Between Storming the Calm & Calming the Storm

6th Sunday of Easter (C)

Readings: Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Psalm 66 (67):2-3, 5-6, 8; Apocalypse 21:10-14, 22-23; John 14:23-29

Picture: By Umut YILMAN on Unsplash

Can we imagine for a moment a loaded gun resting on a table, and a little fish swimming in the sea? Is there any difference between them? On the surface, the gun looks very calm, but we know what happens if the trigger is pulled. There’ll be an explosion, and someone can get seriously hurt, even killed. We may say that the gun carries a storm under the calm. Things are different for the fish. Even if there’s a big storm on the sea, as long as the fish stays underwater, it’s safe. The ocean protects it. We may say the fish enjoys a calm beneath the storm. And aren’t there people like that too? We may have come across some who may look very calm, but then something triggers them, and they explode. And there’re also people who are somehow able to stay calm, even when everything is collapsing around them. Storm under the calm or calm beneath the storm. Loaded gun versus fish in the sea. If we are given a choice, which do we prefer to be? This is the question that our scriptures pose to us today.

In the gospel, Jesus is talking to his disciples at the Last Supper. Very soon people will come to arrest him, and condemn him to death. Why? The Lord’s enemies are actually very religious people. On the surface they look very pious and calm. But his teachings and actions have triggered them. Making them jealous and worried. Causing them to explode like a loaded gun. Releasing a storm so strong, it threatens to sweep the Lord’s disciples away. So before it happens, Jesus teaches his friends to find calm in the storm. How? By learning to swim in the ocean of God’s love. By obeying the Lord’s teaching. For when they do this, God will stay close to them, and guard their hearts. Like how the sea protects the fish that swim in it. Helping them to find a deep peace, an unshakeable calm, beneath the dangerous storm. If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him.… Peace I bequeath to you… a peace the world cannot give…

This way of finding calm in the storm works not only for individuals, but also for groups. In the first reading, the early Christian community encounters an internal storm. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, Paul and Barnabas have baptised some pagans–non-Jews–without circumcising them. And some Jewish Christians are triggered by this. They insist that, like Jews, pagans too need to be circumcised before they can become Christians. A big argument erupts, a serious storm, over whether Christians need to be circumcised or not. This is a new question that Jesus didn’t talk about. Paul and Barnabas are unable to resolve the matter. So they refer it to the leaders in Jerusalem. And the leaders do what Jesus taught them to do in the gospel. Through earnest prayer and respectful conversation, they consider carefully what is needed to stay faithful to the Spirit of Jesus. To keep swimming in the ocean of God’s love. Then, after deciding that it’s not necessary for Christians to be circumcised, they share their decision with the community. And their teaching restores peace. It brings calm in the face of the storm.

And it’s important to see that this peace is offered even to those who had been triggered in the first place, those who started the argument. If they are willing to accept the teaching of the leaders, they too can enjoy the calm beneath the storm. They can change from being loaded guns to fish swimming in the sea of God’s love. So that even while still walking on this earth, the whole Christian community can already live in the heavenly Jerusalem described in the second reading. Allowing God and the Lamb of God to be both their sacred temple and their guiding light. Helping all of them to keep finding calm in the face of every storm.

This precious gift is meant for all of us too. It’s also what we celebrate in this joyous season of Easter. To borrow the words of our new pope, this is a peace that is both unarmed and disarming. A peace that not only protects the fish swimming in the sea, but also empties all our loaded guns, all our weapons of war. Not just the obvious ones that we carry in our hands, but also the hidden ones that we hold in our hearts. A peace we can all continue to receive, by staying faithful to the Lord’s teaching, and remaining in his love.

My dear brothers (and sisters), what can we do to help one another better enjoy this calm beneath the storm, this peace that the world cannot give today?

Never Let Us Go

5th Sunday of Easter (C)

Readings: Acts 14:21-27; Psalm 144 (145):8-13a; Apocalypse 21:1-5; John 13:31-33, 34-35

Picture: By Leon Buter on Unsplash

Why don’t they run away? This is the question that Nobel prize-winning author, Kazuo Ishiguro, tries to answer, in a recent YouTube video. One of a series of brief videos marking the 20th anniversary of his critically-acclaimed novel, Never Let Me Go. The book tells the story of a group of school children, growing up in the late 1990s, in a fictional and dystopian version of the city of London. Despite living in a terribly unjust and oppressive society, and facing a horribly bleak future, the characters in the novel never rebel or run away. Why? In his highly insightful response, Ishiguro observes that, in the real world, many people who live in difficult situations actually don’t run away. (I)f that’s all you know, he goes on to say, if that’s the world you’ve grown up in, you cannot see the boundaries for which you have to run. You cannot see what you have to rebel against, and instead you just try, sometimes heroically, to find love, friendship, something meaningful and decent, within the horrific fate that you’ve been given… In other words, the characters in the novel don’t run away, because it never occurs to them to do so, since they cannot see their own oppression.

Why don’t they run away? This is a question that could also be asked about the characters in our scriptures today. In the gospel, Judas has just left to betray his Master. And the authorities will soon come to arrest and torture Jesus, and condemn him to a painful death. So why doesn’t Jesus flee? Similarly, in the first reading, Paul and Barnabas have only recently suffered rejection, persecution, and life-threatening physical violence in Antioch, Iconium and Lystra. Yet, instead of going home by a different route, they choose to pass through these same dangerous cities. Unlike the characters in Ishiguro’s novel, Jesus, Paul and Barnabas are very much aware of the dangers they face. So why don’t they run away?

The first reading offers a practical reason. We’re told that Paul and Barnabas return to the cities they had visited earlier to put fresh heart into the disciples who live there. To encourage them to persevere in following the Lord. They also commission leaders to care for those communities. In other words, Paul and Barnabas do it out of love. The same love that we believe leads God’s only begotten Son to come among us as a human person, and to give his life for us on a cruel cross. By bravely returning to visit their friends, Paul and Barnabas are observing the new commandment Jesus gives in the gospel, loving others as Christ first loved us.

But that’s not the full extent of the story. If it was, then God simply remains stuck with us in a terrible situation. What we also believe is that God’s merciful love is so strong, it reaches beyond the boundaries of Death itself, and raises Jesus to Life. So that the Lord becomes for all a Light capable of uncovering the often hidden ways in which people are oppressed, the Way to true freedom, and a Witness to what it means to live a fully human life. Isn’t this why, even as he faces the darkness of betrayal and persecution, Jesus still speaks of being glorified? A reference not to the workings of evil, but to the triumph of Love. Isn’t this how God brings about the new heaven and new earth mentioned in the second reading? Isn’t this how Jerusalem–that shameful city where Jesus was betrayed and killed–becomes as beautiful as a bride all dressed for her husband, where God lives among God’s people? Isn’t this how God chooses to wipe away all tears from human eyes?

And isn’t this consoling message relevant even for us, who live in one of the world’s most affluent countries, and worship in one of its richest parishes? For beneath the attractive surface of our shiny city, and perhaps even behind the sturdy doors of our own comfy homes, aren’t there still possible signs of oppression? Why, for example, is our fertility rate so low? Why are so many of our young people facing mental health issues, including depression and burnout, sometimes to the point of suicide? And why do we seem so prone to addictions and abusive actions of various kinds?… You cannot see what you have to rebel against, and instead you just try, sometimes heroically, to find love, friendship, something meaningful and decent, within the horrific fate that you’ve been given… Could these words of a brilliant novelist speak to our situation too? Why else don’t more of us at least try to rebel or run away?

Some days ago, it was reported that a baby elephant had been knocked down and killed by a truck in Malaysia. And the news carried an image of the mother-elephant with its head pressed against the side of the truck, as if trying to move it. Why didn’t she run away? Isn’t the answer obvious? In her love for her baby, she couldn’t bring herself to let it go. 

Sisters and brothers, as we continue to celebrate this joyous Easter season, how is God refusing to let us go today?

Between Aerosmith & Adrien Brody

4th Sunday of Easter (C)

(Good Shepherd Sunday)

Readings: Acts 13:14, 43-52; Psalm 99 (100):1-3, 5; Apocalypse 7:9, 14-17; John 10:27-30

Picture: By Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

My dear friends, what will you say, if someone were to tell us that life’s a journey, not a destination? Would you agree? Actually, these words are taken from an old song, sung by the rock band Aerosmith. And aren’t they a helpful reminder, particularly for us who live in Singapore? Prone as so many of us are to overwork? Much as we feel driven to keep striving hard to achieve our various goals and KPIs in life, we mustn’t forget to stop and smell the roses. To take time to rest and to enjoy the process. After all, if life is truly a journey, and not a destination, then best not to waste it, by obsessing over our estimated time of arrival. Surely this is good and important advice. But there is also another side to the story.

I’m not sure if any of us have watched The Brutalist, one of last year’s award-winning films, starring Adrien Brody as László Tóth, a fictional Hungarian-Jewish architect. My apologies to those who haven’t watched it. What I’m about to say is likely to contain spoilers! Anyway, in the film’s final scene, László is said to have often given his niece this piece of advice: Don’t let anyone fool you… No matter what the others try and sell you, it is the destination, not the journey. What do we make of this blatant contradiction of what we said before? To be honest, I’m tempted simply to reject it. But we can appreciate why László holds this opposing view, when we consider his own difficult journey in the film. To escape the horrors of the Holocaust, he migrates to the USA, only to be subjected to other forms of violence, including poverty and discrimination, manipulation and victimisation at the hands of the rich and powerful, and even sexual abuse. When one’s life is filled with so much unjust suffering, isn’t it natural to want to keep striving to reach a better and safer destination? Not just for oneself, but also for those whom one loves? Easy enough to focus on life’s journey, when the way is smooth and bright. Far more difficult, when it’s strewn with the sharp edges of trauma, and other horrors of the night.

What has all this to do with Vocation Sunday? As we know, the word vocation means call. And we rightly devote this day to praying that more will heed the call to the priesthood and religious life. But our scriptures also offer us a timely reminder that, before each of us is called to any particular state of life, all of us are first called to eternal life. In the gospel, eternal life is the gift Jesus offers to the sheep who belong to him, to all who listen to his voice. And, in the first reading, eternal life is the grace, to which Paul and his companions encourage their fellow disciples to remain faithful. The same grace they offer to all their listeners, Jews and Gentiles alike. But unlike the song by Aerosmith, and the film starring Adrien Brody, our readings do not force us to choose between two opposing views of life. Instead, eternal life is portrayed not as either-or, but as both journey and destination.

On the one hand, Jesus speaks of eternal life clearly as a kind of journey, on which he calls his sheep to follow him. And it’s no coincidence that, in the first reading, we find Paul and his companions on a missionary journey. Bearing witness to the new life they have received in Christ. On the other hand, however, the second reading presents us with a vision of eternal life as a heavenly destination. Where countless people are gathered triumphantly around the throne of God, after having washed their robes white again in the blood of the Lamb. And where everyone enjoys the safety of God’s protection. For God will spread his tent over them, and neither the sun nor scorching wind will ever plague them, because the Lamb… will lead them to springs of living water; and God will wipe away the tears from their eyes.

Nor is this destination only high up in the heavens, or far away into the future. Paul and his companions experience it already here and now, while they are still on their way. Despite having to endure the dangers of jealousy and rejection, slander and persecution, they are filled with joy and the Holy Spirit. Which motivates and energises them to keep on following the Lord, to keep engaging in the struggle for justice and peace. To help lead ever more people to the safety of God's kingdom. And isn’t this the fruit of the great Mystery we celebrate at Easter? Isn’t this the marvellous effect of the Dying and Rising of Christ? The bright Light that our world needs so much, shrouded as it is in the darkness of injustice and conflict. And not just the world at large, but also our nation and our church, our families and our own selves. To live the fullness of life both as a journey to savour, and as a destination toward which to aim. Whether we are single or married, priest, religious or lay, this is the call, the common vocation, that the Good Shepherd addresses to us all.

Sisters and brothers, how might we help one another to listen more closely to his gentle and loving voice today?

Turning the Tables of Helplessness

3rd Sunday of Easter (C)

Readings: Acts 10:34, 37-43; Psalm 117 (118):1-2, 16-17, 22-23; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9

Picture: By Lan Gao on Unsplash

My dear friends, how do we feel when we see the candles on a birthday cake? Even if we may wish there weren’t so many, it’s still usually a joyous occasion. A celebration of the gift of life. But aren’t there at least two possible moments when we may also feel helpless before those candles? First, when we’re trying to light them, but a strong breeze keeps blowing them out. We know how frustrating that can be. Second, we may also feel helpless not just when we’re unable to light the candles, but when, no matter how hard we try, we just can’t seem to blow them out. Why? Because someone has played a prank on us, and replaced the regular candles with trick candles. The kind that have been specially treated, so that they keep reigniting on their own, after they’ve been extinguished… The failure to keep candles alight, and the inability to blow them out. Don’t we find something like these two different types of helplessness in our scriptures today?

We believe that Jesus came to bring the Light of God’s Truth and Love and Mercy into the darkness of our world. And when his enemies succeed in getting him condemned as a criminal, and crucified on a cross, it surely seems like his Light has been permanently extinguished. Not only does he lose his life, his reputation and legacy seem irreparably tarnished. Who will accept his message now? Which may explain why there’s an unmistakeable atmosphere of helplessness and frustration in the gospel’s description of Peter’s nocturnal fishing expedition. They went out and got into the boat but caught nothing that night. Try as they might, the apostles can’t seem to keep the candle of faith alight. The winds of adversity always seem to have the upper hand. And this is despite the Risen Jesus having already appeared to them twice before. Perhaps Peter is hampered not just by the darkness of the night, or the shyness of the fish, but also by the burden of his guilt. His sense of having let Jesus down.

Yet by the time we get to the events of the first reading, a remarkable shift has taken place. Despite being thrown in jail, interrogated and intimidated, cruelly beaten and even very nearly losing their lives, Peter and the other apostles still refuse to back down. They refuse either to stop preaching in Jesus’ name, or to sweep the guilt of the Lord’s enemies under the carpet. Obedience to God comes before obedience to men, they insist. Rather than being cowed or discouraged by the persecution, they actually feel glad to have had the honour of suffering humiliation for the sake of the name. Bravely and happily, they defy the instructions of an earthly court, because they’re conscious of serving another, far higher, seat of judgment. The heavenly throne described in the second reading. Before which myriads of angels, and all the living things in creation, bow down in worship and adoration. Even while still walking on this earth, the apostles are already living according to how things will be in heaven.

And isn’t this a radical turning of the tables? Where once it was the apostles who were frustrated by their own inability to keep the candle of faith alight, now it’s the turn of the Lord’s enemies to feel helpless at their own failure to blow it out. It’s as though someone has seen fit to replace very ordinary birthday candles with specially treated trick candles. And isn’t this the effect of the great Mystery we celebrate in this joyous season? Isn’t this due to the power of the Lord’s Dying and Rising? Isn’t this the hope that Easter brings? A power and a hope that we Christians need to reclaim especially today, when it often seems as though our world is engulfed in an ever deepening darkness that so many of us feel helpless to do anything about.

Which is why it’s helpful to consider carefully how the Crucified and Risen Christ communicates this power and hope to his friends. At a time when they’re likely to be feeling lost and exhausted, discouraged and depressed, the Lord appears. Bringing the light of dawn. Offering guidance and sustenance. Food for their bodies, and rest for their souls. Jesus also engages Peter in a conversation sensitively designed to break the chains of guilt, and to strengthen Peter for the challenges that lie ahead. Instead of sweeping troubling memories and feelings under the carpet, the Lord gently draws them to the surface. Simon son of John, do you love me more than these others do?… Feed my lambs… (W)hen you grow old… somebody… will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go… Follow me…

Like any birthday celebration, Easter is meant to be a joyous time. But the joy comes not from closing our eyes to our own weakness, but by acknowledging it before the Lord, and allowing him to transform it into new strength. Isn’t this what that lighted Paschal Candle also signifies? Sisters and brothers, how might we better allow the Lord to turn the tables of our helplessness this Easter?

Hope In Hiddenness

Easter Sunday

Readings: Acts 10:34, 37-43; Psalm 117 (118):1-2, 16-17, 22-23; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9

Picture: By Drew Hays on Unsplash

My dear friends, how do we know when a couple is pregnant? Sounds like a silly question, doesn’t it? Aren’t the signs unmistakable?! And yet (speaking as someone severely lacking in relevant experience), don’t all pregnancies begin in secret? In its early days in the womb, doesn’t a baby remain hidden even from its mother? It’s only later, after a test has been taken, or a doctor consulted, that the mother knows for sure. She has to trust the test-results, and verify them with her own experience. After which the couple may then share the news with others, while also taking steps to start caring for the new life that’s already present in, but also still hidden from, the world. And as the couple looks forward in hope to the baby’s birth, they too are changed. Their relationship is renewed… Hiddenness and renewal, trusting and verifying, sharing and caring. Don’t we find these same elements in our scriptures on this joyous Easter morning?

In the gospel, when Mary of Magdala arrives at the tomb on that first Easter morning, Jesus has already risen. But he also remains hidden. And when the gospel tells us that it was still dark, this is less a reference to the colour of the sky, than to the state of Mary’s faith. The truth of the Resurrection is hidden from her, because she is still shrouded in the shadows of unbelief. She comes to the tomb expecting to anoint a corpse, not to worship the Risen Lord. Like a recently pregnant couple, Mary needs to learn to trust and to verify. To trust what the Lord had told his disciples before his Passion, and to verify it through her own experience. Isn’t this what happens to Simon Peter and the Beloved Disciple at the Empty Tomb? As they see for themselves and ponder the signs left at the place where Jesus’ body had been laid, they come to understand the teaching of scripture, that he must rise from the dead. The truth of the Resurrection gradually dawns upon them. Their faith is renewed. And all before they actually set eyes on the Lord. All while he still remains hidden.

In the first reading too, the Risen Christ doesn’t appear to anyone. At this point in the story, he has already ascended into heaven. Where he remains hidden. And yet, there are clear signs of his presence and influence in the world. How else to explain the courage and confidence with which Peter shares with Cornelius and his household about the Lord’s Life, Death and Resurrection. Even though it’s actually unlawful for a Jew like Peter to visit the home of a Gentile like Cornelius, Peter still feels free to do so, because the Spirit of Jesus has prompted him. Helping him to realise that God has no favourites. And by following this prompting, by sharing his faith even with those he once considered unclean, Peter and the whole Church undergo renewal. Experiencing the same newness of life that Peter is taking care to nurture in others.

Isn’t this a good example of what the second reading means when it reminds us that, as followers of a Crucified and Risen Lord, we live a secret life? A life hidden with Christ in God. A life that can be understood only by those who learn to see things through the eyes of faith, and of hope, and of love for the Lord. Those who keep learning to trust and to verify, to share and to care, and to continually undergo renewal. And isn’t it important for us Christians to keep generously submitting ourselves to this process today? When, by all accounts, our world is entering a highly unpredictable and dangerous time? When the justice and peace of God’s kingdom seem ever more difficult to locate. And when mercy, solidarity, and compassion for the weak, seem all but displaced by narcissism, and greed, and the belief that might makes right. Yet, isn’t it particularly in such times that we need to undergo renewal? Not just as citizens prudently electing new political leaders. But also as Church. Isn’t this why, for the past few years, Pope Francis has been encouraging all of us to become more synodal? To learn to discern and to walk more closely the Way of Christ, with one another, and even with those who may not share our beliefs.

Some of us may recall this conversation from the movie, The Fellowship of the Ring, between the wizard Gandalf and the little hobbit Frodo, when they find themselves lost in the dark and dangerous mines of Moria… Frodo says, I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened. To which Gandalf replies, So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the ring, in which case you too were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought…

Sisters and brothers, like a recently pregnant couple, how might we help one another to be encouraged and renewed by the already Risen, yet often still hidden, Christ this Easter?