turns this whole issue on its head. Rather than becoming fixated on why bad things happen to good people and why good things happen to bad people, perhaps we should refocus our thoughts on something far more important. When we are constantly dwelling on how God doesn’t seem to meet up to our expectations, we often fail to pay attention to what is expected of us. God is not the one who is on trial. It is ‘we’ who are being called to account for our response, our attitude and our actions. The million dollar question isn’t ‘Why does God permit bad things to happen to us?’ but, “when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”

The point made by the parable in today’s gospel is that the persistent prayer for justice is chosen by Jesus as the evidence of faith that he will look for when he returns. This seems a far cry from the kinds of things we usually assume Jesus looks for; things like a set of rules, activism, piety or a decision we once made to follow Jesus long ago. In this case, if Jesus wants evidence of faith, the question he will ask is 'did you consistently bring your requests to God in the face of the injustices of this world?'

Jesus has told a parable of persistence, of a widow -- weak in the world's estimation -- who has won a victory because she didn't give up hope, she doesn't give up her plea, and finally wins the day. But what about you and me? We sometimes become so worn down and discouraged by our lives that we stop praying, stop hoping, stop expecting God to intervene. Will we be religious, church-going unbelievers who have given up expecting an answer, whose prayers are just going through the motions? Jesus wonders. "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?"

One of the hardest things we face as human beings is ongoing injustice. This is especially true when that injustice is directed toward us. Why do you think justice or injustice have such a great impact on us? Why do we get incensed when we see injustice being committed? It’s in our DNA. We are made in the image and likeness of a God of justice. Yet tens of thousands face injustice, hardship, brutality, and persecution each year. When believers face these hard times, it is hard to believe that God is indeed just. It is especially disturbing when wicked people are not brought to justice. However, Jesus reminds us that the issue isn't injustice but faithfulness. God will settle accounts and bring justice. Don’t cry foul or protest God’s seeming inaction as the ‘jury is still out’ and the trial isn’t over. The real question is whether or not we'll stick in there and not give up under fire. Hang in! Pray for the Father to hear you! Don't give up, for God will not only bring justice, but he will also bring salvation and victory. The real issue is when He comes, will he find any faith on earth? Will he find any remaining faithful to their vocation to wait in trust and persevere in prayer?

We are provided profound guidance in today’s gospel as we are invited to ponder the mystery of unanswered prayer. We see in the words and action of Jesus an acknowledgement of injustice - the problems of this world are not a surprise to God. God sees our suffering, he hears our cries and he understands our pain. God is not blind to the troubles of this earth. He has not abandoned us. I see a firm promise from a faithful God in response to that injustice. And I see a call to faith expressed through prayer in response to that promise.

Patience and perseverance is necessary for our prayer life. They are the handmaidens of faith. We must continue praying even when we have become tired of waiting for an answer from God. The reason for this is simple: without prayer, giving up will be easiest option. Prayer sustains our faith and faith brings hope. I guess many of us are often tempted and feel like giving up. Like Moses in the first reading, some of you may be experiencing heaviness and weariness holding your hands up in prayer – persevering in prayer – and you feel that you have no strength to continue. Some of you may be experiencing a string of tribulations for so long that you feel that praying is useless and does not make any difference in your life. But the message of the gospel for you today is: Be patient! Wait for the Lord, for the Lord will come indeed! The battle isn’t over until you’ve exhausted the highest court in the universe (and mind you it isn’t the Federal Court of this land!). You may not be able to see or predict what’s going to happen in the future. Tomorrow may appear to be the same as today. But your patience and perseverance will be rewarded. God will surely answer us, but in his own time and in his own way. Remember, however, the real question before is this: “when the Son of Man comes, will he find any faith on earth?”

Thank you, Jesus

Twenty Eight Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

When we were little children, learning our manners, one of the first habits our parents drilled into our heads was the habit of saying “please” and “thank you.” And then there were the constant reminders by the adults, “Did you say thank you?” which taught you an additional lesson – it’s not enough to whisper a silent prayer of thanksgiving, gratitude has to be audible and visible. Silent gratitude isn’t much use to anyone. It’s strange how we lose sight of these important habits when we grow old.

Gratitude is not about "looking at the bright side" or denying the realities of life. It’s not saying, ‘Thank God, it could be worse!’ Gratitude goes much deeper than that. The leper’s action reveals the heart of gratitude – it is treasuring Christ more greatly and savouring his power more sweetly, the power which heals, which liberates and finally, the power which saves. In the first reading, in the story of the foreign general Naaman, we recognise that gratitude has the power to heal. But this is only part of the mystery of God’s grace. In the second reading, St Paul reminds us that gratitude also liberates. But it is in the gospel that we discover climatic apex of this godly virtue – gratitude saves.

Notice that although the nine lepers were ‘cleansed’, only one earned the accolade of being ‘saved.’ Jesus tells him at the end of the story, “Your faith has saved you.” In Luke’s context, he is making a polemical point: Only the foreigner is grateful for the grace received and that is his salvation. The others think solely of the benefits received, physical healing and social acceptance; but neglected to pursue the path of well-ness right to its very end – salvation. This is certainly descriptive of most of us who search for a cure to our disease, longevity to life, a solution to life’s problems; but ultimately lose sight of the greatest gift of all, the reason for the Father having to send his Son – our salvation

No work of God's is more worthy of gratitude than salvation. But it often doesn’t feel that way, right? Selective forgetfulness is to be blamed for this. We have forgotten that before coming to know Christ, each of us lived in a self-imposed prison of guilt, spiritual blindness and sin. But Christ not only rescued us from the power and penalty of our sins, He also lifted us to the realm of grace. He delivered us from punishment and brought glory. He defeated death and won for us eternal life. He took away the threat of hell and gave us the hope of heaven. Gratitude is therefore keenly linked with memory – memory of the grace of salvation we have received from God and who continues to complete and perfect the work which He has begun in us. Gratitude should make us sing of salvation, talk of salvation. Thanking God for saving us should be the unceasing occupation of our lips.

When we are giving thanks always for all things to God the Father, then we recognise his power and his glory. And when we recognise the power and the glory of God, we can understand our own position as His servants. We begin to approach the menial tasks that are all a part of our jobs and responsibilities with a sense of contentment rather than a sense of obligation. Imagine a Church or a parish that follows the example of grateful former leper. Imagine serving in a culture of gratitude—not a culture of obligation, or guilt, or arrogance, or exclusion, or pride.

Gratitude isn't something that should pass from our minds with the passing of a season. It's an attitude, a God-centred response to circumstances that should pervade every season of our lives. Perhaps the most difficult time to be thankful is when we're in the midst of a setback, a challenge, or a trial. When the storm comes, giving thanks is rarely our first reaction. Being thankful for adversity is never easy, but it is always right. Our faith reminds us that the difficult times are the ones in which God seems to be most at work in our lives, strengthening our weak spots, comforting our hurts, and drawing us to greater dependence. A person cannot be complaining and thankful at the same time, nor can they worry about money or health or anything while being thankful. With gratitude comes joy, hope, peace and love.

The story of the ten lepers is a wonderful story of the infinite grace and mercy of our Lord and Saviour, one who gives us good gifts, even if we have ungrateful hearts. It is also a story which challenges us to place our trust in God, to follow his commands, and to see the wonderful rewards this brings us. At every mass, we will come to the table of Christ together to celebrate the Eucharist. The word ‘Eucharist’ comes from the Greek word, “eucharistia,” (εὐχαριστία) meaning to give thanks (for the good graces we have received).  And so we give thanks not just because God has healed us, he has liberated us from sin, fear and anxiety. We give thanks because of Sacrifice of the Cross re-enacted at every Eucharist has saved us and continues to make us whole – completing, bringing together and finishing the grand work of salvation which God has begun us. And I don’t know about you, but the prospect of being made whole, being healed, being liberated and being saved is enough to make me turn around, rush back again to Jesus, and say thank you, Jesus.  Thank you so much.

Prayer, the Heart of the Church

Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary

Often, many in the Church are tempted to abandon prayer in favour of activism, measuring success by what they do and can accomplish. It’s almost as if we are saying, “Jesus is gone, now it’s all up to us to save the world.” In the context of a world that is so obsessed with efficiency and productivity, one is quickly conquered by this dangerous temptation of activism, as though salvation depended upon us. The world of today is even more fascinated with activism that it has lost the sense of contemplation. Prayer is seen as a waste of time, a sign of escapism.

But prayer is the motor of mission. In fact, mission and evangelisation depends first of all upon prayer and the primary initiative of God who precedes our initiatives. All activities are empty without the necessary foundation of prayer. Without prayer, which is the soul of all apostolate, evangelisation becomes proselytism, propaganda, or a publicity campaign. The peaceful image of the Mother God, prayerfully and peacefully entreating God, therefore invites us to do the same, and to abandon our desire to right every wrong, but rather to unite ourselves with Christ, who is the world’s true Saviour.

Venerating the Mother of Jesus in the Church, then, means to learn from her to be a community that prays. As we celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, Mary invites us to turn to God not only in need but in a persevering and faithful way. Mary teaches us the necessity of prayer, the need to be centred in prayer, and shows us that only with a constant, intimate bond, full of love with her Son can we emerge from ourselves, with courage, to reach the ends of the world and proclaim everywhere the Lord Jesus, Saviour of the world.

Mary, Queen of Heaven, Pray for us!

Our Lady of Holy Rosary, Pray for us!

Faith the size of a mustard seed

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

When we look at the world around us, we often think that the world and its people have gone crazy! Killing not only in the war fields but also innocent children; domestic violence; ill treatment of maids; rape, corruption, destruction. We can identify with the sentiments of the prophet Habakkuk when he made this statement about the society of his time: “Outrage and violence, this is all I see, all is contention, and discord flourishes.” With so much evil in the world, its no wonder that so many people suffer from depression.

Perhaps the more important question that concerns us is this: “How can I find meaning in life in the midst of so much madness?” Philosophers have been trying to provide solutions to this question over the centuries but there is no satisfactory answer. It is clear that the answer does not lie with a human solution. In order to deal with an ‘evil’ that is beyond our control, an ‘evil’ that is beyond our understanding - we must seek for answers that lies beyond mere human understanding.

Today’s reading speaks of faith – a faith that enables us to see how God remains in control although evil and violence seems all pervasive, a faith that gives direction when we are lost; a faith that helps us to persevere even when faced with the many problems of life. In today’s world, we need faith more than ever if we are to survive.

Jesus tells us that if we were to have faith “the size of a mustard seed” we could uproot trees and in fact, move mountains. How do we understand this? First of all, Jesus is not focusing on the miraculous power of faith. Some people think that if we have faith, all kinds of illnesses, even the terminal ones, can be physically healed. The conclusion they often make when they don’t see the results of healing is that they lack faith or they may begin to blame God for not answering their prayers. This is a wrong understanding of faith. This kind of understanding makes ‘faith’ a kind of ticket for miracles and reduces God to a paid performer.

True faith is really based on a relationship of trust. Faith is when we believe God will take care of all things and ultimately not allow us to come to any harm. Faith is allowing God to be God, allowing God to take control of our lives and the situation without dictating to him how we want him to solve our problems. In this sense, we can then understand why Jesus uses the metaphor of the ‘mustard seed’, a tiny seed. Faith, our contribution to the solution of the problem is like that tiny seed. We just need to ask, sit back and allow God to do the rest. If we say that we have ‘faith’ then we must be prepared to allow God a free hand to do what he thinks will be the best for us and for the world. The problem is that we often feel we must take a greater role – we want to be ones that can move mountains rather than allowing God to do this.

Today let us ask God for the grace to be able to see the world through the eyes of faith. Let us echo the words of the disciple and ask this of God: “Increase our faith.”

The Cross is Our Salvation

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross 

The Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, celebrated every year on September 14, recalls three historical events: the finding of the True Cross by St. Helena, the mother of the emperor Constantine; the dedication of churches built by Constantine on the site of the Holy Sepulchre and Mount Calvary; and the restoration of the True Cross to Jerusalem by the emperor Heraclius II. But in a deeper sense, the feast also celebrates the Holy Cross as the instrument of our salvation. This instrument of torture, designed to degrade the worst of criminals, became the life-giving tree that reversed Adam's Original Sin when he ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden.

The Cross of Christ, the centre and pinnacle of God’s saving work, is also the centerpiece of our faith. The cross reveals the most profound depths of God’s love: “God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son” (John 3:16). Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI tells us that “the cross … is the definitive sign par excellence given to us so that we might understand the truth about man and the truth about God; we have all been created and redeemed by a God who sacrificed his only Son out of love. This is why the Crucifixion … is the culmination of that turning of God against himself in which he give himself in order to raise man up and save him. This is love in its most radical form.” (Deus Caritas Est, 12)

Nevertheless, the cross remains a sign of contradiction – it is both an unthinkable disgrace and yet a potent source of grace. It has inspired confidence in armies to march into battle and others to sue for peace; it has been used as a palpable symbol of power as well as powerlessness. And so it is both despised as well as coveted by one human power or another – Constantine used it as a talisman of power in the civil war with his brother and the Persians claimed it as their greatest battle trophy over the Byzantines.

So, how is the cross a symbol of power and powerlessness? The symbolism of power hidden in the cross is often lost on us, and is only revealed as a mystery of revelation. The Cross represents the Sovereign authority of God and his providence. This is certainly difficult to comprehend. Yet, what seems to us to be failure is, in God’s eyes, the victory of sacrificial love. It is on the cross, that Christ receives the highest exaltation from God, ironically, at the moment he suffered the greatest humiliation at the hands of men. As Christ was lifted up on the Cross, now by means of the Cross, he lifts up humanity, and indeed all creation. As today’s gospel reminds us, “for God sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world, but so that through him the world might be saved”. The Cross possesses the power to forgive sins which are hidden, the power to heal consciences and human hearts. It is there that we have been set free of the debt of sin and liberated from the clutches of death.

But paradoxically, the cross is also a symbol and an instrument of powerlessness. There are few things that can match the depravity of this instrument of torture and death. For a brief moment, where hours seem like eternity, the Son of God gave up His access to the powers of the universe so that He could die at our hands. On the wood of the cross, the most powerful being in the universe chose to be powerless. The Lutheran theologian and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, describes the profound significance of this moment, “God allows himself to be edged out of the world and onto the cross. God is weak and powerless in the world, and that is exactly the way, the only way, in which he can be with us and help us.” So what God has done is that He took an instrument of evil, an instrument that brings death and transformed it so that it gives life, brings goodness and healing, and that’s what we hear Jesus saying about himself, “When I am lifted up, as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, then I will give life.” The instrument of death becomes an instrument of healing, life and salvation.

The power and the powerlessness of the cross provide us with the necessary lens to view our own suffering, our daily crosses. St John Paul II, who prophetically wrote his first encyclical on Suffering, and would later suffer that fate in the last years of his pontificate, uses the cross to formulate his answer to man’s perennial dilemma – Why do we have to suffer. The saintly Pope stated, with piercing simplicity, that the answer has "been given by God to man in the cross of Jesus Christ." Each of us is called to "share in that suffering through which the Redemption was accomplished." Through his only-begotten Son, God "has confirmed His desire to act especially through suffering, which is man's weakness and emptying of self, and He wishes to make His power known precisely in this weakness and emptying of self."

And this is the way we experience God’s power here on earth, sometimes to our great frustration, and this is the way that Jesus was deemed powerful during his lifetime. The Gospels make this clear. Jesus was born powerless, and he died helpless on a cross. Yet both his birth and his death show the kind of power on which we can ultimately build our lives. The cross of Christ, therefore, teaches us that we can find power in weakness, in that which makes us vulnerable and even seemingly powerless.

Perhaps, what makes it so difficult to accept the good news of the cross, is that we are stubbornly hold on to power; we want to have a “sense of control.” Henri Nouwen writes, “What makes the temptation of power so seemingly irresistible?  Maybe it is that power offers an easy substitute for the hard task of love.  It seems easier to be God than to love God, easier to control people than to love people, easier to own life than to love life.” Most of us fear our powerlessness in the face of illness and death. We would like to retain an element of control, even though we realise that dying often involves the very opposite: a total loss of control, over our muscles, our emotions, our minds, our bowels and our very lives, as our human framework succumbs to powerful disintegrative forces.

Even when those disintegrative forces become extreme and our suffering may seem overwhelming, however, an important spiritual journey always remains open for us. This path is a "road less traveled," a path that, unexpectedly, enables us to achieve genuine control in the face of suffering and even death. The hallmark of this path is the personal decision to accept our sufferings, actively laying down our life on behalf of others by embracing the particular kind of death God has ordained for us, patterning our choice on the choice consciously made by Jesus Christ. As no one had ever done before, Jesus charted the path of love-driven sacrifice, choosing to lay down his life for his friends. He was no mere victim in the sense of being a passive and unwilling participant in his own suffering and death. He was in control. No one could possibly take his life from him, unless he chose to lay it down.

Jesus foresaw that his greatest work lay ahead as he ascended Calvary to embrace his own powerlessness and self-emptying. Paradoxically, it was when he most seemed powerless, that he was most powerful. The cross would prove victorious when meeting our ancient enemies on the battlefield – sin, death and evil would be defeated by the very sacrifice of Christ himself. Jesus' radical embracing of his Passion — and our radical embracing of our own — marks the supreme moment of a person, whose life seems otherwise spinning out of control or into chaos, as God assumed control of one’s life and destiny through our willing immersion into His hope-filled and redemptive designs.