5th day within the octave of Christmas Saint Thomas Becket, Bishop, Martyr
1 John 2:3-11 | Psalm 95(96):1-3,5-6 | Luke 2:22-35
Anyone who claims to be in the light
but hates his brother
is still in the dark. (1 John 2:9)
King Henry II considered St. Thomas Becket his brother in spirit, until Becket started taking his God-given responsibilities as Archbishop of Canterbury too seriously for the King’s tastes and morals. Their steadily deteriorating relationship eventually resulted in Becket’s assassination by four knights in his own cathedral, deep in the shadow of winter while monks chanted vespers nearby.
I visited Canterbury Cathedral earlier this year during my UK Catholic tour, and was struck by the contrast between the darkness around the ugly cross above his martyrdom site:
Sword from sword, in shadow doth thy sins multiply
and the light surrounding the humble candle that marks the location of his shrine, long since destroyed by Henry VIII:
One small light to banish the darkness
Many of us have know literally blinding anger, the red-hot rage that obscures our vision and causes us to collide heavily with objects that we’d normally avoid with ease, “not knowing where he is going because it is too dark to see.” (1 John 2:11)
At such times, it’s hard to remember to light a candle of hope and love to illuminate our way forward. It’s much easier instead to curse the darkness and the people whom we believe caused it to fall upon us…and continue to bruise ourselves upon our surroundings.
So in this season of Christmas, let Christ be born anew within us. As the Light of the World, let Him bring the flame of mercy and compassion to us, so that we may see with renewed clarity, and rediscover those whom we call enemies but who are really friends having a hard time of their own.
And when temptation threatens to lure us into the darkness of sin, may we be inspired by St. Thomas Becket to stand firm in the Light, and encourage others to do the same.
Saints Simon and Jude, Apostles
Ephesians 2:19-22 | Psalm 18(19):2-5 | Luke 6:12-16
You are no longer aliens or foreign visitors: you are citizens like all the saints, and part of God’s household. (Ephesians 2:19)
(Thanks and credit to Teresa Hoe for today’s photos.)
For each of the past few years, I’ve traveled with varied groups of pilgrims to different destinations: the Holy Land, Turkey, Greece, Spain, the UK, etc. Each year, I’d meet a few familiar faces and a slew of strangers.
Inevitably, we’d all be confused and a little on edge for the first few days, surrounded by strange stuff and unfamiliar people.
Who are you? Who am I? What are we doing here?
But as time passes, and with each communal meal…
Hungry lah, no time for photos!
and sufficient alcoholic lubricant…
Oh yeah, four pints should do it…but one more couldn’t hurt.
we begin to get comfortable with each other…
Wah, so COLD! Quick, squeeze together and share body heat!
and loosen up a little…
Why is everyone looking up? Trying to prank me, is it?
OW! Who put that thumbtack on my seat?!?!
and finally become more-or-less one.
Hey, where’s the bus?!?!
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Our progress through life is largely the same: We meet new people along the way, become friends with some, get ticked off by others. We get to know each others’ strengths and foibles, and in some cases might wish we’d never crossed paths.
But in faith we are one, and so despite our grievances and reservations, we journey in the same direction, towards God and His kingdom.
We try on the cloak of patience with people who try our patience.
We help those who have trouble helping themselves.
We support each other as we each become supports in God’s holy temple.
As every structure is aligned on him, all grow into one holy temple in the Lord; and you too, in him, are being built into a house where God lives, in the Spirit. (Ephesians 2:21-22)
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When I started this blog just over a year ago, I took the slogan “Traveling with the Lord (and a crappy camera)” literally, intending it as living documentation of my travels abroad. As you can probably tell from the last few hundred entries, I don’t take the “traveling” part literally any more.
Each day, I take a few more steps along the Camino de Dios1Spanish for “God’s road”…I think…, and journal my progress along the way. Please say a little prayer for my safe and faithful journey, as I say a little prayer for all of you along the way.
Lord, I’m coming home to You. I don’t know how long it’ll take, nor how many pits I’ll fall into along the way, but with Your love and protection, I’ll stay the course, fight the good fight against the Evil One, and bring along as many companions as I can. Help me never lose hope, for it is You whom my heart longs. Amen.
Thursday of Week 30 in Ordinary Time (Year II)
Ephesians 6:10-20 | Psalm 143:1-2,9-10 | Luke 13:31-35
The militaristic tone that St. Paul adopts in today’s reading reminds me of our visit to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland, at the start of our UK Catholic tour. There, I was introduced to the tradition of memorialising war heroes, with numerous monuments to officers who fell in battle, and combat unit flags flown high, deliberately left to degrade and unravel over time in homage to the regiments of old soldiers who “never die, they just fade away”.
But as modern man tired of worldwide conflict, a different monument sprang up within the cathedral to offset the glorification of war: the Tree of Remembrance.
Monuments to heroes, flags of regimental honour…and a stripped steel tree to remind us of the cost of secular war.
Many of the monuments in the building represent those whose families have paid to have their relative remembered. These monuments represent a time when war was often glamorised and death through conflict described as “glorious.”
Today, St. Patrick’s Cathedral takes a very different view of remembrance. Death in wartime is solemnly remembered as a tragic loss of life. Remembrance must be inclusive rather than exclusive. All those who have been affected by violence or conflict are today remembered in the Cathedral.
The Tree of Remembrance was erected in the North Transept of the Cathedral. The monument uses a simple, neutral symbol of nature – the tree. However, the tree has been broken and destroyed by war and is made, not from natural materials, but from steel. This is intended to reflect modern industrial warfare. The base of the tree is surrounded by barbed wire, a universal symbol of conflict.
Visitors to the space are invited to remember a loved one who has been affected by conflict by filling out a small leave shaped tag and tying it to the barbed wire. Over time, the barbed wire will be covered with messages of hope.
(If you’re wondering where all the messages went, they make up the green and white “mat” at the foot of the tree.)
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Of course, St. Paul actually referred to spiritual warfare, and St. Patrick’s Cathedral commemorates that too, with a truncated version of that famous incantation that is St. Patrick’s Breastplate:
Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.
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Now, it’s easy to see and love the Christ we face in the people we love.
It’s a lot harder to see and love the Christ we face in the people we don’t like, the ones who make our lives miserable.
And it’s almost impossible to remember that our quarrel is not with them, but with the Evil One that prods them with empty promises.
St. Paul understood that all too well, and reminds us that:
it is not against human enemies that we have to struggle, but against the Sovereignties and the Powers who originate the darkness in this world, the spiritual army of evil in the heavens. (Ephesians 6:12)
So let us gird for war with Satan and his minions, fortified with daily prayer and fervent love as children of the Almighty.
And since we need competent leadership in our daily struggle, let us invoke the help of God’s commanding general:
Saint Michael Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)
Exodus 17:8-13 | Psalm 120:1-8 | 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2 | Luke 18:1-8
Before God and before Christ Jesus who is to be judge of the living and the dead, I put this duty to you, in the name of his Appearing and of his kingdom: proclaim the message and, welcome or unwelcome, insist on it. Refute falsehood, correct error, call to obedience – but do all with patience and with the intention of teaching. (2 Timothy 4:1-2)
“Just curious: Are you a pastor?”
I was surprised by this question yesterday, from a atheist friend whom I’d not seen in years. I was surprised because we and a few other friends were discussing his own tuition practice; nothing remotely religious crossed our collective lips.
It turned out that something in the way I expressed myself triggered that association. He couldn’t pin it down, but he thought it had to do with the passion of my hand movements: making broad sweeps in random directions, gesticulating upwards a lot, and at one point thumping the lunch table.
I could only say “no”, continue exercising my hands…and bite my tongue to avoid asking: “You mean, like Kong Hee?” ?
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I’m no longer a 25-year-old reluctant Catholic. My love for the Lord is now something to be celebrated in my middle years, and not in a shy way. I thank God for the energy and enthusiasm that He’s given me, to share how He’s affected my life each day.
Even so, there are days where I’m physically drained, when I start writing a few words and then hit a mental and spiritual block. In the early days of my blog, I reacted with “oh no, will I break my daily streak?” Now, I write when the Spirit moves me, and I just happen to get nudged every day.
However, if the day comes when I can no longer write about my relationship with God for some reason…so be it. It’s been a love-filled ride, and I’m truly glad it happened, but there’s a season for everything (Ecclesiastes 3:1).
In the meantime, I’ll keep on keeping on, like the widow in today’s Gospel. I’ll continue banging away at my keyboard, exploring the depths of my friendship with the Almighty in mortal words, and sharing them with the world.
If these words should inspire you to begin your own journey towards a deeper relationship with God, welcome to the club! Pull up a virtual chair, pour yourself a dram of Glendalough 13 Year, and let’s praise the night away.
If you’ve wanted to do something similar for the longest time, but could never muster the courage or the knowledge to do it, pull up a virtual chair, pour yourself a dram of Glenfiddich for liquid courage, have a chat, then just get started.
If you’re wondering what all the fuss is about, pull up a virtual chair…you know the rest.
Coming together as God’s family (St. John’s Cathedral, Limerick)
For we need not be alone in our faith journey; we have never been, and we never will be. That’s the message I’m taking away from today’s first reading.
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Moses is rightfully considered one of the Grand Old Men of our faith, but even he had his failings. He lost his temper with the Israelites out of Egypt, and in Exodus 17, he reveals the limits of his physical strength. But Aaron and Hur were there by his side, shoring up his weakening arms for the House of Israel.
Likewise, none of my entries are solo efforts. At their core lies the Holy Spirit, directing my thoughts in certain directions, and my eyes to certain passages.
Then there is the collective wisdom of the Internet, funneled through various search engines like Google and archives like Wikipedia and vatican.va, that I tap on when I need to gather more information about specific subjects.
? We’ll … ne … ver … walk … a-lone. ? (Lindisfarne)
Finally, there are the people I encounter on a daily basis, whose stories and interactions with me often embellish the words that I write. This particular entry is dedicated to the wonderful folks with whom I toured the United Kingdom in 2016 (if it wasn’t already clear from the photos).
Sláinte mhaith, brothers and sisters, and let us continue journeying in Christ together!
Through our actions, with our words, in our love, O God, Almighty Father, in the unity of Your chosen people, all glory and honour is Yours, now and forever. Amen.
Saturday of Week 28 in Ordinary Time (Year II) Saint Teresa of Ávila, Virgin, Doctor
Ephesians 1:15-23 | Psalm 8:2-7 | Luke 12:8-12
‘I tell you, if anyone openly declares himself for me in the presence of men, the Son of Man will declare himself for him in the presence of the angels. But the man who disowns me in the presence of men will be disowned in the presence of God’s angels.’ (Luke 12:8-9)
I quite like traveling, particularly when visiting places of pilgrimage and quiet reflection. To a pessimist, this means that I’m getting ever closer to the day when I may be waylaid or killed in a foreign land, perhaps victim of a roadside bomb in the Holy Land, or held hostage at an airport in transit, or an unintended statistic of a city street mugging.
Today’s Gospel put a disturbing thought in my head: If I were kidnapped by terrorists baying for non-Muslim blood, would I be brave enough to identify myself as being “for Christ”? Would I have the courage of, say, Kayla Mueller, who endured 18 months of ISIS-led deprivation and assault without losing hope and faith?
I’d like to think so, but I really don’t know. After all, odds are good I’ll be traveling with my wife; would I dare risk her by association?
But if I kept quiet about my faith, and survived the encounter, how would I live with myself afterwards? Would I then drift away from God out of private guilt? St. Peter denied Jesus three times, yet remained the keystone of the Church; do I even have a tenth of his fortitude?
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After much reflection, I realized three things:
No “battle plan” survives enemy contact. I could plan my actions all I want, but from long experience, no matter how many scenarios I simulate in my head, real life almost never happens like I imagined.
But it’s still good to plan ahead. In particular, I need to practice “continuity planning” with my business partners and the folks I deal with regularly, with prepared backups, alternatives and “in the event of” instructions. That way, if I don’t survive my next trip, they’ll be able to continue doing what they need to with minimal disruption. Not having to worry about the folks back home would help me focus on my present difficulties.
And with faith, there is hope. I may or may not have the courage to declare for Christ with a gun barrel in my face, but in the darkness of captivity, I must find the spark in my heart to continue seeking God in prayer, and encourage others around me to do the same, just as Fr. St. Maximilian Kolbe did in the dank dungeons of Auschwitz. Without such sure hope that He’s still with us in our misery, I would have no anchor left, and would be free to do…un-Christian things.
Lord, You have watched over us in good times and bad. If we are to be tested in faith, lend us the courage of conviction that You are our all, our everything, the One with whom we will be reunited in the hereafter. Help us share that conviction with each other, especially in the face of fear and suffering. Alone, we can do nothing good, but You promised that You would be with us in our unity. To You be the kingdom, the power and the glory, now and forever. Amen.
