Pins of Light:Scattered hints to provoke thought and talk about God...
This bible blog was launched for Advent 2007, and began as a daily reflection on scriptural readings until Easter of 2008. Since every reflection posed a question to God, this initial portion of Pins of Light is called Questions for God.
From March 2008 to December 2009, Pins of Light has featured a weekly reflection on the Sunday readings.
Since 2008, Advent and Lenten recollections have also been conducted on line.
In September 2010, this web site with its new look launches as the Sunday bible blogs resume. I hope you enjoy reading them and stumble into some hints about God's whereabouts.
Today's Readings When you think about it, there are many things that aren’t quite right with the Gospel story we just read. First of all, the tomb wasn’t supposed to be empty: Just three days ago, on the eve of the Sabbath, the corpse of a man, executed like a common criminal, was hurriedly buried there. And precisely to prevent the body from being stolen, the authorities had installed guards to stand by the heavy stone that sealed the tomb.
Secondly, if the body had indeed been taken away by thieves, the shroud that used to cover it, because of the price it could fetch, wasn’t supposed to be left there in the tomb. But as the evangelist makes sure to point out to us, the two disciples who ran to the tomb saw the linen cloth lying there, as well as the napkin that had been used to cover Jesus’ head rolled up by itself.
Finally, even the two disciples weren’t supposed to be there at the tomb of Jesus: For three days ago, after an entire city witnessed the death of their Master, His body broken on the cross, the disciples scampered away in hiding, for fear of the Jews. Something seems to be wrong with the picture.
When I look at my life the last ten years, there are also many things that don’t seem to be quite right with it. For one, I can think of many reasons why I didn't have to end up getting ordained a priest ten years ago.
I almost didn't even study in a Catholic school. Back in 1973, when I was in the third grade, my father heard about this Catholic school for Chinese boys called Kuangchi somewhere among the cogon fields of Little Baguio, San Juan, and just decided out of the blue to move me out of a Chinese school downtown and to send me to the new school. If my father had not made that decision, a decision made almost on a whim, I would not have met the priests running the school—and it’s hard for me to imagine today how I would even have thought of becoming one of them.
Second reason why I’m not supposed to be a priest: I have to confess—beginning with high school up until after college, I did not want to be a priest. Despite the insistence of my high school spiritual director—or maybe because of it—I did not want to think I was being called to the priesthood. The life of a priest did not sound like it was going to be a lot of fun (It isn't). But of course, we know today that he was right, after all. Even then, long before I was ready to recognize or accept the truth about my vocation, somehow he saw it. He knew.
In general, my grade school and high school teachers were also not surprised when they first heard about my joining the priesthood. Somehow, like my spiritual director, they had a way of knowing. But that wasn't the case with my closest friends. One good friend, a colleague at work, was aghast when I confided to her about my plans: “How can that be?” she asked with all sincerity, “all those jokes and that language—how can you even think of becoming a priest?!”
There is one other important reason why I didn't have to end up a priest: My mother was very much against my decision. Like a typical Chinese mother—and perhaps like many mothers, for that matter—she did not want me to suffer in the way priests are often portrayed as suffering. I remember a couple of afternoons when I was still a novice, she would take the car and sneak into the novitiate grounds, hoping to chance upon me. And the moment she spotted me, she would quickly roll down the car window, wave to me frantically, and before I knew it, the car would speed away, and leave me standing there on the road and--to the delight of my companions--holding a bag of siopaos and chocolates in my hands.
Unknown to my mother, our Master of Novices, that wise and kind soul, would watch the entire secret operation through his office window, but understanding, always chose to look the other way.
When I think about the people in my life, I cannot help but marvel at the gift that they've been to me. Many years ago, almost in spite of myself, I found myself setting out on a journey, an exciting journey but also a terrifying one, a journey that I really at that time believed would take me away from many of my friends. But today, I look around and see that God has surrounded me with so many more good friends, wonderful colleagues, and supportive people. Many of them I never would have even met without that life-altering decision. If I had not taken that detour, my path would never have crossed with theirs.
And so it seems that every time we think we’ve seen it all, the Lord pulls the rug from under our feet, and he surprises us. That seems to be the heart of the Easter experience--as in the case of those two disciples that first Easter morning as they rushed to the Lord’s tomb, their faces a mixture of fear but also of great expectations.
The Lord of Easter takes all our broken dreams and gathers the scattered pieces of our lives, and out of them, creates something new and totally surprising.
Lord, this coming April I'll be ten years your priest--far from a perfect one, as you know, but then again, you're known for having this thing for sinners. In the worst of times, I found a hiding place in your "arms of love."
I still recall those uncertain moments that Easter morning ten years ago. You made me a promise then. It was the promise of the hundredfold--that whoever leaves mother, father, brother, sister would receive so much more.
Today, Easter Sunday, ten years later, I look at the way you've shaped my life all these years and the way you've filled it with so much love. I see that promise fulfilled. But in typical Easter fashion, you outdid yourself, exceeding every expectation and fulfilling your promise beyond my wildest imagining.
Note: The song "Arms of Love" capture how I feel today. If you want to listen to the song, click here. Here are the lyrics of song.
ARMS OF LOVE
Lord, I'm really glad you're here. I hope you feel the same when you see all my fear, And how I fail, I fall sometimes. It's hard to walk on shifting sand. I miss the rock, and find there's nowhere left to stand; I start to cry. Lord, please help me raise my hands so you can pick me up. Hold me close, Hold me tighter.
I have found a place where I can hide. Its safe inside Your arms of love. Like a child who's helped throughout a storm, You keep me warm in your arms of love.
Storms will come and storms will go. Wonder just how many storms it takes until I finally know You're here always. Even when my skies are far from gray, I can stay; Teach me to stay there,
In the place I've found where I can hide. It's safe inside Your arms of love. Like a child who's helped throughout a storm, You keep me warm In your arms of love.
According to statistics, 11.5 million cosmetic procedures were done in 2006 in the United States alone. Over 3 million received Botox treatments. Almost 1.5 million underwent laser hair removal. And there were approximately 400,000 patients for liposuction and another 400,000 for breast augmentation. Thanks to today's advanced medical technology and an outrageously beauty-conscious culture, more and more men and women are going for cosmetic procedures. An ad for the metrosexual lifestyle may as well go: "Got a problem with a body part? Just fix it!"
That's why there's something very wrong with today's Gospel scene. When most of us would prefer to hide our smallest blemish, the Risen Lord shows off his wounds! And it gets worse when you realize that the Lord's resurrection actually gives him a once-in-a-lifetime chance to exchange his old body for a brand new one, but what does he do? He chooses to keep his wounds!
I don’t know about you, but doesn’t that's really crazy, isn't it? If I were going to rise from the dead and get a brand new body in the process, why keep the wounds? Some of us here can’t even wait for our resurrection to fix our faces and bodies. The slightest scar, the slightest mark, the slightest pimple--all this has to go asap, never mind how much.
But mind you, when we talk about the Risen Lord, we aren’t even just talking about scars or marks, much less pimples. Remember what Thomas said: “I will never believe (that he has risen) without putting my finger in the nailmarks and my hand into his side.” It’s even more graphic in Filipino: “…hangga’t hindi ko isinusuot ang mga daliri ko sa kanyang mga sugat…” Putting the finger and hand into the wounds?
Looks like these aren’t just scars that we’re talking about—we’re talking about open, gaping wounds here. For some strange mysterious and mystifying reason, the Risen Lord, even after transforming his earthly body into a risen body, has chosen to retain the wounds he got from the cross—and to keep them fresh and open. In fact, to this day, the Risen Christ continues to bear these open gaping wounds in his body.
So the question is: “Why?” Why keep the wounds if you can have a totally brand new risen body?
I think we can get a clue from soldiers who have had their share of battles and bear scars from battles in their bodies. It is not a rare practice for these soldiers to show their scars to friends and to people, if only to prove their heroism and love of country.
Perhaps in the same way, our Lord considers his wounds as marks of his heroism and great love for us, the love that made him end up on the cross. Maybe every time we think of him, he wants us never to forget his love for us.
Also, soldiers sometimes examine their wounds themselves to remember their experiences and to remind themselves of what they have been through. Some soldiers have several wounds received from several battles, and they almost have names for every single wound in their body.
Maybe our Lord is also like that. When he examines the wounds that he continues to bear in his risen body, maybe he is also reading the names of the people for whom he suffered those wounds. He reads our names, yours and mine, in every wound that he has received in his suffering and death.
When we think about it, we aren’t too different from the Lord when we love. When we love, we make ourselves vulnerable and often get wounded in the process. There seems to be no way of getting around that, at least not in this imperfect world of ours. Interestingly, the Chinese term for “love”—in Hokkien “tia” and in Mandarin “teng”—sounds like “pain,” and that doesn’t seem to be any accident. When we love, we almost always have to suffer too. And the reason for this is that when we love, we allow ourselves to be affected by the person we love. If something not-so-good happens to a dear friend, if our child has a problem, we get hurt and we suffer because we love them. Or, if the person we love happens to be a klutz—or worse, a bastard—expect your heart to be broken and battered.
But the important thing is to love even if we get hurt. Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that we should become masochists and let people we love step all over us. That’s a totally different story. I’m not talking about the neurotic codependencies that some of us are sometimes suffer from, where we claim that we’re suffering out of love when in fact we're only doing it out of a neurotic need.
I’m talking about loving in the real sense—wanting and working for what’s best and what’s right for the person we love—and accepting the pain that goes with that. And often this might mean being tough even if we prefer to give in, saying “no” to the person we love even if he or she would be more pleased with us if we said “yes.” Sometimes this is more difficult, isn’t it? And the wounds we get when we do this are deeper and more painful.
That’s the kind of loving that Christ did: He didn’t insist on giving in to his enemies just to get their love. He stood his ground because he loved the people so much all he wanted for them was what was right. That’s why he ended up with wounds, on the cross.
At the end of our lives, our Lord will ask us only one question: “How have you loved?” And we will answer not through words but only in silence. In silence we shall open our hearts full of wounds, and each wound will have a name.
Today's Readings Reading the story of Emmaus reminds me of a song from the hit Broadway musical “Wicked,” a refreshingly new take on “The Wizard of Oz.” The song is called “For Good” and is sung by—of all people—two witches! In the musical, Glinda and Elphaba (better known as the “Good Witch” and the “Wicked Witch of the West,” respectively) are the best of friends who have to part ways. Together they sing this song of goodbye and talk about how their friendship has made a difference in their lives.
The refrain—which probably has the best lines in the song—goes this way:
“Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”
This Sunday’s gospel is about two ex-disciples having what young people would call an “emo” moment as they make their way to Emmaus. Their leader has just been executed in the most brutal way, and as a result, all their hopes for a better world have been dashed. “We had hoped…,” they say to each other sadly and wistfully. And so, while their companions in Jerusalem go into hiding, they have decided to pack up and go back home. “It was good while it lasted,” they must have told each other. But now it’s going to be “back to business as usual.” Or so, they thought.
As we know, a stranger joins them in their journey home, and of course, it is the Lord incognito. The Lord keeps them company. He listens to them. Using Scripture, he helps them make sense of the trauma they have just been through. And it is only at the end of the day, when he breaks bread with them, that they recognize who the stranger is. As soon as they do, he disappears, and they rush back to Galilee to share the news with the other disciples, only to find out that like them, they have also already encountered the Risen Lord.
Easter is about God pulling surprises. Just when the disciples begin to think it’s going to be “back to business as usual,” the Lord pulls the rug from under their feet to tell them that it isn’t exactly quite over yet. Even after the crucifixion and in fact, especially after it, there’s still work to do: still so many lives to heal and a whole world to change. And although the Lord is no longer going to be among them in the usual way, he will continue to be present in a way even more real and more powerful.
But the disciples learn something more: Whether they know it or not, and whether they like it or not, because they have known the Lord, they have been permanently changed. Never again will they hear the words of Scripture without their hearts burning, as the two disciples have experienced on their way to Emmaus. Never again will they look at anyone breaking bread without remembering the One who has offered Himself as Bread to be broken for all. In fact, never again will they see the world or anyone--especially any stranger--in the same way. As the song puts it, they have been “changed for good.”
For a growing number of people, Holy Week is the time of the year reserved for spiritual renewal. While many others take advantage of the long weekend to head for the beach, more and more people are attending the spiritual activities organized by schools and especially by parishes. Last Holy Week, I gave a three-day recollection to alumni, students, and faculty of Xavier University in Cagayan de Oro. I was impressed by the people’s great thirst for God’s Word and their sincere desire to find Him in their lives.
But what happens after Holy Week? Most of us are tempted to do what the Emmaus disciples did: To pack up and to return to "business as usual.” Someone once compared attending Sunday Mass to the airport security procedure of going through the metal detector and the X-ray machine: Before checking in, we remove our shoes, our belt, coins, and everything else that we usually carry around with us in order to go through the metal detector. But once we’ve successfully stepped through it, what do we do? We immediately put everything back on.
Going through Sunday Mass—and going through Holy Week, for that matter—can be like that, too: Once we step out of the church, and once we end our Holy Week retreats, complete our Visita Iglesias and Stations of the Cross, and attend the liturgical services, we put everything back on, and if we’re not careful, we may actually end up "going back to business as usual.”
Today’s gospel message is that whether we know it or not, and whether we like it or not, it can’t be “back to business as usual.” As the song puts it, because we’ve known the Lord, we have been "changed for good."
But remember, while the Lord has changed us for good, it is up to us to make sure we change for the better.
(image: "Wicked" logo)
Note: If you wish to watch a video clip of Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth rehearsing the song "For Good," click here.
FOR GOOD (From "Wicked")
(Elphaba): I'm limited Just look at me - I'm limited And just look at you You can do all I couldn't do, Glinda So now it's up to you For both of us - now it's up to you...
(Glinda): I've heard it said That people come into our lives for a reason Bringing something we must learn And we are led To those who help us most to grow If we let them And we help them in return Well, I don't know if I believe that's true But I know I'm who I am today Because I knew you...
Like a comet pulled from orbit As it passes a sun Like a stream that meets a boulder Halfway through the wood Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you I have been changed for good
(Elphaba): It well may be That we will never meet again In this lifetime So let me say before we part So much of me Is made of what I learned from you You'll be with me Like a handprint on my heart And now whatever way our stories end I know you have re-written mine By being my friend...
Like a ship blown from its mooring By a wind off the sea Like a seed dropped by a skybird In a distant wood Who can say if I've been changed for the better? [For Good lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]
But because I knew you
(Glinda): Because I knew you
(Both): I have been changed for good
(Elphaba): And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness For the things I've done you blame me for
(Glinda): But then, I guess we know There's blame to share
(Both): And none of it seems to matter anymore
(Glinda): Like a comet pulled from orbit As it passes a sun Like a stream that meets a boulder Halfway through the wood
(Elphaba): Like a ship blown from its mooring By a wind off the sea Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood
(Both): Who can say if I've been Changed for the better? I do believe I have been Changed for the better
(Glinda): And because I knew you...
(Elphaba): Because I knew you...
(Both): Because I knew you... I have been changed for good...
Today's Readings Bernini has a beautiful and somewhat controversial marble sculpture in the Cornaro Chapel of Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome. The sculpture is called "St. Teresa in Ecstasy" and portrays a religious experience of St. Teresa of Avila as she describes it in her autobiography: She sees a vision of a young angel who pierces her heart and her entrails with a spear, causing her to moan out of pain and ecstasy.
Some people have been scandalized by such an unconventional account of a mystical experience. Religious experience described like that sounds much too sexual for comfort. Bernini's Teresa has been criticized as someone not so much in the throes of mysticism, but--believe it or not--"in veiled orgasm!"
In truth, however, many mystics have compared spiritual intimacy to the physical and even the sexual. So St. Teresa's somewhat controversial religious experience as depicted by Bernini's equally controversial scultpture only expresses the depth and the intensity of the intimacy that the saint enjoyed with the Lord. It is small wonder that she has been known not only as "Teresa of Avila," but also as "Teresa of Jesus"--naming not only who she was, but also whose she was.
When you think about it, there are two important questions that we need to answer in our lives. The first question confronts us almost the moment we are born: "Who am I?" As we grow, we grapple to discover our identity and our gifts--what makes each of us unique--or as someone put it, "what makes me me." But as we do so, we also at the same time shape our selves and our character, making decisions and taking actions that define who we are.
There is another, equally important question that every person also needs to answer--a question that is usually forgotten. We need to answer this second question as much as the first if we want to find the meaning of our lives. This second question is: "Whose are you?" In other words, to whom do we belong? The answer to this question covers not only the self-defining friendships we keep, but also to the life-shaping commitments we make. And just like the first, we go about answering this question not so much through our words but through our actions, not so much with our lips but with our lives.
If you're wondering what all the talk in today's gospel about sheep, shepherds, and sheep gates are, the Lord is really speaking of whose we are. We are his. Or, at least he wants us to be his. First, he describes himself as a shepherd who calls his sheep by name and whose voice his sheep recognize. He lays his claim on us as his. But still not content with that, he mixes metaphors and describes himself as the very gate through which we his sheep enter the fold.
Much can be said about the Lord as a shepherd or even as a sheep gate, but what struck me in today's reading is that on these occasions when he calls us his, he also defines himself as ours. We are his sheep, but he makes himself our shepherd. He even makes himself our gate!
And that, for me, is the greatest wonder of all: Not only does our relationship define us as his, but the Lord loves us so much that he does the unthinkable: He also allows our relationship to define him! By claiming us as his, he makes himself ours.
St. Teresa of Avila tells another one of her religious experiences, this time involving not an angel but the Christ Child himself. According to the story, one day at the convent she meets a mysterious child coming down the stairs. The child stops in his tracks and asks her who she is.
"Teresa of Jesus," she replies before asking, "And who are you?"
The child looks at her and says, "I am Jesus--of Teresa."
Here's a Quick Question for you: "Do you recall a moment in your life when for some reason, you felt--more than usual--that you belonged to the Lord, that you were his?" Think about it, and feel free to share a thought, a feeling, or a question. (image: detail from Bernini's St. Teresa in Ecstasy)
Today's Readings In yet another hilarious and politically incorrect episode of "The Simpsons," Bart and Homer decide to convert to Catholicism. Marge confides in their pastor, Rev. Lovejoy, and worries about ending up alone in Protestant Heaven, while the rest of her family will be in Catholic Heaven.
In her fantasy she sees the souls in Protestant Heaven playing boringly proper games of badminton and cricket, while those in Catholic Heaven enjoy a virtual fiesta, dancing, drinking, and even fighting. To her horror, Homer and Bart are among the predominantly Irish and Hispanic souls playing piñata and even joining them in a Riverdance production number. And just when she thinks she's seen the worst, Marge asks about Jesus, only to be told that the Lord has gone over to Catholic Heaven, having a blast.
The rest of the episode--which, by the way, is called "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Guest Star"--shows how Marge and Rev. Lovejoy scheme to bring Homer and Bart back to "the one true faith." Bart eventually tells the adults how stupid it is that the different groups of Christians are fighting over religion. Coming to their senses, the adults agree with Bart and stop fighting among themselves, but instead they decide to fight gays and stem cells instead!
This episode from "The Simpsons" may as well be a commentary on today's readings. One line from our Lord strikes me as quite significant: "In my Father's house, there are many dwelling places." He's obviously not referring to separate heavens for different kinds of people like the Protestant or Catholic Heavens depicted in Marge Simpson's fantasy. In fact, he's referring to the exact opposite: In God's idea of heaven, there is room for everyone, and more importantly, there's no separation among people. God's heart is much too large to exclude anyone. And God's embrace is much too wide for anyone to be out of his reach. So, in heaven, there is room enough for everyone--regardless of religion, race, or resources. Every single person will have a place at the table. But how do we get to God's heaven? In the gospel, Thomas asks the Lord this same question: "How can we know the way?" The Lord responds by saying, "I am the Way and the Truth and the Life." In other words, if we want to know the way, let's look at the life and person of our Lord. One way of describing his Public Ministry is his preferential option for the marginalized: the poor, the sick, and the sinners. He reaches out to the very people that everyone else excluded and rejected. Wherever he goes, he breaks down the fences that separate people. The kingdom of God that he proclaims includes precisely everyone.
I think the gospel's message for us today is: "Why wait for heaven?" The only way to heaven is to break down fences as our Lord did during his earthly life. To include all and exclude no one. If God's heart is big enough for everyone and his embrace wide enough for everyone, then we can do no less. We too should stretch our hearts and open our arms wide enough to include everyone too.
Easier said than done, of course, but nobody said that it's easy to get to heaven. Otherwise our Lord would not have compared it to a narrow door.
Here's a Quick Question for you: Are there particular people in your life that you have, for one reason or another, excluded? Could God be inviting you to begin breaking down these fences?
(video: from "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Guest Star," final episode of "The Simpsons" Season 16)
