Category Archives: Lent

It’s odd that my interactions with one of the largest companies in Singapore would spur me to resume my blogging, but God works in mysterious ways.

And thanks, Singtel…I guess…

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I’d just spent two frustrating days dealing with the telco over my dad’s fibre Internet installation, with no resolution in sight. I eventually had enough, and posted about the incident on their Facebook page here.

In that post, and in a comment to their followup, I made a very pointed observation: Good service means, among other things, committing to calling the customer back by a certain time, even if it’s just to let them know that you’re still working on the problem, and need some more time to resolve it…and set another deadline to follow up.

That way, the customer knows they haven’t been forgotten, and are therefore likely to be more forgiving of your company’s failings. In turn, you buy yourself some goodwill and trust, not something to sniff at in these untrusting times.

Wise teenagers also employ this method on their nights out, calling their parents by a certain time to let them know what’s going on…especially if they’re stuck waiting for a bus that never seems to arrive. It puts the adults’ minds at ease, and ensures continued willingness to let the teenagers have their freedom.

So why do so many of us not do the same thing with our Father?

Why do we say that we’ll pray to Him at some (handwaving) point, rather than committing to prayer when we rise from our beds, or during our daily commute, or some other fixed time?

How can we claim to serve Him well, and not commit to “call” Him back by a certain time each day?

In this season of Lent, halfway to the Paschal Triduum, is it not time to commit to good and Godly service…and get back to the Lord?

‘But now, now-it is the LORD who speaks-come back to me with all your heart, fasting, weeping, mourning.’ (Joel 2:12)

Maundy Thursday
Exodus 12:1-8,11-14 | Psalm 115(116):12-13,15-18 | 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 | John 13:1-15

As we commemorate the institution of the Holy Eucharist this evening, it’s fitting to remember how the events recounted today still apply to us in these modern times…

At the moment you do not know what I am doing, but later you will understand. (John 13:7)

Lord Jesus, how often we fail to understand Your teachings. Open our eyes to the mysteries that You shared with the apostles and, through them, Holy Mother Church, so that we too may be counted amongst Your faithful followers, both in word and deed.

If I do not wash you, you can have nothing in common with me. (John 13:8)

Lord Jesus, how often we forget the significance of our own baptism. Help us remember the day we were cleansed from sin by the waters streaming from Your side, and strive to live the Gospel life.

If I, then, the Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet. (John 13:14)

Lord Jesus, how often we put others down, or ignore them in their plight. Bend low our stiffened backs and pierce through our callused hearts, so that we may willingly share with others the love and mercy you have showered upon us every day of our lives.

Until the Lord comes, therefore, every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you are proclaiming his death. (1 Corinthians 11:26)

Lord Jesus, we come to You lost and broken. Wash us anew with Your healing waters, and feed us with Your living body, that we may be whole again, true children of God. Amen.

Wednesday of Holy Week
Isaiah 50:4-9 | Psalm 68(69):8-10,21-22,31,33-34 | Matthew 26:14-25

I offered my back to those who struck me,
my cheeks to those who tore at my beard;
I did not cover my face
against insult and spittle. (Isaiah 50:6)

Something bizarre happened to me yesterday, while I was on the way to my neighborhood train station.

I was traversing a narrow walkway, and spied two adults coming towards me, walking side by side. I decided to keep to the right, practically hugging the wall next to me.

The two individuals kept walking towards me, still walking abreast with no room on either side. They’re looking right at me, I thought. Surely the one in front of me will soon move to one side and let me through.

Instead, we both stopped barely arm’s-length apart, and she glared at me, seemingly insulted that this miserable excuse of a living being (a.k.a. me) wouldn’t smear myself into a thin layer against the wall, or vanish into thin air, so as to let her continue unimpeded.

Her companion, being more civil, pulled her to one side, and we all continued on our way.

Seconds later, it happened again. This time, it was (I assume) a mother and her towering son, and yes, the larger-than-me child seemed ready to beat me to a pulp for not giving way, even when there was literally no space for me to slide on by. The mother glared at me too, pointedly ignoring the physical impossibility of the situation, furious at this stranger who dared to disrespect her son by not doing the impossible for him.

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Yesterday, I experienced anew what it feels like to be a worm, unloved and irrelevant, a mere nuisance to be stepped on and ignored thereafter.

To my chagrin, I also experienced a surge of anger, my fists briefly clenching, seconds from throwing a gut-punch, followed closely by an uppercut to the chin. The crick in my neck from a rough night’s sleep didn’t help my disposition either.

Did I mention that I was quietly praying my daily rosary while all the above occurred? I must have recited at least fifteen Hail Marys during that twice-interrupted decade, when my thumb kept slipping on my rosary ring in my mental turmoil.

Now that I think about it, “chagrin” barely scratches the surface of what I’m still feeling as I write this. It brings me no joy to experience at least some of Isaiah’s predicament, nor to fight off the daily impulse to retaliate against those…

who expect me to kowtow to their unstated wishes,

who speak uncivil words to me, then blithely excuse themselves with “that’s the kind of person I am, can’t be helped, and why do you take things so seriously?”

who casually toss BIG problems “over the fence” to me, in the expectation that “Adrian’ll fix it” because they don’t want to deal with it.

But perhaps this was a wakeup call for me, reminding me to not bury myself in, well, me.

And then I remember Jesus’ instructions to his disciples regarding their passover preparations, particularly how Matthew begins his record with:

Go to so-and-so in the city (Matthew 26:18)

I think that’s a message to us all, when even the owner of the house in which the Last Supper took place is left unidentified.

All that matters in the end,
is that what needed doing
was performed to completion.

Just like Jesus in His Passion.

Lord Jesus Christ, You bore our sufferings and carried our sorrows through Your glorious Passion. Help us meet our own passion with the determination to do the needful, and the spiritual grace to bring Your boundless mercy to all.

May Your love be upon us, O Lord, as we place all our hope in you during this Holy Week, and till the end of our days. Amen.

Tuesday of Holy Week
Isaiah 49:1-6 | Psalm 70(71):1-6,15,17 | John 13:21-33,36-38

‘It is the one’ replied Jesus ‘to whom I give the piece of bread that I shall dip in the dish.’ He dipped the piece of bread and gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. At that instant, after Judas had taken the bread, Satan entered him. Jesus then said, ‘What you are going to do, do quickly.’ (John 13:26-27)

When we sin, we are often forewarned.

Rare is the occasion when we decide, on the spur of the moment, to cheat someone, or deny elderly people a few moments of rest for their tired feet on the train. It’s more often a learned process over the years, of not caring about the welfare of others, of not placing any worth on others.

We can see it coming…and choose to continue down that path anyway.

Judas was forewarned about his fate. He knew that Jesus knew, yet he did the deed anyway. John’s Gospel paints a disturbing picture about how others could see the change come upon him, the point at which he committed himself to betraying the Christ.

Jesus commanded him to “do [it] quickly,” so as not to delay His Passion. For us, however, hesitation gives us an opportunity to rethink a sinful course of action, a chance to pull back from the brink, to step away from temptation.

For us, slow is steady, and it helps us win the race to salvation.

Lord, as we go through life beset by temptation on every side, remind us often to stop and think about what You went through for us, and what staying on Your Holy Way means for our future reunion with the Father, of whom we are and for whom we long. Amen.

Monday of Holy Week
Isaiah 42:1-7 | Psalm 26(27):1-3,13-14 | John 12:1-11

Mary brought in a pound of very costly ointment, pure nard, and with it anointed the feet of Jesus, wiping them with her hair; the house was full of the scent of the ointment. (John 12:3)

Can you smell holiness?

I think you can.

I think it smells like the palm I picked up at church, a faint hint of greenery that sparks images of a “Hosanna!” donkey day long gone.

I think it smells like baby powder, which hit my nose when I lifted a little child up to the drinking fountain before mass, and who rewarded me in turn with a shy smile.

I think it smells like a sweaty South Asian construction worker, who valiantly helped a maid navigate her wheelchair-bound employer over bumps and potholes, while traffic rushed by within arm’s reach of the trio.

And, of course, I think it smells like Jesus Christ, anointed by Mary as a reminder to all present that He would be dead soon, as He foretold.

I think you can smell holiness.

It’s recognizing it for what it is that’s the trick.

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I just smelled my right armpit.

I don’t know why, and I’m wishing I hadn’t.

I clearly need to work on the holiness bit.

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Lord Jesus Christ, as we watch You process towards Your salvific death on a cross, help us engage all our senses as we bear our own crosses through life. Help us recognize the signs of holiness in action around us, and smell the fragrance of Your goodness in others. Amen.