Spiritus Sanctus

Wednesday of week 20 in Ordinary Time (Year I)
Judges 9:6-15 | Psalm 20(21):2-7 | Matthew 20:1-16

It’s quite obvious by now that my daily commitment to writing about each day’s scripture has fallen by the wayside. I draw a blank on most nights in recent memory, so I set the task aside till the dawn, whereupon I either end up busying myself with something else, or sit down and draw another blank. Blanks are really no fun to draw.

Do I feel like I’m letting God down? Kinda.

Do I feel like a failure? Oh yes.

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Then last evening, as I was shopping for groceries, an odd sight nearly made me laugh out loud:

The price of failure?!?!

Just a simple electronic price tag, with a mocking message:

You arrogant fool! You think you’re a great failure? I’ve got news for you: everybody fails! So you missed a few days’ scriptural blogging, well big whoop! Keep on keepin’ on, I say!

(That was actually all in my head, but you get the idea…)

It’s a timely reminder to keep my eyes firmly fixed on the God who’s both far in the distance and right in front of me.

The God who knows I’ve failed, but also knows I’m willing to keep coming back.

The God who loves me enough to send me very unusual messages.

As long as I keep my eyes firmly fixed on Him, I can more-or-less avoid the grievous error of the Shechem elders in today’s scripture, who in electing Abimelech king would later regret their terrible choice.

Lord God, You are King of my heart. Let me never turn away from You, even in my direst moments, and especially not in the times of great success. May I always look to You in joy and in sorrow, in trial and in ease, salve for the wounded present and hope for the glorious future. For in You alone do I live, and move, and have my being. Amen.

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And as the lights go out at the basement supermarket, a forlorn voice is heard:

OK, message sent. Now can someone please fix me?

Anyone?

Hello?

Wednesday of week 19 in Ordinary Time (Year I)
Deuteronomy 34:1-12 | Psalm 65(66):1-3,5,16-17 | Matthew 18:15-20

The Lord said to him, ‘This is the land I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, saying: I will give it to your descendants. I have let you see it with your own eyes, but you shall not cross into it.’ (Deuteronomy 34:4)

Of late, I’ve been dreaming of failure.

I dream of building a successful business, only to be ousted by the company board.

I dream of running towards a young boy standing in the middle of the road, only to watch helplessly as he tumbles over a speeding car into a crumpled motionless heap.

I dream of standing in the middle of Raffles Place, proclaiming the end times to a never-ending flock of financial types blithely flitting past, minds lost in plotting their next market killing.

I wonder where all this failure is coming from.

Ow.

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Moses failed in his success.

He led the Israelites to the Promised Land, but he did not trust in God enough to ask the rock at Meribah to yield its life-giving waters. Instead, he struck it twice, and in his disobedience, he was barred from entering himself. (Numbers 20:1-13)

Yet Moses, to this day, is still considered one of the greatest and most widely-acknowledged of all the prophets.

He also succeeded each time he trusted in the Lord. The Book of Exodus is filled with accounts of the miracles he was involved with.

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I think my dreams weren’t actually about failure.

I may have lost my business, but it survived.

I may not have been able to save that child, but I didn’t hesitate to try.

I may not have been able to convert hearts, but I didn’t fear to take the stand for the Lord.

Instead, they were a reminder that my own abilities are limited, but there is something greater in this world, emanating from someone who beckons to me and points the way every day, the right race to run.

That something…is faith.

Not the fickleness of human desires.

Not the ever-changing measures of secular success.

Just the quiet voice that reminds us in the silence:

Trust in the Lord, and do what He commands.
Unto Him give the first fruits of your heart.
When all has crumbled into dust, He will remain.
He will raise you up in the palm of His hand.

Amen.

The Transfiguration of the Lord
Daniel 7:9-10,13-14 | Psalm 96(97):1-2,5-6,9 | 2 Peter 1:16-19 | Matthew 17:1-9

Travel can be a stressful time, bringing out the worst in us.

I rediscovered this during my just-concluded two-week trip, a medical-business-pleasure jaunt with my oldest friend and another friend whom we’ve both known for years. We both appreciate this other friend for her project management abilities, but she’s a harridan in face-to-face interaction, and not one to use ten words when she could come up with 10,000.

This is not the first trip the three of us have taken together, but it’s the first one that both of us blew up at her. I’m usually the peacemaker between the other two, but this time I found myself getting increasingly irritated at what I thought was irrationality and unnecessary volubility hitting all-time highs.

I finally lost my cool when I asked her for directions to the medical centre that I was driving her to…and she responded with a torrent of words that left both of us thoroughly confused as to where she wanted us to drop her off. We were in the middle of fast-flowing traffic, so I YELLED at her to get to the point.

That startled my buddy, who later explained that she was particularly edgy this year because she was deathly concerned with her steadily-increasing weight, despite all other medical checkups finding her in better-than-normal health for her age.

Cancer was not far from her mind.

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This Sunday, we recall the Transfiguration of the Lord, the moment when His interior divinity emerged with unquestionable glory, confounding the apostles with him.

We too experience many moments of “transfiguration” in our lives, in which our inner selves make themselves known in unguarded moments, despite our best efforts to hide them from others:

making a mess when we eat, and blithely leaving the detritus behind for the busy cleaners to deal with…

or respect the “please clear your table” signs and bus our plates and bowls…

briefly looking up on the train to see a senior citizen standing before us, then quickly looking down to pretend we hadn’t noticed…

or give them our seat and spend the next three stops standing with nary a load on our backs…

having second thoughts about the pair of jeans we picked out 10 minutes ago, and dropping them off on the nearest available shelf—among the pots and pans in the household section…

or head back down a floor and return the neatly-folded clothes to the place we found them…

What do these revealing moments say about us, and what we profess to believe?

Lord, open our eyes to our own moments of transfiguration, and help us understand how they reflect our own values and beliefs despite our pretensions to righteousness. May our words and actions always reflect the radiance of Your own Transfiguration, and lead others in our own small way to You and to our heavenly Father. Amen.

Saint James, Apostle
2 Corinthians 4:7-15 | Psalm 125(126):1-6 | Matthew 20:20-28

Indeed, while we are still alive, we are consigned to our death every day, for the sake of Jesus, so that in our mortal flesh the life of Jesus, too, may be openly shown. (2 Corinthians 4:11)

Over the last few months, I’ve found myself cooking almost half my daily meals, and all of them were pretty much vegetarian. As you might expect, I lost about 5kg and a couple of inches around the waist, and gained in turn a greater sense of energy along with a certain lightness of being.

I also noticed my body dying.

It’s not that “falling off a cliff” of end-stage cancer, or a terminal disease, or even an obese person climbing a flight of stairs. I just feel in spades what my senses couldn’t tell me before, whilst overloaded and blunted by the detritus of rich living.

Now that I’ve shed so much toxic badness, my senses have cleared to the point that I can actually feel myself getting very slightly slower and achier each day, with just a touch less stamina than the day before. As my cells start dying faster than they can be replaced, I expect to maintain this awareness till my last day on this earth.

It’s a mixed blessing, to be sure, but I’m thankful for the ability to feel it all.

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My spiritual life has evolved in a similar fashion. As I “die” more and more to my secular self, I’ve become more aware of what happens around me every day, particularly affronts to others, and to God through them.

I’m no longer inured to the growing hedonism that even affects some Catholics I know, and one of my closest friends is now dealing with the imminent breakdown of his “what God has joined, man must not divide” union.

And yet, I see life in the hope that springs from many friends’ daily struggle to live the Gospel life, and in my own journey along a similar path. As a collective Christendom, we die to ourselves each day, so as to shine forth with the joy and peace that knowledge of our Lord and our impending reunion with the Creator. As beacons of hope, we lead other struggling souls in the direction of righteousness and love, towards the One who Is.

At least, that’s the general idea, though even on a personal level, I probably need to polish and relight my beacon. Time to refocus on the Good and the Right.

And keep eating vegetables.

Lord, we fear dying to ourselves, because we place more trust in the mundane present of our sensual experience, than in the heavenly future of Your great promise. Help us to break that fear and dependence. Help us to truly die to our selfish selves, and raise us up to a new life of holiness.

For in You rests all our hopes and dreams, our joy and peace. Amen.

Monday of Week 16 in Ordinary Time (Year I)
Exodus 14:5-18 | Exodus 15:1-6 | Matthew 12:38-42

The Lord made Pharaoh, king of Egypt, stubborn, and he gave chase to the sons of Israel as they made their triumphant escape. (Exodus 14:8)

Failure is always an option, especially for those of us in leadership positions.

I would imagine that at least some of Pharaoh’s generals would have counselled against pursuing the Israelites, considering the ten plagues visited upon them by this demonstrably-mighty God. In this case, the Lord triggered Pharaoh’s stubbornness for His own purpose, to inspire His own people to perpetual awe and adoration–though of course we know what they did not long after.

Is our own stubbornness, in the face of our advisors’ opposition to our plans, inspired by God or man?

Before we face the challenges of each day, do we ask the Lord for enlightened steadfastness in the course of righteousness?

Or do we just rely on our own senses and intuition, disregarding all the warnings from others who know better?

One is indeed the loneliest number…but only if we choose to go it alone.

Lord, it’s hard sometimes to remember that You are always besides us, especially when we’re pressured into exercising our own flawed judgement. Remind us to seek You whenever we are confounded by our circumstances, to dwell in Your Holy Presence when we are beset by worry and indecision, and to take heed of the Spirit of Good Counsel who whispers in our hearts the path to righteousness and peace of mind.

For You alone are the Holy One, You alone are the Lord, You alone are the Most High. With You, we shall never be alone. Amen.