So Far & Yet So Near

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: 1 Kings 19: 9, 11-13; Psalm 84 (85): 9-14; Romans 9: 1-5; Matthew 14: 22-33

Picture: By Stoyan Kolev on Unsplash

Has anyone here been to the Ikea store at Alexandra? I expect many of us have. When we stand at the entrance on the second level, how far away are we from the exit on the first? It depends on the route we take, right? If we choose the scenic route, going through the showroom, like most shoppers do, it can be quite a long walk. But there are also shortcuts that bypass certain parts of the showroom, considerably shortening the walking distance. Actually, if we wanted to, we could use all the shortcuts, and bypass everything. But then why bother visiting the store in the first place? Wouldn’t it be great if we could somehow reduce the distance without taking any shortcuts? Without bypassing any of the scenery?… Bringing near what at first seems so far away. Isn’t this something like what we find in our readings today?

The gospel focuses our attention on two different locations. After miraculously feeding more than five thousand people in the reading we heard last week, today we’re told that Jesus and his disciples have a brief parting of ways. He makes them get into the boat, and set off across the sea. He himself, however, goes up into the hills to pray. In another translation (NRSV), he goes up the mountain… The disciples on the sea…and their Master on the mountain. How far away is one location from the other? The gospel provides no measurements. But can’t we imagine what a great distance this must have felt like to the disciples? Struggling, in their little boat, against a head-wind and a heavy sea? Knowing that it was Jesus who had made them do this, while he himself stayed on land. Perhaps we ourselves have had similar experiences too. Had to endure one type of trial or another, because we’re trying to obey the Lord. To stay true to him. Yet, for some reason, he remains all too silent and distant. Seemingly as far away as a high mountain from the choppy sea.

But is the distance really as great as the disciples may think? Is the mountain really so much more peaceful than the sea? The gospel doesn’t tell us what the Lord’s prayer was like. After all, who could say? No one else was with him. But can’t we at least make an educated guess? Remember that last week’s gospel began by telling us it was after receiving news of John the Baptist’s death at the hands of Herod that Jesus withdrew… to a lonely place… Isn’t it reasonable to suppose that the Lord was not only grieving John’s passing, but also coming to terms with the realisation that a similarly violent fate was likely to befall him too? In other words, even in his prayerful seclusion, Jesus was likely struggling with winds and waves of his own. So that, whatever might have been the physical distance between the mountain and the sea, experientially, the Master was actually very close to his disciples. Even so, by the time he descends from his lofty retreat, Jesus is able to walk calmly across the turbulent waters of the sea. How does he manage this?

Again, the gospel doesn’t tell us. But the first reading gives us an indication, by inviting us to ponder the experience of someone else at a mountain retreat. Someone whose life was also under threat, as a result of his obedience to God. For this is what had brought Elijah to Mount Horeb. Burnt out and despairing, while fleeing for his life from a vengeful queen, the prophet was led up the mountain by the Lord. So the violent wind, and fire, and earthquake, swirling around him externally, actually mirror Elijah’s own turbulent interior state. What does he do? How does he cope? Instead of panicking, the prophet simply waits in the cave of his own heart. Waits till the turbulence passes. Till he hears the sound of a gentle breeze. In other words, like the psalmist, Elijah patiently listens out for what the Lord God has to say, a voice that speaks of peace… Not the naive bliss that results from apathy or wilful ignorance. From bypassing the inevitable tumult and storms of life. But the God-given calm that comes after one has courageously faced them. Only then does the prophet exit his cave. Except that now the exit has also become an entrance to a new God-experience. Bringing near what had once seemed so far away.

Isn’t this what Jesus is teaching Peter and the other disciples to do too? Not so much to look for shortcuts, in order to bypass the storms. Much less to deny their presence. But rather, how to respond to them when they do come. To patiently manage them in prayer. So that the storms might become new pathways to a fresh encounter with God. And what at first looks like a scary ghost is revealed to be the loving presence of a caring Lord. Isn’t this also the experience of St Paul in the second reading? For what is he describing if not his own stormy interior state? His sorrow and mental anguish at the way in which many of his fellow Israelites continue to resist the gospel. And yet, Paul is somehow able to accept this trial, while clinging to the sure hope that those who now remain so far away will, in God’s time, be brought very near.

By now, probably many of us have seen the recent news report telling us that, in 2024, suicides among those between 30 and 39 years of age rose by a whopping 50%. And what is suicide, if not the ultimate shortcut? The bypassing of life itself. Could this disturbing statistic be a clear sign to us, that what the scriptures are teaching us is something we urgently need both to learn and to share with others? Particularly those struggling in some way? Sisters and brothers, today, how might the Lord be inviting us to help bring near what may still seem so far away?

From Finger to Moon

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Isaiah 55:1-3; Psalm 144 (145):8-9, 15-18; Romans 8:35, 37-39; Matthew 14:13-21

Picture: By Kitera Dent on Unsplash

My dear friends, can anyone help us complete the following well-known saying?… When the wise person points to the moon… What comes next? Many of us know this, right? When the wise person points to the moon… all the fool sees is the finger… So a difference between the wise and the foolish lies in the ability to see beyond the obvious finger, to ponder the more important moon. Simple enough to understand in the abstract, but not always easy to apply in the concrete. Especially if the finger is either too attractive, or not attractive enough. Such as the one we find in our scriptures today.

As we’ve probably already noticed, today, the word food appears in all our readings. The first reading and the gospel speak specifically of the provision of food in abundance. And not only in abundance, but free of charge. Food in abundance, free of charge. If this is truly a finger pointing to the moon, don’t these characteristics make it hard for us to look beyond it? For on the one hand, we live in Singapore. And we know the lengths to which Singaporeans will go, not just for delicious food, but for a good deal. Isn’t it hard for us not to fixate on such an attractive finger? And don’t we find an example of such fixation in the so-called Prosperity Gospel? The idea that, if only I profess Jesus as my personal Lord and Saviour, and devote ever more of my time, talent and treasure to his cause, to his church, and, most of all, to his ministers, then I will be blessed with material wealth and success. Since God cannot be outdone in generosity. Never mind that the One I profess as Lord came as a homeless baby, laboured as a poor carpenter, was rejected as an outcaste, and executed a criminal… only to be raised on the Third Day.

On the other hand, our parish is located not just in Singapore, but also in District Ten. And how many of us can honestly say that we need free food? (T)hough you have no money, come! Buy corn without money… How many of us actually hear this generous invitation as addressed to ourselves? And if not addressed to us, aren’t we likely to ignore it? And if we ignore the finger that’s so close by, how to ponder the faraway moon to which it points? How to experience the real benefits, the deep peace and hope and joy that it might bring? Aren’t we more likely to remain bored and indifferent, even here at Mass, as we go through the motions of what may feel like no more than a routine weekly obligation?

Fixation and indifference. If these are among the tendencies that prevent us from following the finger to ponder the moon, then how to avoid them? One way is to deepen our understanding of the scriptures, by posing the following five questions: where, why, who, what, and how… First, consider where food is being promised and provided… The gospel begins by telling us that Jesus withdrew… to a lonely place… The word lonely can also be translated as wilderness. In other words, Jesus enters the same kind of place to which the Spirit had led him at the start of his public ministry, where he was tempted by the devil (Mt 4:1). And this place is not just a geographical location, but also a spiritual one. For consider why Jesus goes there. He does so as a response to a devastating piece of news. His cousin, and fellow proclaimer of the Good News, has just been killed. Beheaded for doing what Jesus himself is doing, speaking truth to power. It’s a dangerous time for prophets. Can we not at least begin to imagine the likely state of the Lord’s heart at this point? The interior wilderness mirroring the one outside?

But even as Jesus seeks solitude in the wilderness, he is not alone. Others follow him there. Who are they? The gospel identifies two distinct groups. The first it calls the crowd. Those whose daily lives already regularly feel like a wilderness. And who come to Jesus needing and seeking his ministry. Much like how the people addressed in the first reading need ministry. People experiencing exile, feeling separated, and far away from God. The second group the gospel labels disciples. Those who have already experienced the Lord’s ministry, and now remain close to him, and share his mission. They too follow their Master into the wilderness. And this group includes not only those mentioned in the gospel, but also those for whom the gospel was likely written. The early Jewish-Christian community, experiencing persecution for its belief in Jesus. In a very real way, they too have followed their Lord into the wilderness.

And it’s helpful for us to consider what Jesus does for each of these groups. To the crowd, he offers healing, and an abundance of free food. Satisfaction, of not just their empty stomachs, but their restless hearts. Not just their superficial appetites, but their deepest desires. And for his disciples, he does the same, but in a deeper way. How? By giving them a share in his mission and ministry. Letting them participate in his ministerial actions, of taking and blessing, breaking and giving. The same four actions we ourselves perform at every Mass. Through which we are again given a taste of the consoling conviction, so movingly expressed in the second reading: Nothing can come between us and the love of Christ, even if we are troubled or worried, or being persecuted, or lacking food…

Sisters and brothers, if this is truly the moon to which we are pointed, then how shall we help one another to keep pondering and drawing strength from its serene splendour today?

Beyond Our Immediate Point Of View

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Wisdom 12: 13, 16-19; Psalm 85 (86): 5-6, 9-10, 15-16; Romans 8: 26-27; Matthew 13: 24-43

Picture: By Natalia Marcelewicz on Unsplash

How many of us have ever witnessed a baby being born? What does it feel like? It depends, right? For one thing, it depends on where we happen to be. I remember visiting the old Singapore Science Centre as a child, and being captivated by a video of a human birth. But watching a recording is very different from actually being in the birthing room itself. And even in the room itself, there are different possible points of view. That of the midwife or doctor is different from that of the mother, which is, in turn, different from that of the little one being born. Nor does our point of view vary only with where we happen to be. Doesn’t it also depend on when? At the beginning, just before the contractions start? Or at the end, when the freshly sponged and tightly swaddled newborn is safely placed in its mother’s arms? Or right smack in the messy middle, when all the excitement and action, the pain and confusion, is still going on?

And isn’t this true not just of childbirth, but of other experiences as well? Our point of view depends on our particular location, both in space and in time. It’s helpful for us to keep this in mind today, as our scriptures draw us to ponder another experience. Not exactly the birth of a child, but the coming of the kingdom of heaven. Isn’t this what Jesus is describing, in those three parables? The kingdom of heaven may be compared to… first, weeds (or darnel) among the wheat… second, a mustard seed in a field… and third, yeast mixed with flour… And in each of these comparisons, there are different possible points of view, depending on one’s specific location.

For a start, there are at least three possible locations in time. A calm beginning and a peaceful end, as well as a messy middle. Both at the start and at end of the first parable, the wheat and the weeds are neatly separated. It’s only in the middle, when they are mixed, and easily confused, one for the other. Similarly, although it starts out very small, the mustard seed already enjoys a useful existence. It can spice up our food. Just as the mature plant can offer shelter to birds. It’s only in the middle, when things get messy. When the seed has to struggle to survive and grow, wherever it’s been sown. And can’t the same be said about the yeast and flour? For we know that, the mixing of yeast into dough involves a process of great agitation. Plenty of kneading and pounding, folding and flattening. Which is difficult enough for the one doing the work. But think of what it must feel like for the dough, which has to suffer the agitation… Or what it must feel like for the tiny mustard seed, fighting to grow… Or the fragile wheat, struggling to avoid being strangled by its dangerous parasitic impersonator. Against which it has to carefully guard itself in order to survive…

And yet, as challenging as these experiences are, Jesus’ parables invite us to see them as part of the coming of God’s kingdom. Just as labour pains are part of natural childbirth. To accept the struggles and trials, the dangers and risks of the messy middle, convinced that they will lead to a fuller life in the end. But isn’t this easier said than done? Especially if one has lost one’s family in war, for example, or one’s life-savings to a scam, or one’s childhood innocence to abuse, or one’s mobility to a drunk driver, or one’s reputation to gossip, or one’s freedom to addiction… In such situations, and wherever our lives may otherwise be touched by evil, isn’t it natural to take the point of view of an unsuspecting baby, in the midst of being born? Forced to suffer the rude shock of being expelled from its mother’s body? Without any inkling of the new life that awaits beyond? Feeling as if the process must lead only to death? How then, and from where, do we find the strength to carry on?

The scriptures address this question by offering us a glimpse into yet another point of view. One that transcends space and time. No less than the eternal perspective of God. Calling us to believe that if God permits the presence of evil in our world, it’s not out of malice or negligence or incompetence, but an expression of power mingled with mercy. As the first reading reminds us, God shows strength when (God’s) sovereign power is questioned… And God’s power is what enables the mustard seed to grow into a tree, and the yeast to leaven the dough. Yet God is also mild in judgement. Giving ample opportunity for sinners to repent. Patiently waiting till harvest time, before eradicating the weeds, so as avoid destroying the wheat. Even more, God’s power and mercy is shown especially when God humbly shares our own fragile human point of view. Isn’t this what brought Jesus from heaven to earth, to Cross and grave, and then back from whence he came? And isn’t this also what the Spirit continues to do even now, for us and in us? For when we cannot choose words in order to pray properly, the Spirit…expresses our plea in a way that can never be put into words…

But in order for us to keep clinging to God’s perspective in times of trial, we need the ability to look beyond our own obvious points of view, to what so often remains hidden. We need the three virtues that we prayed for at the start of this Mass, when we asked God to make us fervent in hope and faith and charity, so that we may be ever watchful in keeping (God’s) commands. Fervour in hope, faith and charity. By which we may keep seeking the good and resisting evil. So as to enjoy rebirth, into the fullness of life in God’s kingdom. Sisters and brothers, how is God helping us to receive this precious grace anew today?

Beyond A Fresh Coat of Paint

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Zechariah 9: 9-10; Psalm 144 (145): 1-2, 8-11, 13b-14; Romans 8: 9, 11-13; Matthew 11: 25-30

Picture: By Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

My dear friends, what are we likely to think, if we were to walk along the corridor of a block of flats, and come across a unit where both the main door and front gate have been rudely splashed with bright red paint? Will we conclude that those who live there must have an appreciation for abstract art? Probably not. More likely we’ll recognise the paint-spattered entrance as a sign that the occupants are labouring under a heavy burden. The burden of debt. And not just any debt, but debt owed to a loan-shark. And what if, after making discreet inquiries, our suspicions are confirmed, and we feel moved to help them? Will it be enough to give the entrance a fresh coat of paint? Or even to pay off the debt? Doing so will surely go a long way. And yet, to truly help, isn’t it necessary also to explore the circumstances that led to the loan in the first place? To uncover other, less obvious, burdens? Even tracing these to their roots?…

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to truly set the burdened free. Isn’t this what we find in our Mass texts today? As we’ve probably already noticed, both the Collect––the prayer we offered at the start––and the responsorial psalm, present us with a moving image of God as One who humbly bends low, in order to mercifully raise up all who are bowed down by heavy loads. And the other readings help us ponder more deeply just how God does this…

The first reading is addressed to a people oppressed by foreign armies, bowed down by the horrors of war. To them, God proclaims a consoling message, promising to send a king to set them free. But, when examined closely, this message is also puzzling. For although this king is described as victorious and triumphant, the enemy he vanquishes isn’t just any foreign army, but war itself. And the peace he brings is not just for Israel alone, but for all the nations. Since his empire shall stretch… to the ends of the earth. And how does he bring this about? Not by the usual instruments of war. But through his own lowliness and humility. Instead of chariots and horses, he comes riding on a baby donkey… Some of us may recall that old war movie, Crimson Tide, in which a nuclear submarine’s second-in-command, played by Denzel Washington, speaks these memorable lines: Yes, the purpose of war is to serve a political end, but the true nature of war is to serve itself…. In the nuclear world, the true enemy is war itself… The true nature of war is to serve itself… In other words, war isn’t just an obedient servant, but a self-serving tyrant. Isn’t this something our world is now having to face, again and again, with every passing day?

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to set the burdened free… Isn’t this also what Jesus is doing in the gospel? As in the first reading, the people he addresses are oppressed by foreign armies. They live under the yoke of Roman occupation. And yet, it is not on this heavy load that Jesus chooses to focus. Instead, scholars tell us that, when the Lord speaks of people who labour and are overburdened, he is referring first to those bowed down by the arbitrary rituals and practices imposed by the religious authorities of his day. The scribes and Pharisees, who tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them (Mt 23:4). In their place, Jesus invites the people to come to him. To enter into an intimate relationship with him. To take upon themselves the gentle yoke of his merciful love. A yoke that he chooses to bear with them. A yoke that will lead him to Calvary and beyond.

But why? Why focus on something so apparently trivial, in the face of something as urgent and terrible as military occupation? Could it be that, like the red paint on a debtor’s door, Jesus sees the conquest of the land by a foreign political power as a sign pointing to the occupation of the heart by alien spiritual powers. And rather than simply re-painting the door, Jesus chooses to enter through it. To trace the sign to its roots. The better to truly set the burdened free. Which explains what St Paul is telling us in the second reading, when he says that there is no necessity for us to obey our unspiritual selves. Or, in another, more literal, translation (RSV), we are debtors, not to the flesh… By our acceptance of the Lord’s gentle yoke, we are freed from the crushing burden of our debt to sin. Our hearts are no longer occupied by alien powers, but possessed by the Lord’s Spirit. And we can now share in the fullness of life in him.

Recognising the signs, and tracing the roots, the better to set the burdened free. Isn’t this something we Christians need to remember whenever we encounter those labouring under a heavy burden of some kind? Including our own fragile selves? Burdened people, such as migrant workers owed months of unpaid wages. Or victims of bullying and other forms of abuse. Or silent sufferers of loneliness and depression. As well as those who fall prey to various addictive behaviours, while struggling to cope with the overwhelming stresses and strains of daily life….

Sisters and brothers, could it be that, whether or not it’s splashed with paint, behind the door of our burdens, the lowly Crucified and Risen Lord patiently awaits, and gently beckons? If so, how might we help each other to hear and answer his call?

Discerning Doorways Amid Darkness & Danger

12th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

Readings: Jeremiah 20:10-13; Psalm 68 (69):8-10, 14, 17, 33-35; Romans 5:12-15; Matthew 10:26-33

Picture: By Milo Bauman on Unsplash

My dear friends, what do these two brief biblical phrases have in common? The first is, away with you. And the second, let it be. Away with you, and let it be… Each phrase has a meaning that’s the opposite of the other. The first is an expression of firm resistance. It’s what Jesus tells the devil in the wilderness, in Matthew’s gospel (4:11): Away with you, Satan!… The second phrase speaks not of resistance but of humble submission. The Blessed Virgin Mary uses it to respond to the angel Gabriel, at the Annunciation, in Luke’s gospel (1:11): Let it be with me according to your word… Firm resistance versus humble submission. Away with you, and let it be. What could these two phrases possibly have in common? Isn’t it true that both resistance and submission require courage? It takes courage to resist the devil, and to submit to God. And not just courage, but also wisdom. Wisdom to know when to resist and when to submit. But if this is true, then how, or from where, might we receive such courage and wisdom, especially if we happen to find ourselves surrounded by darkness and danger? Isn’t this the question our scriptures invite us to ponder today?

The first reading, presents us with another brief but striking phrase. This time spoken by the prophet Jeremiah: Terror from every side! In its biblical context, this phrase has more than one meaning. First, it refers to the persecution that the prophet himself is suffering. Most recently, he has been beaten up, and imprisoned overnight in the Temple. But beyond that, he has also been tormented by dark whispers, disparaging rumours, that others, including his friends, have been spreading about him behind his back. And what is the reason for this cruel persecution? It’s because Jeremiah has ignored repeated warnings from the authorities, telling him to stop preaching the unpopular message that God has given him. He has persisted in calling the people to surrender to the invading Babylonian army. In other words, through his actions, the prophet has been both resisting and submitting. To his opponents, he has effectively been saying, away with you. And to God, let it be. But that’s not all. The phrase terror from every side is not just a reference to Jeremiah’s sufferings. It’s also the nickname that the prophet gives to his chief persecutor. The one responsible for his beating and imprisonment. The priest, Pashur. For whether Pashur realises it or not, he too has been resisting and submitting. But in the opposite way. By submitting to popular demand, Pashur has been resisting God. And, as a result, a great disaster will soon befall the people. They will all experience terror on every side. The horrors that follow from being defeated in war.

But from where does Jeremiah receive the wisdom and courage to keep recognising and submitting to the will of God, while resisting all who oppose it? The prophet himself gives us the answer. Despite his own painful experience of terror from every side, Jeremiah is still able to cling to his faith and hope in the presence and action of God. He believes he is not alone. (T)he Lord is at my side, a mighty hero… And it is the Lord who sustains him. Giving him the wisdom and courage he needs to persevere. To know when to resist, and when to submit.

In the gospel too, we find yet another brief but striking phrase. One that Jesus utters repeatedly: Do not be afraid… Again, in order to better appreciate the significance of these words, it’s helpful to recall their biblical context. Just a little earlier, Jesus had summoned the Twelve, given them authority, and then sent them out to proclaim the good news, ’The kingdom of heaven has come near’ (10:7). But not before telling them to expect persecution, even from the closest members of the family. Then, in today’s reading, Jesus gives an indication of how they might receive the wisdom and courage needed to persevere in their difficult mission. How to not be afraid. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the daylight; what you hear in whispers, proclaim from the housetops… Implying that, even amid the dangers of persecution, the Lord remains with them, mysteriously guiding them, through whispers in the dark.

All of which may help us better understand the distinction St Paul is making in the second reading. The difference between Adam and Jesus. By disobeying God, and listening to the serpent, Adam makes himself a doorway for sin and death to enter and rule the world. In contrast, by resisting the devil, and submitting to God, Jesus becomes the Doorway for divine grace, overflowing from his Cross, as an abundant free gift for us all. And isn’t it true that, even amid the darkness and dangers of our hyper-modern world, both these spiritual doorways remain open to us? Inviting us to choose between them?

Some of us may recall that let it be is not just a phrase found in the Bible. It also happens to be the title of an old Beatles hit. It seems fitting to conclude our reflection with these memorable words from that hopeful song: And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow. Let it be. I wake up to the sound of music. Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom. Let it be…. Whisper words of wisdom. Let it be…

Away with you, and let it be… Sisters and brothers, what can we do to help one another receive the wisdom and courage we need to continue properly resisting and submitting today?