The Scandal of Hell (26th Sunday Ordinary B)

Some theologians speak of the "scandal of hell." They ask, if God is a loving God and His love is unconditional, why is there such a thing as hell? How can a faith, which "tells the world of His love," profess, at the same time, a possible state of eternal damnation?

In one of my spiritual talk among the youth, I had this conversation: "All the more that I find myself giving in to sin!" This is the remark of a young lad after listening to my talk about God’s unconditional love. "The more that you priests convince me of the love of God despite my sinfulness, the more that I tend to be lax with my moral life," he explained. "Well, in that case then we have to talk about hell!" I quipped hoping to jolt him out of his complacency.

Truly, God’s unconditional love and mercy is the good news. It’s the central message of the gospel. But hell is bad news for those who consistently refuse to respond to God’s grace and loving invitation.

God invites. Even entices. God always initiates the loving relationship. He never coerces. Coercion is love’s contradiction. Love waits and rejoices at reciprocation. Or suffers from rejection. On our part, we have the capacity to respond to God’s love freely and nurture such a joyful loving relationship. But we are capable too of rejecting his love and live in isolation from Him. When this latter option orients all of our life, we can then admit of the possibility of hell as our own making. Hell symbolizes the pain of total isolation, because of our own choosing, from the love of God.

Jesus resorts to the symbolism of hell in today’s gospel to drive home the point of the seriousness of sin and its consequences. Using Semitic hyperbole, he exaggerates the measures to be taken to avoid sin and its consequences: “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter into life maimed than with two hands to go into Gehenna, into the unquenchable fire” (Mk. 9:43). The same formulation is used for the foot and the eye. This is a hyperbole, a literary device, which should not be interpreted literally as prescribing self-mutilation. An exaggeration is employed to obtain a jolting effect on the listeners. An exaggeration is an effective warning device. Jesus then may be trying to shake us out of our complacency and giving us the necessary warning lest we end up as victims of our lack of foresight, not seeing the grim consequence of our sins, the damning outcome of our deliberate rejection of his love.

Hell is much less mentioned in theological discourses of today than in those of yesteryears. In fact, some Christians deny its existence as it is a contradiction of our faith in God who wills that all may be saved. Contemporary theological discussions on hell, however, maintains it at least as a possibility—a logical consequence of a sinful life. It is a consummation of a life lived in sin—egoism, hatred, lust for power, pride, tyranny, etc. It is forged through a gradual day-to-day hardening of sins in one’s heart and finally cemented by the person’s definitive rejection of God as there can be no more room for love in such a heart that has totally succumbed to sin.

To preach about hell is to send warning against complacency—pretty much like the point of Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth.” We ought to change our sinful ways. We need to examine and reorient our wasteful and irresponsible lifestyles. We need to evaluate and change our exploitative ways of relating with one another and with nature… Lest we precipitate the course to which we are already heading—global destruction! We all could use an ultimatum. The language and symbolism of hell may just do the trick of awakening us.

Having said this, I would like to stress once more that Christianity’s central message is God’s love and not wrath. Christian spirituality has to be a positive response to God’s invitation to a loving relationship with Him and with all of creation. As such, it is a joyful way of life. It is not out of guilt that we serve and try to be kind. It is not out of fear of hell that we tremble to worship God. We love because we are invited to be part of a loving communion. We love because we are powerfully attracted to Him who loves us unconditionally. We love because God is love and love cannot thrive in cold isolation.

The prayer of St. Francis Xavier, especially the Filipino rendition, never fails to move me. My deepest desire is to make the prayer my own. It’s my wish too for all of you, my dear friends. May we come to love Him not for the reward of heaven nor out of fear of hell. We love Him because He loved us first.

Hindi sa langit Mong pangako sa akin
Ako naaakit na kita’y mahalin.
At hindi sa apoy, kahit anong lagim,
Ako mapipilit nginig kang sambahin.
Naaakit ako ng Ika’y mamalas,
Nakapako sa krus, hinahamak-hamak.
Naaakit ng ‘Yong katawang may sugat,
At ng tinanggap Mong kamataya’t libak.
Naaakit ako ng ‘Yong pag-ibig,
Kaya’t mahal kita, kahit walang langit
Kahit walang apoy, sa ‘Yoy manginginig.
Hwag nang mag-abala upang ibigin ka.
Pagkat kung pag-asa’y bula lamang pala,
Walang magbabago, mahal pa rin kita.

Change of Mind (26th Sunday Ordinary A)

As held by an unwritten law, women have the privilege to change their mind. An old adage has it: "A woman's mind and winter wind change oft." Billy Joel’s “She’s always a Woman to Me” has this witty refrain many of us love to croon: “Oh and she never gives out and she never gives in, she just changes her mind.”  Apparently Billy gets away with this stereotyping as women themselves love the song too; they find it cute and even flattering!  Perhaps they find it actually expedient to be fickle-minded.

It’s not only women who change their minds though.  All of us do. I saw on a sticker: "The only person who can't change his mind is the one who hasn't got one." On the surface, today’s parable of the two sons is about changing minds.  One says “No” to their father’s injunction to work in the vineyard, only to change his mind later and goes to work. The other says “Yes” but changes his mind too and never reports to work.  So, the one who initially signifies refusal ends up actually following his father’s command and the other who starts off with a confident confirmation falls out of his father’s grace.

When seen in the context of the other readings for today, the parable is not simply a lesson on fickle-mindedness.  The "change of mind" in the parable is really not about the whimsical and capricious inconstancy of a woman's mind and winter wind.  The change rather refers to the profound movement of conversion:  The movement of turning away and turning towards.  Specifically, turning away from sin and turning towards God.  The first son is a sinner who later converted and turned towards God.  The second is a virtuous man but is fettered by his self-righteousness hence gradually moves away from God.  In the parable, the first son represents the tax collectors and prostitutes who mended their ways; the second represents the religious leaders of Judaism who were imprisoned by their own brand of holiness.

There’s irony here. The poignant paradox of moral life is already hinted at by the first reading: “When a virtuous man turns away from virtue to commit iniquity, and dies, it is because of the iniquity he committed that he must die. But if a wicked man, turning from the wickedness he has committed, does what is right and just, he shall preserve his life” (Ez. 18:26-27).  

In short, the sin of the virtuous man is his own undoing; the humility of the sinner is his salvation.  Let me treat this a little deeper for our reflection.

The sin of the virtuous person.  This is the yes-turned-no of the religious leaders of Judaism in Jesus’ time.  This is our own stance of self-righteousness today. The greatest temptation of a virtuous person is to be intoxicated with his sense of holiness as one can be intoxicated with power.  The person begins to be proud of himself, even without knowing it. And while he may honestly believe in his humility, he ceases to feel the need for conversion.  He’ll never be seen on his bended knees to beg for mercy. He does not need it.  He’s perfectly fine. He’s a virtuous man after all. And he loves the feeling. No one should dare take it from him.

The “pride of holiness” seems to be an oxymoron but, no, pride can perfectly thrive in a false sense of holiness.  This is the irony: He who prides of his holiness ends up falling out of God’s grace. Very sad and tragic scenario!

The humility of the sinner.  Many times we say “No” not because we don’t care but because we feel unworthy of something.  The feeling of unworthiness leaves a disturbing empty space in us that longs for wholeness.  That is why Jesus was powerfully appealing to the sinners of his time.  He spent time with them. He announced the Good News of God’s love and mercy to them.  He was the living spring from where they longed to drink in order to quench their parched and thirsty souls.

The humble stance of helplessness allows a repentant sinner to change his “No” to a “Yes.”  The change of mind here is not the stereotyped capricious fickle-mindedness of a woman.  It’s rather the profound movement of conversion which transpires in a person who is humble enough to admit his need for mercy and who begs for it.  Again, the irony: the unworthy sinner ends up rejoicing in the abundance of God’s healing grace. The happy ending scenario we all wish for!

To sum up: Jesus, in the second reading, is the epitome of humility. He was in the form of God but did not regard equality with God. He emptied himself taking the form of a slave, of human likeness. He humbled himself accepting even death on a cross! But because of this humility, God exalted him, gave him the name above every name so that every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord! (Phil 2:5-11).

We all need a change of mind—not in the sense of fickle-mindedness but in the profound sense of conversion. Jesus’ parable and own example all point out to the power of humility to set us off to the right direction of change—from a sinful life to a life of grace.

God despises the proud and self-righteous; He lifts up the humble of heart.

Climbing Our Sycamore Trees (31st Sunday Ordinary C)

(visiting the legendary sycamore tree in Jericho)

I recall my pilgrimage experience to the Holy Land visiting significant holy sites of our faith—first, around the Galilean region and, then, in the southern region where Jerusalem is. One significant itinerary was the city of Jericho!  It is said to be the oldest in the world. And of course, among the many significant sites we visited was the legendary “sycamore tree.” It was not the actual tree which Zacchaeus climbed; nonetheless, the sight of it lends to a vivid contemplation of the encounter of our Lord and the tax collector—an encounter which led to a joyful embrace of faith. 

Allow me to offer the fruits of my reflection straight from my actual visit to Jericho. Three things: On seeking the Lord, on climbing our sycamore tree, and on rediscovering the joy of believing.

Seeking the Lord.  Anyone who listens attentively to his heart’s yearnings will recognize, among a complex web of desires, his hidden longing for God.  In today’s gospel reading (Lk 19:1-10), Zacchaeus, described as a tax collector and a wealthy man, found himself seeking the Lord. He was probably in possession of what the world had to offer him but still deep within him lurked either, at the least, a  curiosity about Jesus or, at most, a nudging longing to meet and know Jesus. Despite the well-off socio-economic stature that he enjoyed, Zacchaeus was obviously restless. Maybe Jesus represented what would finally give him serenity and joy.

Despite what we have and who we have become in this world, we can still be restless like Zacchaeus. This restlessness gently prods us to seek the only treasure that gives ultimate meaning to our lives. Rather than drowning this restlessness with many and varied activities or with our hi-tech gadgets which effectively divert our attention outwards, the story of Zacchaeus invites us to listen inwardly and courageously to the restless yearning of our hearts. Like Zacchaeus, we are to face it squarely and do something about it—seek the Lord. As St. Augustine puts it: “Our hearts are restless, O Lord, until it rests in you.”

Climbing our sycamore trees. This refers to our positive commitment to overcome the obstacles of a genuine encounter with the Lord. What hinders us in our search for God? What makes our encounter with God difficult or even close to impossible? Zacchaeus knew what, for him, was the obstacle to seeing the Lord. He was too short to see the Lord as He passed by through the crowd. With great humility, he accepted his predicament and, throwing caution to the air, he climbed the sycamore tree to overcome his handicap.

In his apostolic letter, Porta Fidei, the Emeritus Pope Benedict XVI clearly identified what consists as the great obstacle to the faith of the modern era. It is the materialist and secularist philosophies in life. These worldviews compliment and support each other in effectively convincing people that God is unnecessary in the affairs of human beings. Human beings are ultimately responsible for and in-charge of giving direction and meaning to his existence. How do we overcome these? What may represent for us the sycamore tree that we have to climb? Could it be our commitment to know Jesus through our Scripture reading and reflection? Through a meaningful celebration of our sacraments and liturgy especially the Eucharist? Pilgrimages? Or could it be the daily invitation to witness to our faith by our loving service to the poor?

The joy of believing.  Once we overcome the hindrances to faith by climbing our own sycamore trees, we discover, maybe as a surprise, that it is not only us who seek God. It is God who first seeks us and intends to stay with us.  Zacchaeus was really surprised that Jesus, instead of passing by, looked up to him perched on a branch of the sycamore tree and instructed him: “Zacchaeus, come down quickly for today I must stay at your house” (v. 5). He came down quickly and “receive him with joy” (v. 6).

a typical edifice in Jericho

Receiving the Lord and allowing him to stay in our hearts which have been yearning for His presence can only result in abundance of joy. There is joy in receiving the Lord in our lives; there is joy in truly living out our Christian faith. There is joy in surrendering our possessions for the sake of justice and charity to the poor.

Or have we gradually lost such joy like sand slipping bit by bit between our fingers?

Like Zacchaeus, let us listen to the yearning of our hearts for God; let us seek Him by climbing our own sycamore trees; let us be ready to surrender everything to God to give way to true and lasting joy. Let us be brave to take one step toward God, only to discover that God has taken a thousand steps toward us.

The Face of God’s Mercy (24th Sunday Ordinary C)

 

About six years ago, an appalling P10-billion pork barrel scam was exposed. It was said to be masterminded by Janet Napoles involving a number of our “honorable” lawmakers and other high-profile officials.  Everyone then was understandably dissociating from her.  A mere photograph in the past that showed posing with her all smiles at a party or any function became regrettable as it would raise public suspicions of complicity with the revolting corruption she was tied with. Nobody wanted to be seen hanging around with her anymore.

Our keen hypocritical sense nudges us to keep a distance from those we consider sinners because it is shameful and detrimental to our already damaged “reputation.”

In the light of today’s readings, particularly the gospel (Lk 15: 1-32), it’s possible to imagine Jesus doing what everybody else is avoiding—dining and probably enjoying the picture taking with the scam mastermind in front of all the raised eyebrows around. 

The gospel reading today depicts Jesus hanging around with the public sinners of his time who were drawing near to listen to him. A complaint from the observing religious sectors goes this way: “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them” (v.2). This passage may be approached from two vantage points, that of the self-righteous and that of the sinner.

In fact, this statement comes from the self-righteous religious groups of Jesus’ time. As such, it is a criticism of Jesus’ act. The Pharisees and Scribes are scandalized by Jesus’ association with the sinners. For them, it is important to maintain a distance from sinners as purity is their most important vow and brushing elbows with the sinful is risking contamination. From where they stand, the act of Jesus is unbecoming of a holy man. They expect Jesus to act like them, i.e., to shoo away the sinners as one drives away a leper.

From the stand point of the sinners, however, their experience of Jesus mingling and dining with them is an experience of profound hope, the experience of the Good News. When the institution of their religion has virtually closed the door of salvation for them, they experience in Jesus the God who seeks them out when they are lost. They experience a God who does not condemn but saves.  Jesus’ act of spending time with the sinners is their invitation to conversion and their assurance that God’s mercy is available for them.

The three parables, that of the lost coin, the lost sheep, and the lost son, have a common message: God rejoices over a sinner who repents and turns back to Him. In the parables, Jesus probably intends to depict unrealistic reasons for the joyful celebration, like inviting the neighborhood for a feast because a coin is found.  Jesus’ message could be that God’s mercy, in human reckoning, is unrealistic and illogical. The ways of God in dealing with the sinners is far beyond our ways.

Especially the self-righteous, represented by the elder brother in the parable of the lost son, cannot understand the father’s merciful and unquestioning acceptance of the wasteful and irresponsible sibling. And it’s much harder to find any rhyme and reason in the joyful celebration of a banquet with his return. The self-righteous has his own logical standards and moral parameters; and the problem with this is that God’s mercy does not work in accordance with this standard or parameter. Hence, the self-righteous, while trying to maintain an exacting and high sense of justice in life, is in great danger of missing out on the abundance of God’s mercy.

On the other hand, the sinners receive God’s mercy as a welcome surprise like the experience of the prodigal son being embraced by the father and unquestioningly reinstated as a son after having turned away from him. The sinners real sense of unworthiness may find God’s forgiveness incredible but the same experience of humility makes sinners recognized their thirst for forgiveness and their absolute dependence on God’s graciousness.

Let us avoid self-righteousness. It is the surest way not to experience the mercy of God, not because there is lack of it, but because our conceit doesn’t allow the ocean of God’s mercy to flow into our hearts.

Our invitation is clear: Let us celebrate hope in spite of our helplessness as sinners. We may be naturally incredulous of the vast mercy of God revealed by Jesus but let us embrace it anyway or, more correctly, let us allow the God of mercy to embrace us as a father embraces his child with love.

We are in many ways like J. Napoles, only with different forms and degrees of sinfulness perhaps. It is consoling to remember that Jesus would always love to dine with us and allow us to take pictures with him in spite of our horrible reputations. He does not dissociate from us because we are sinners. On the contrary, he invites us to be in fellowship with him, to trust in God’s mercy, confessing with total surrender our sins that we may regain the newness of life that we have wasted and lost. Indeed, Jesus is “the face of the Father’s mercy” (Misericordiae Vultus, 1).

Breaking Dawn (II Advent B)

The beautiful Bella (Kristen Stewart) of the vampire romance box-office hit Breaking Dawn died delivering her mysterious baby who sucked the life out of her as the baby grew extraordinarily fast in her womb.  On her death, she was terribly emaciated, her beauty was gone.  Edward (Robert Pattinson), the perplexed father of the baby, was forced by the incident to attempt turning Bella into a vampire if only to save their love for each other—a love they promised to keep forever and ever in quite a literal way.  But Bella died.  At the final scene, all who loved Bella were mourning, when suddenly her wounds and bruises healed, her youth and beauty restored.  Finally, as her last act in this episode, she opened her eyes. And they were now different kind of eyes! Watch and see for yourself what kind.

Bella’s opening of her eyes, I think, signals the breaking dawn, the new beginning of a life with Edward and their mysterious baby who is herself a promise of a new beginning. But what is this beginning? What kind of life awaits her? Will it be in the dark, as normally associated with the life of vampires? Should we, the viewers, allow ourselves to be led into this adventure and feel good about it? Aren't we lulled into romanticizing some dark aspects of our lives and begin to accept them uncritically?

The image of a breaking dawn has an advent import.  It allows us to understand that the season of advent ushers in the light which we so yearn for, having been in the darkness of sin.  Advent is a season of new beginnings.  For us Christians, these new beginnings can only mean rejecting the darkness of sin and embracing the light of God's grace.

The gospel today (Mk. 1:1-8) presents once more the great Advent figure, John the Baptist, the herald of the new beginning in the life of humankind as he calls for radical conversion and points us to Jesus Christ the source of new life.  Let us reflect on three related points that spell new beginnings for us today inspired by John’s message and life as presented in the gospel reading.

First, the call to prepare a straight path for the Lord is a call for social transformation.  John the Baptist is presented in Mark’s gospel as the fulfilment of the prophecy of Isaiah.  John is the voice in the desert crying out: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths” (v. 3).  John announces a new beginning for which all has to prepare.  And the preparation entails levelling and making smooth the uneven roads through which the Lord will come.

It’s easy to find resonance between John’s call to make straight paths for the Lord and the campaign of President Aquino’s regime for the “Daang Matuwid.”  PNoy’s campaign is rightly the order of the day; our society has now been known for its crooked ways.  Corruption has crept into almost every fiber of our social existence. One could only cringe at the knowledge that even the Sangguniang Kabataan all over the country has been effectively introduced to corrupt practices particularly in politics. And they are our future leaders!  

The chain of corruption has to be broken if we are to see a new beginning.  Social change, then, has got a lot to do with making straight paths. Whatever this regime is doing to pave a righteous path for Philippine society can well be seen as a moral response to the challenge put forth by the voice crying out in the desert.  We ought to support, then, measures for transparency, accountability, and good governance.   The campaign for “Daang Matuwid” is certainly a gargantuan task.  It’s impossible to assign the responsibility of transformation to one leader.  But the path of righteousness can begin to be realized when everyone heeds the call of the voice in the desert and share the responsibility for change.

Second, the new and hopeful beginnings are wrought by personal change of heart.  Social change requires personal conversion.  John the Baptist, in today’s gospel, knows what is needed in preparing the way of the Lord. He calls for repentance.  He invites people to change their hearts by submitting themselves to baptism, wherein the symbol of the water effects an interior cleansing.  An integral part of John’s baptism is the acknowledgement of sins. Hence, we read that “the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins” (v. 5).  When one confesses his/her sins, the person names his/her sins thus gaining control over its power while at the same time accepting the responsibility.  

Personal conversion involves our decision to be open to God’s power to cleanse us of our sins through his mercy so that we gain the strength to turn away from the ways of this world and to turn to the path of righteousness which is the way of our Lord.  Personal conversion indeed brings new beginning.  Hence, it is an important ingredient of our advent preparations.

Third, the new beginning is towards a life that proclaims the greatness of the Lord. All too often, we claim for ourselves the glory of our achievements. This is the way of the world.  We glorify ourselves with our success, with our skills and talents, with our power, with our wealth.  We struggle to see God as the center of our lives and to see ourselves as humble unworthy servants.

John the Baptist, despite his growing fame and the admiration of his followers, never sees himself as greater than Jesus, the One who is to come.  He assumes a posture of a humble servant or even lower than a servant as he claims unworthiness even to untie the Lord’s sandals. He steadfastly fulfils his mission, which is to prepare for the coming of Christ and to point people to Him.

This advent, we can ask the grace of humility, the kind which inspires us to point to the greatness of God and to live our lives in such ways as to glorify God’s mighty name.

The season of Advent is a season of new beginnings in our lives.  We are invited in this season of grace to open our eyes and get ready for the adventure of a new life, one that is inspired by the message and life of John the Baptist, the great herald of the authentic breaking dawn.