The Conversion of Saint Paul, Apostle
Acts 22:3-16 | Psalm 116(117) | Mark 16:15-18
The conversion of Saul the persecutor to Paul the apostle is about as dramatic as it gets, and he came out of it like an evangelical whirlwind, preaching like there was no tomorrow.
Yesterday, I received not one but two reminders just how fragile our “tomorrow” really is.
In the early evening, on my way to a meeting at the local cathedral, I received a call from an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in a while. It turned out his mother, with whom I’ve also been close, had been hospitalized last week with breathing difficulties, and due to her advanced age, was not given a good prognosis at all.
Then, after the meeting, I traveled back on the train with another friend, who mentioned in passing that one of her colleagues recently died at her workplace from a heart attack. The person whom she was to meet went to her office when she never showed, and found her slumped over her keyboard. He immediately applied CPR and managed to bring some color back into her lips, but soon after emergency services got her to the nearest hospital, she was declared dead.
She was my age.
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These two incidents are grim reminders that, even though I feel healthier now that I felt 20 years ago (aside from a few expected aches and pains), I might not have a “tomorrow” to carry on with.
None of us should be so complacent, that we can always reconcile with God at the next penitential service, that we can share the Christ-fruits we’ve received with others after the financial year closes, that we can practice alms-giving after the Chinese New Year period.
In our perpetual “scheduling battle” between me-time and God-time, it’s past time to shift the frontline towards the Almighty.
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I think my friend anticipated my response to her workplace tragedy. She quietly nodded when I recounted what I’ve seen many times in our parish vestry, a large placard displaying the Priest’s Commendation Before Mass:
O Priest of God,
celebrate this Holy Mass as if it were
your first Mass,
your last Mass,
your only Mass.
We should inscribe on our own hearts a similar commendation:
O child of the Most High,
live this God-given day as if it were
your first day,
your last day,
your only day.
Return to the Lord with all your heart,
share with others the joy of our salvation.
Do it now,
for you may never have this chance again.
Amen.