Saturday of Week 31 in Ordinary Time (Year II)
Philippians 4:10-19 | Psalm 111(112):1-2,5-6,8,9 | Luke 16:9-15

The man who can be trusted in little things can be trusted in great; the man who is dishonest in little things will be dishonest in great. (Luke 16:10)

The context of this passage centers on money and our relationship with it, but I think it also speaks to our relationship with our faith, particularly the little things like generosity, praise and reconciliation with God.

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I’ve written previously about my lazy college journey down the river of apathy, drifting away from the light of Christ. What may not be clear from that entry is that I didn’t just suddenly turn my back on God and classes. Rather, it was a slow retreat into the wilderness:

“I’m quite tired, so I’ll just cut this one class”

became “I’ll just spend the rest of the afternoon at the computer lab, those EE and AI lectures are boring, and this new Internet thing is cool“

became “hey, the Gulf War’s on, let’s stay home and see what’s happening on CNN”

Similarly, I felt blah one Sunday, so I called the college chapel to let the music director know that I wasn’t feeling well,

which became once a month, then every other week,

and eventually I stopped going altogether, and regularly dodged concerned calls from the chapel.

In both cases, I can trace my backsliding to a failure to set aside regular periods for study and prayer respectively. I’d hit the books whenever I felt like it, and said a quick prayer whenever I remembered. As you can imagine, those periods got further and further apart, and eventually evaporated altogether. Basically, I couldn’t even trust myself to get the little things done right.

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I’m sure you realized that the title for today’s entry is a play on Richard Carlson’s famous book “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and It’s All Small Stuff“. If you haven’t read it yourself, the subtitle “Simple ways to keep the little things from taking over your life” should be self-explanatory.

Now I’ll take that idea and reinterpret it into unrecognisability.

There are some little things that are absolutely critical to maintain our sanity and continued performance in life. Things like healthy meals, regular exercise and stepping away from our computers every half-hour or so seem so obvious…that we honour them by cramming down fast food and playing online games till the wee hours. I think these little things1they’re technically BIG things, but we sure don’t treat them like they’re important deserve to be sweated over.

Similarly, for our faith to remain healthy, we need to “exercise” it regularly through little things like prayer, scriptural reflection, and acts of kindness.

We may “backslide” a time or two, forgetting to pray, or grab a greasy burger after a very tiring day, but it’s not a big deal – we just need to get back into the “rhythm” at the next opportunity.

However, we shouldn’t expect to instantly go all-out on a new health regimen, whether physical or spiritual. Such a “big bang” approach often doesn’t last, and believing one can leap from zero to “saintly martyr” is wishful thinking at best.

Rather, just change one thing first, perhaps walking a few blocks or reading the day’s gospel reflection after lunch. Get used to doing it regularly, then add something else. Rinse and repeat. If impatience starts getting the better of us, this simple prayer by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry may help.

All this is what I call gently sweating the small stuff.

And once all this gentle sweating gets us to where we can trust ourselves to do the small stuff regularly and instinctively, then we’re more likely to tackle the big things rationally and faithfully…like cancer, or the temptation of ill-gotten riches.

Brothers and sisters, if you think I’m just speaking theoretically, here’s a list of the small stuff I’m currently sweating gently every day:

• Pray a full rosary on the first public transport journey.
• Clear my table at the hawker center, both before (if needed) and after my meal.
• Thank the hawker for my meal.
• Thank the cleaner for, well, cleaning.
• Thank the driver of every bus I ride in.
• Reflect on and write my thoughts about the next day’s scripture at night (i.e. this blog).

There’s obviously a lot more I can add, like thanking God first thing and last thing each day, or going for monthly confession. I’ll get to them, one thing at a time.

Friday of Week 31 in Ordinary Time (Year II)
Saint Charles Borromeo, Bishop
Philippians 3:17-4:1 | Psalm 121(122):1-5 | Luke 16:1-8

The master praised the dishonest steward for his astuteness. For the children of this world are more astute in dealing with their own kind than are the children of light. (Luke 16:8)

Just yesterday, I shared on Facebook and elsewhere an interesting article by Dr. Greg Popcak, on how he thought Pope Francis should’ve answer the perennial “women priest” question.

In a nutshell, he suggested pointing out that all Catholics are, by virtue of the Sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation, part of the “common priesthood of the laity”, and blessed with spiritual authority that is largely unexercised.

By providing this “new” answer to the age-old question, Dr. Popcak suggests that the Pope could’ve instantly turned the tables on the Church’s detractors, and taken the lead in a conversation that could lead to the world at large looking at Catholicism in something other than a fuddy-duddy-ancient-fossil light…and truly listening for once.

To my surprise, even the suggestion of a fresh approach to a known “landmine” caused some controversy. One Facebook commenter chided me for being misleading, as the question was clearly about the ordained priesthood. By playing with words, I (and Dr. Popcak by extension) was being disingenuous.

Today’s Parable of the Dishonest Steward seems like the perfect invitation to explore this topic in more detail.

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The question of “women priests” has been raised many times over the years, often under the banner of sexual equality. Proponents decry Mother Church as being a sexist organization for her (!) steadfast refusal to ordain women, and anyone from the Catholic side who tries to probe into the underlying reasons often gets nowhere.

So on the public stage, we basically have a polarized “conversation” that goes like this:

Women priests, now!

Why?

Women priests, now!

Seriously, why?

WOMEN PRIESTS, NOW!

Clearly, one side isn’t going to change its tune, so what can we do to get a real conversation going?

How about addressing the question in a different way, one that is both arguably true and throws a wrench into the constant heated refrain, reclaiming the initiative to direct the conversation in a more fruitful direction?

WOMEN PRIESTS, NOW!

All Catholic women already are, as are all Catholic men!

Wait, what?

There’s this thing called the “common priesthood of the laity”,
of which every Catholic is a member.

Really? Tell me more…

I think that’s the astute answer, because:

1. you can’t have a conversation when one side isn’t listening,
2. only a few people on that side steadfastly refuse to listen,
3. there are billions of bystanders who are listening, including the ones who already believe,
4. conversation builds bridges,
5. the Pope, as Pontifex, is actually in the “business” of bridge-building.

Now, it’s likely that the media would seize on this and publish headlines like:

Pope Francis: “All Catholics Are Priests!”

Will that provoke conversation? Certainly, and evangelisation can’t happen without conversation.

Will that provoke questions from parishoners to their clergy? Probably, and that would be an excellent opportunity for continuing catechism.

Will that provoke reflection amongst the faithful about their neglected responsibility, and a renewed sense of purpose? I hope so.

Will that promote the faith better than “No, because divine law, so please stop asking”? I believe so.

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But that’s not answering the question as asked!

Right.

But that’s DANGEROUS!

Perhaps, if we allow ourselves to stray into topics for which our knowledge is inadequate. For this particular question, and given the Pope’s experience, it’s a calculated risk, but also an opportunity to shift the narrative…

from a dead horse that’s been flogged into a bloody smear…

to a life-giving message for all the faithful and I-want-to-believers, who mistakenly count themselves out of evangelisation for their sex, or marital status, or state of sin.

Similarly, when we speak with (not “to”) others about our faith, let us not be those teachers we all hated, the ones who made us memorize entire textbooks of dates, facts and figures, and penalised us for giving answers that, while perfectly correct, didn’t conform to the “standard model” issued from on high.

Instead, let us be “children of light”, finding and pointing out unexpected rays of sunshine and hope in the most deflating of pronouncements.

“No, dear, you can never be ordained a priest, ever – but you already are one, and everyone’s waiting for you to show it with your love and faith. I believe you can do it, and I’m here to help you if you need me.”

“Yes, dear, you have cancer – but I’m still here, and I’m not leaving. Let’s work to beat this together, and more importantly, let’s enjoy each moment we have together, for better or worse.”

Thursday of Week 31 in Ordinary Time (Year II)
Saint Martin de Porres, Religious
Philippians 3:3-8 | Psalm 104(105):2-7 | Luke 15:1-10

In the same way, I tell you, there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one repentant sinner than over ninety-nine virtuous men who have no need of repentance. (Luke 15:7)

I have a peculiar programming habit.

Whenever I write code that passes all the tests that I can devise, and seems to work well under end-user “torture”, I just shrug, stretch, and move on to the next problem.

Then my business partner calls me with a “Hey! XYZ just broke in ABC way!”

Instantly, I’m juiced up on adrenaline. I put aside whatever I’m working on at the time, and dive deep into my code in a frenzy of testing, probing and more testing. When I find the thrice-damned bug, fix it, and release the amended code, there’s a rush of ecstasy, and I immediately “confess” the cause of the problem to my partner – often an oversight on my part.

(That just happened in the middle of writing this entry, so you know it’s true.)

I’m not the Good Shepherd, but I hope you see the parallel with today’s Gospel.

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My relationship with the Sacrament of Reconciliation was upended when I stumbled across a pithy description of Christianity by a non-Christian teacher:

The difference between Christianity and every other faith in the world is that all other religions are about man trying to reach up to God. Christianity is about God reaching down to man. (emphasis mine)

How many of us are afraid to avail ourselves of this Sacrament because we just can’t seem to break the cycle of our particular sins that keep cropping up? Because we feel we don’t deserve to be reconciled with God, that we’re failures, that we don’t “measure up”?

How many of us have forgotten that God has already “reached down” to us in the form of Jesus Christ, has already offered us redemption, has already signaled His readiness to forgive even our basest sins?

How many of us have forgotten that God, like the father of the Prodigal Son, just wants us to come home?

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The Gospel speaks of the shepherd’s joy at finding the lost sheep, but how do you think the sheep felt? Cold and hungry, stumbling around in the darkness, cowering in fear at the menacing howls of hunting wolf-packs, what would its reaction be when the shepherd finds it and tenderly carries it home?

I think it’s quite obvious really…

MASTER!!!
<bliss>

All Souls
Isaiah 25:6-9 | Psalm 26(27):1,4,7,8-9,13-14 | Romans 5:5-11 | Luke 7:11-17

That day, it will be said: See, this is our God
in whom we hoped for salvation;
the Lord is the one in whom we hoped. (Isaiah 25:9)

I think at least some lapsed Catholics wander off because something happened that made them lose hope in God, hope in salvation, hope in the hereafter.

Perhaps it was a loved one who suffered a tragic or particularly painful death,

or a successful family business that collapsed into bankruptcy when the latest economic bubble popped,

or a violent crime that left them in crippling fear,

or being jobless for many months and running low on funds.

Whatever the cause, many believers find it hard to bounce back from “WHAT KIND OF GOD ARE YOU, THAT YOU LET THIS HAPPEN TO ME?!?!” It’s often hard to look kindly at the next life and its promises, when you’re being drawn and quartered in this one.

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I lost hope during my junior year in college. I was struggling in my classes, and having to drive an hour each way from my apartment every weekday, looking in vain for a parking lot near campus, just exacerbated my frustration. I’d been singing regularly in the college chapel’s ensemble…until I simply stopped going, both to church and class. Naturally, I made the Dean’s Other List, the one that says “shape up or ship out”, but frankly, I was past caring at that point.

Then God must’ve decided a wake-up call was in order, and sent me and my 1982 Toyota Corolla off a steep embankment. The violent collision with an innocent bystanding tree, and the sudden stop at the bottom, turned my car into a sad wreck fit only for scrap, but left me with just a small gash on my arm to show for my traumatic experience.

I’d like to say that I immediately cleaned up my act and became a star student after that, but in reality, my senior year was only a modest improvement over the previous one. Still, I did get off my couch and back to class (and church), and I eventually graduated with a decent GPA.

Then a few years later, I looked back and realized that my car “died” to save me, just as Jesus died to save us all. I hadn’t really taken good care of it, but it was still there for me when it mattered, just as Christ has always been there even when I didn’t think he was, being too busy looking in the direction of sin.

It was only then that I started living in hope again.

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I’ve yet to read Dante’s Inferno, but I’m intimately familiar with one of the most famous phrases from his text, purportedly inscribed atop the gates of Hell:

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate
(Abandon all hope, ye who enter here)

I see it as a reminder to us all, that we can and should reach out to those who are hope-less, to gently take their hand and lead them to the peace and solitude of the Blessed Sacrament. There, they might find Christ again, and be enlivened with such sure hope that, in the darkest of days, He is always there to guide, and protect, and love.

Ricevere ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate
(Receive all hope, ye who enter here)

Amen.

All Saints
Apocalypse 7:2-4,9-14 | Psalm 23(24):1-6 | 1 John 3:1-3 | Matthew 5:1-12

It’s that time of year again to reflect on Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, specifically the eight famous Beatitudes. I personally think of them as the Be-Attitudes, reflecting the spiritual and Spirit-filled positions we are called to adopt as children of God:

• Be poor in spirit, knowing that no matter how rich and famous we become on this earth, we are still completely dependent on God’s mercy.
• Be gentle, mastering our inner urge to lash out at those who torment us, and helping them to understand and eventually find the God of love whom we follow.
• Be mournful for our own faults, and for those who have walked away from God.
• Be hungry and thirsty for what is right, striving daily to lift others in goodness, instead of focusing on our material goods and comforts.
• Be merciful, with compassion to all God’s creatures, especially the downtrodden and helpless.
• Be pure of heart, quashing urges of the flesh and lust for power over others, anything that would make us hide from God’s face.
• Be peacemakers, urging calm and reconciliation, for the world has had enough of war between nations, violence in the streets, and strife in families.
• Be righteous in persecution, holding firm to our belief that we are all God’s children – even the ones who reject Him, and us by association.

This is truly a day to rejoice with all the saints in heaven. May we renew our faith and stand firm against sin, and so be blessed to join their ranks on the last day.

Amen.