Category: Spirituality

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A Different Praise

I was a newly ordained priest and we travelled to Alexandria to spend some time learning about service from a very well established Coptic community. We were privileged to be the guests of Fr Tadros Yacoub Malaty and his wife, Tasoni Mary. Fr Tadros is one of the foremost theologians and authors in the Coptic Church today. He has represented the Church on innumerable occasions at theological dialogues and discussions, written dozens of widely read books and is the oldest living representative of the Alexandrian branch of pastoral service that was developed by the late Fr Bishoy Kamel. So it was a very special honour to be allowed to pray a liturgy with Fr Tadros.
In his prayers at the altar, he lived up to all I had read about Fr Bishoy Kamel. His prayers were clearly heartfelt and he did not indulge in long melodies, but employed a simple and beautiful tempo that met the needs of those who wish to contemplate as well as those who have commitments for which they must not be late.
But his behaviour when he was not praying at the altar surprised and confused me. He sat or stood away in a nook of the sanctuary, writing. Writing! He was working on a book.
Now I had already learned that Fr Tadros does not waste an instant of his life. Even the photo we got to take with him shows him holding a phone to his ear! But surely, the liturgy is the time to put everything else aside and focus on God, isn’t it? Aren’t you supposed to drop your worldly cares and just lift your mind up to Heaven? Why was this pillar of the Church behaving so strangely, seemingly disregarding the liturgy that he was attending?

The Bible makes it clear that praising God is one of the chief forms of prayer. The phrase, “Praise the Lord…” is found 51 times in the NKJV of the Bible. “Praise Him…” is found a further 18 times, and of course, there are many other forms of saying the same thing.
The traditional form of praising God is well known. To sing hymns to Him, ideally with the full concentration of the mind and the full commitment of the heart. To lose oneself in the beauty of God is the ideal form of praise.
But when we delve into it, when we come to the core meaning of praise, we may find that there are other activities that are also, at their heart, a form of praising God. For example, a curious mind may praise God by exploring the world He has created if it is always conscious of the fact that there is a Creator behind this incredible creation. The scientist exploring the workings of subatomic particles or of the human body experiences this. The astronomer gazing out into the dark depths of space through his telescope, may feel that he is looking into the mind of God. The avid reader, enjoying a well-crafted novel and all of the issues and ideas it touches upon, seeking to differentiate right from wrong, justice from injustice, uncovering truths about the human condition: in all of these, the person is exploring the mind of God who created these things. If one approaches them with the right attitude, these activities become, in themselves, a prayer of praise.
When you enjoy the process of learning and discovery itself, you are praising God. You rejoice in the Creator whose wisdom created an instrument like the human mind that is capable of this amazing act of ‘understanding’! You are thankful that God has granted you this gift and granted you the time to enjoy it. You lose yourself in the pleasure of learning. It is another example of one of the highest goals of prayer: the destruction of the ego; the forgetting of the self. Instead, you ‘leave’ yourself behind as you are immersed completely in the God-made experience of exploring things outside of you. And throughout this experience, you find yourself constantly aware of the One who made all these engrossing things. If the creation is so intriguing, how much more so the Creator who made it?! In enjoying the glory of creation, you enjoy the glory of the Creator.
You recall what we said earlier about this form of prayer? “To lose oneself in the beauty of God is the ideal form of praise”. Thus, contemplation, exploration, learning – these in themselves, approached in a certain frame of mind – these can be a very profound form of the prayer of praise.

The mystery of Fr Tadros’ behaviour is solved. Many times I have felt that to allow the prayers of the liturgy to ignite the spark of a long and beautiful contemplation of God was a liturgy well spent. The contemplations may not have been exactly following the words of the liturgy, but that does not matter. The important thing is that I got to touch God. What better preparation can there be for having Holy Communion ?
I suspect that this is what was happening with Fr Tadros. He used the prayers of the liturgy to inspire him, and he was furiously writing down the contemplations that delved into the mystery of some aspect of God or His creation. No doubt, these hastily scribbled words eventually became a part of one of his books for many others to enjoy and in turn be inspired. But he was not disregarding the liturgy, he was not ignoring God. In fact, if we delve into the core of what he was doing, he was engrossed in a prayer of praise.

WARNING:
This does not mean that you should take a novel to read in the liturgy, or sit in the sanctuary and finish your assignments! There is more than enough in the liturgy itself to keep one utterly engrossed for the whole of one’s life. Fr Tadros’ case is a very special one, and not meant to be widely imitated!

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How Not To See.

The ability of the human being to see reality in a biased way never ceases to amaze me.

An extreme modern example of this is the outspoken evangelist of atheism, Professor Richard Dawkins. In his recent book, “The God Delusion”, he not only attributes all forms of religion to mental illness, but he also describes that tender special process of parents passing on their cherished faith to their children as ‘child abuse’. Not content with that, he goes so far as to criticise the God of Christianity for exhibiting ‘sadomasochism’ in the Crucifixion of Christ, thus reducing the most precious and intimate act of love in the history of world to the level of an unnatural human fetish.

The easy reaction to such words would be anger and indignation. If he doesn’t believe, at least he should respect the beliefs of others! That may be the easy response, but I don’t think it is the right one. After all, we too (Christians I mean) have our own history of seeing things in quite a biased way. We are human too.

The Dawkins example I gave above illustrates bias combined with belligerence, but there are also nice ways of being biased. One example of this ‘nice’ bias that springs to mind is that of the late Fr Bishoy Kamel, the Coptic priest who served in Alexandria and Los Angeles in the 1960’s and 70’s. If my reading of the limited English translations of his many writings is accurate, Fr Bishoy was every bit as biased as Dawkins, but in quite a different way. Rather than reading evil into the good of others, he was most adept at reading good into the evil of others.

Among his favourite books of the Bible was the Song of Solomon, a relatively explicit love poem that many modern preachers keep away from, so stark is its language of love. But Fr Bishoy saw in the love between a man and a woman a holy icon of the love between Christ and the human soul. Of course, this was not an original discovery by Fr Bishoy. St Paul wrote of this living metaphor two thousand years ago in his letter to the Ephesians. But what makes Fr Bishoy’s approach stand out is that he lived it.

To read this celibate’s description of how he cries out to Jesus as he goes to sleep in his bed, to come and embrace him, to place His gentle hand behind his head and hold him close; only a man who has risen above the earthliness of physical intimacy could write so freely and honestly of spiritual intimacy. In this married celibate’s words I find a better description of the purity of celibacy than one can find from most monks and nuns! He did not fear intimacy and flee from it, he sanctified it! For Fr Bishoy, the spirit purifies the body completely; good triumphs over evil – it is as simple as that, and there is just no question about it. That’s pretty opinionated!

And yet, I believe that this is indeed the true spirit of Christianity, indeed, of Christ Himself. Was it not He who sought out the outcasts of society and broke so many taboos in the name of divine love? Was it not His positive attitude towards sinners, seeing the potential good in them rather than their evil past, that saved so many from destruction? Which makes me wonder: what would happen if an opinionated and biased atheist like Professor Dawkins were to one day meet Jesus? The following is of course a fiction, and I hesitate to guess what Jesus would say (I have no special insight) or what Dawkins would say, but it is interesting to contemplate…

* * * * *

Professor Richard Dawkins was turning in for the night. It had been a long and hard day. Three media engagements, a book signing and then that debate at the university. But it has been a satisfying day. His opponent in the debate had been a little underprepared which had allowed him to take him apart, much to the pleasure of a largely sympathetic audience of noisy university students. Ahh… this had been a good day.
Suddenly, the bedroom filled with light. Wondering if a car had pulled up and shone its high beam at his window, he walked over to draw the curtains and perhaps see who this was who so impertinently and thoughtlessly had disturbed his repose. Could someone be visiting him at this time of night? But there was no car outside; in fact it was quite dark. A gentle rustle behind him made him twirl around suddenly and shout in fright, “Who the devil are you? And how in blazes did you get into my house?”

The shining man with the beard smiled at the professor and the glow that seemed to emanate from His face slowly faded away until He was left standing on the carpet like any other man, except perhaps for His long flowing robes and the wounds in His hands and feet.
“No, actually, I am not the devil. Quite the opposite.” A small smile played on His lips. “Never mind how I come to be in your house. I have come to ask you a question. Why do you hate me?”
“Who are you? Where did you come from? I don’t know you, and if you don’t leave immediately I shall call the police!”
“I think you know who I am, Richard. Do you not recognise Me?”
“Oh tosh, man! Do you think you are Christ? Come now, which mental hospital have you escaped from?”
“Ah, so you do recognise Me. But My question remains unanswered: Why do you hate Me?”
“Firstly, I do not for one moment accept that you are Jesus Christ: let’s get that clear. But for the sake of argument, I will answer your question. I don’t hate you; I simply don’t believe in you.”
“Why is that Richard?”
“Where have you been living for the past thirty years? My arguments are all over the media and they fill the bookshops. Someone who knows where I live must surely have at least read some of my books.”
“Why do you not believe in me, Richard?”
“OK, I’ll humour you. One: because all religion simply evolved to meet natural needs for human survival. Two: because sacred texts are full of contradictions and inaccuracies. Three: because modern science has eliminated the need for a “God of the gaps” to explain things that we couldn’t understand. Is that enough for you?”
“What do you say to the millions of devout and highly intelligent and educated Christians who see things differently?”
“Huh, that’s easy. WAKE UP! Open your eyes! Stop being deluded! The evidence is there and it’s black and white, so stop fooling yourself and come into the twenty first century for God’s sake!” The little smile played upon the lips of the Bearded Man once more.
“You cannot imagine seeing in that same evidence any other interpretation than yours, then?”
“Oh, there may be many different interpretations of the evidence, but there’s only one CORRECT interpretation, and it just happens to be mine.”
“And what would it take to convince you otherwise? What would it take to convince you that God exists, that I am real?”
“Well, if God is really there, why doesn’t He just show Himself to everyone? Why doesn’t He just appear and say, ‘Here I am everyone. You can stop doubting Me now’.”
“Well, Richard, here I am. You can stop doubting Me now.”
The professor paused for a moment as though considering the proposal put to him by this strange man. He certainly had an honest face, something in it told him intuitively that whatever this man might be, he was not a liar. He must be a manic depressive who really believed he was Christ. And yet, he seemed so calm, so in control, so sane.
“Well if you want to make a claim like that, I’m afraid you’re going to have to back it up. Prove to me that you are the real Christ. Go on then.”
“Was the light that filled the room and my sudden appearance out of nowhere not convincing for you?”
“You probably have a torch hidden up that big sleeve of yours. Well, you can do anything with electronics these days. And I didn’t see you come in. You could have come in through the door.”
“Did you hear your door squeak as it always does?” How the blazes did he know that my bedroom door squeaks, thought the professor to himself. But of course: he just walked through it a few minutes ago.
“I was distracted by the light. A common conjuror’s trick: distract your audience’s attention with one thing so you can get away with the illusion. I can show you some articles on it if you like.”
“Then what would it take to convince you Richard?”
“You’d have to do something genuinely supernatural, here in the open where I can see it, where I can measure it and observe it scientifically.”
“Alright then, if that’s what you’d like. You see that cup of water over there? You filled it up yourself from the tap just a few moments ago, didn’t you?” The professor nodded. “Would you like to pick it up and taste it?” The professor did so. “It is tap water, is it not?” Another nod. “Then kindly taste it again for Me.” The professor held his nerve well. He needed to, for when he looked at the glass, its contents were no longer clear but a rich burgundy hue. He smelled it and gingerly tasted it. A rich red wine. He turned back to the Bearded Man.
“Oh very clever young man, very clever. Turning water into wine, hey? OK, you’ve read your gospels, and I’ll admit that was a very clever trick. How did you do it? Slip a tablet in when I wasn’t looking? Sorry, but that’s no proof. I’ve seen better illusionists than you.”
“But isn’t that what you asked for?”
“Sorry, but you’ll have to do better than that, my friend.” This he said in a tone that suggested anything but friendliness.
“Then what would you have Me do to convince you, Richard?”
“Look, if God exists and wants us to believe in Him, He can appear as a towering giant floating above London and blocking out the sunlight. He can rain thunderbolts on anyone who doesn’t accept him as an example to others. If He really wanted to, He could put the matter beyond all doubt. So why doesn’t He? I’ll tell you why, my friend. Because He doesn’t exist, that’s why. He’s just a figment of people’s imagination that was perpetuated by corrupt clergymen for their own personal benefit. And eventually, people came to believe the lie. That’s all there is to it.”
“And if I were to remove all doubt, would you love Me?”
“Oh, yes: prove yourself to me and I’ll believe in you. I am a scientist, you know. I do have an open mind.” Again, the little smile.
“But I did not ask if you would believe in Me. I asked if you would love Me. I love you, you know.”
“Oh, tosh! Not this ‘love’ thing again. Look, there is no such thing really as love. All there is just hormones and chemical messages in the brain. Love is nothing more than an electrochemical phenomenon.”
“Again, you have evaded My question. Again, I ask it. Would you love Me?”
“Oh, look: if God were to prove beyond all doubt that He really does exist, then, yes, I suppose I would do what He says. I’m not stupid, you know. But see, that’s why religion is such a fake. It’s all about guilt and making atonement and hoping to please this big Judge in the Sky so He doesn’t cast you into everlasting fires of damnation. No, sorry: God just can’t be real. I won’t accept that.”
“You don’t think you may have misunderstood what God is really all about?”
“No, I haven’t. It’s all there to read in black and white, you know. It’s all in the Bible, the fire and brimstone and the everlasting flames of hell.”
“Perhaps you are reading only what you want to read and ignoring the rest if it does not fit in to your preferred interpretation?”
“I told you before, man. I am a scientist. Scientists are objective. They gather evidence and draw theories out of that evidence. Then they test them and thus prove or discard them. Why don’t you listen?”
“So from what you say, it seems that I cannot win. If I show you My power, you will attribute it to illusion or epilepsy or aliens. If I prove Myself to you beyond doubt, you still will not love Me, but only seek to gain personal advantage from the situation. It would seem that whatever I do, you have already made up your mind. You have made your choice and nothing will change it.”
“Absolute rubbish! I have an open mind. Go on then, prove to me that you are really God, or Christ, or whichever deity you wish to masquerade as this week. Go on then, I’m all ears.” The Bearded Man gently shook His head and muttered, “There are none so blind as them that will not see.” Aloud, He said:
“I will leave you now Richard. I know there is good inside you still. But you have become so encrusted in the shell of your own confidence and pride that you have lost the very thing you first set out to achieve: Truth. I will visit you again, for I do not lose hope that one day you may be healed. But I will not visit you again like this. You have closed that door to Me and locked it. Goodbye.” And with that, He was gone. He did not leave by the door or jump through the window. He did not ascend through the ceiling; He was just … gone.
For a moment, the professor stood like a statue, gaping at the spot where the Bearded Man had stood just seconds ago. Then he shook his head and turned around to go and brush his teeth. “Damn magician of a mental patient! I really must speak to the Minister of Health about the lax security these days. One of these days, someone is going to get hurt!”

Fr Ant

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A Passion of Patience

What a precious thing is patience. And so beautiful.

A visitor from interstate recently remarked that drivers in Sydney are so impatient. Everyone is in such a hurry to get to where they’re going that they seem to care only for themselves and not for anyone else on the road. What a sad way to live one’s life.

Yet patience seems so hard to find these days. We all have so much to do and so little time in which to do it. We all want to see results, to get things done, to get somewhere… the clichés abound. And we have become so used to getting what we want right away that when we don’t, we feel as if one of our basic rights has been unfairly taken from us.

I doubt this is the way of life our Creator intended for us. “In your patience possess ye your souls” said our Lord. And as a general rule, whenever we disobey the Maker’s instructions, things go wrong. In the last of his science fiction trilogy, That Hideous Strength, CS Lewis quotes from his bottomless pit of archaic proverbs:

“Fool! All lies in a passion of patience – my Lord’s rule.”

Only he can make something as dull and difficult as being patient sound so exciting! And yet, perhaps he is right. Perhaps patience can indeed be an exciting adventure, a thrilling challenge, a life-consuming delight. I once met such patience…

It was late at night, around eleven o’clock, when I was preparing to go home after giving a talk at a youth meeting at another parish. A lady with gentle manners approached me and asked if I would mind doing her a favour, since she was unable to locate the local parish priests. Would I mind coming to pray for an invalid who was about to pass away.

You cannot refuse these requests, so I followed the lady, a doctor as it turned out, to the home of her patient not far from the Church. I entered a dimly lit house where the atmosphere was overwhelmingly one of silence and peace. We threaded our way through to a bedroom dominated by a large hospital bed. Only secondarily did notice the small, quiet figure of a woman standing on the other side of the bed.

“O thank you so much for coming Dr X,” she said. Introductions were quickly made and I was graced with a wide smile from a wide open heart. “I really appreciate your coming out at this late hour. My daughter won’t be with us too much longer, and I would feel so much better if someone could pray for her before she departs.” I mumbled a few words of feeble encouragement and we prayed for the patient lying unconscious in the bed. I anointed her with some Holy Oil, and then we just stood around the bed for a little while. The mother told us of how precious her daughter was to her, how she was her whole life. She wondered how she would survive without her.

“But I know that she was a precious gift from God to me. How can I complain when God wants to take her back? She belongs with Him, not me.” She must have seen the expression of sorrow on my face, for she turned to comfort me. “We mustn’t be sad,” she said with that smile again, although there was a glint of moisture in the corner of one eye. “My daughter was a real blessing. She made my life worthwhile. But she really doesn’t belong in this world. Forty three years is long enough, and I can’t complain. Every day with her has been a precious treasure for me. But the time has come to let her go.”

Once again I was in my common though uncomfortable role of feeling totally inept as a minister. The patient was healing the doctor, the suffering was comforting the comforter. Oh, well – I’m used to it by now.

Outside, the doctor described to me how this lady had given birth to her severely disabled daughter over forty years ago, and had patiently devoted her life to serving her. It had cost her her career, her marriage and her social life. Yet in all the years the doctor had known her, she had never heard one word of complaint issue from her lips. Even now, as she was losing the daughter around whom her whole life revolved, she bore it patiently, acceptingly, submitting herself to the will of God. And in her patience she found a profound peace.

Yes, patience can be beautiful.

Fr Ant

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A Common Confusion

Why do I pray?

Why do I fast?

Why do I go to church?

If I do not have a good reason for doing these things (as opposed to a bad reason, or no reason), sooner or later they will become empty, meaningless actions and eventually, my common sense will say to me, “What’s the point? Stop wasting your time!”

There are many bad reasons for doing good things, some of them obvious, some very subtle and difficult to detect. The obvious bad reasons for doing good things include pride, showing off, fear of punishment and dry habit without any love.

But one of the most subtle of tricks is confusion between reasons and busyness. It is not hard to get these two things mixed up. We can get so caught up and interested in the details of what we do that we actually forget why we are doing it – the details become the reason, and a bad reason at that.

An example: consider a deacon learning a complex ‘lahn’ (hymn) or a member of a choir learning hymns for an upcoming celebration. Immersed in the fine variations of the notes and tune, the challenge of getting it right becomes the goal, the reason for doing it. Performing the hymn becomes a goal in itself, even without the element of prayer or praising God. They have fallen into the trap of confusing the busyness of doing something with the reason for doing it!

It is not uncommon for us become engrossed in whether or not we have memorised the words of the prayer, or the beauty of a tune, or in the fine meaning of a Bible verse, only to find that the love has gone out of the exercise. It may be exciting, but spiritually, it is dead.

Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying we shouldn’t memorise or enjoy our spiritual activities. What I am saying is that this enjoyment should never be more than a tool I use for enjoying God Himself. The moment I lose sight of God and instead enjoy only the tools that are supposed to lead me to Him, I become terribly and sadly confused. Imagine if Michelangelo had stopped painting the Sistine Chapel because he couldn’t take his eyes off his paintbrush! Or if Beethoven had become so interested in the paint on his piano that he forgot to write any music!

God is beautiful. Unimaginably beautiful. And, He loves me. Enough to create this beautiful world for me, and enough to die on the Cross for me. That should be reason enough for anyone. In a way, it’s really quite hard to understand why anyone should get confused …

Fr Ant

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In His Hands…

Khristos Anesti!

Alithos Anesti!

Another Passion Week and Easter have came upon us and passed in peace.

What a beautiful week it was this year! I felt so blessed to be part of the spirit of love and faith that diffused through our Church. It was so uplifting to hear all those angelic voices lifted together in a harmony of unity in praise and worship of our awesome Lord. Good on you ladies! The antiphonal* singing of “Thok te tigom” and “Epouro ente tihirini“, with the gents on one side and the ladies on the other was so inspiring.

Ten years ago when we first started having English Passion Week services, we could hardly get a peep out of the youth. How wonderful it was this year to hear a whole Church lifting the roof and opening a window to heaven as they sang in voice “Ke iperto” with its moving long tune!

The rites and hymns of our Church are incredibly and deeply filled with meaning. Every year I learn new things about them, see new connections, gain new insights into the passion of our Lord, and indeed, into the very purpose and significance of His mission on the earth.

Passion Week is so special that one often does not want it to end. And it doesn’t have to, in a way. We should take with us the gems we find in Passion Week and keep them close throughout the rest of the year, that we might continually find comfort and inspiration every time we gaze upon them again. I know it’s now the 50 days of joy, but allow me to share with you one little Passion Week reflection:

Think of His hands.

Imagine yourself standing near as Jesus reaches out those gentle hands to lay them upon the forehead of a sick man. Seconds later, the man rises, completely healed of his illness.

Follow those hands as they punctuate and illustrate His words as he speaks to the multitudes on the mount.

Observe as those hands reach out to ruffle the leaves of the fig tree that bore no fruit, and are pulled back again, empty.

Look closely as those hands hold the bread, and break it into as He says “This is My body which is broken for you and for many” – yes, with His own hands, by His own will, He calmly and quietly surrenders His body to agony and death.

See those hands being roughly tied together with coarse ropes, by men who are not worthy of kissing His feet. Covered in dirt and blood and wounds, His hands are ound hidden behind His back while Pilate washes his own hands in a silver laver.

Cringe at those hands contorting in reaction to the furious unbearable pain of the whips being slashed across His back.

Feel the splinters and the weight of the cross upon those hands as they struggle to grip its shaft and keep it from falling off His shoulder … step after excruciating step along the dirt road … to death.

Shudder at every hammer blow that drives the thick iron nails through skin and bone and sinew … such violence … such gentle, healing hands.

Weep, letting your tears drop onto those still, pale hands, lifeless now as you anoint them with perfumes and carefully arrange them over His chest. Such senseless waste … such cruel injustice … such inconsolable sorrow …

And rejoice and exult now, to see those hands glowing with renewed life! The wounds remain as an eternal witness of His limitless love, but there is no pain in them now, no suffering, no corruption, no weakness, no defeat; for defeat has turned into victory, and sorrow has been drowned out forever by joy!

Hold those hands in your own. Touch them … feel them … kiss them … for these are the hands that of our Saviour, our Champion, our Redeemer.

Take your life and place it firmly in these hands. Fold His fingers over your life, enclose it in a cage of flesh and blood … and divinity.

“Lift up your hearts”“We have them with the Lord”

 

Fr Ant

* antiphon – a hymn where two groups take it in turns to sing alternate verses, responding to each other.

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Listen, Will You?

How hard can it be to listen?

As a parish priest, I eventually learned that not everyone who comes to see me wants to hear what I have to say to them. At first I thought people were coming to gain the benefit of my experience (back when I actually had none!). But it soon dawned on me that many people who see a priest aren’t actually looking for solutions; they’re just looking for someone who will listen to them. And so I have learned to simply sit quietly and let the person pour out whatever is troubling them. It can be a remarkably effective method of counselling!

But on reflection there is something more than a little sad about this. I often get the feeling that people who come to be listened to by Abouna have no one else in their lives who will listen to them. Are we really that isolated from each other these days?

At this point I should point out that there is a difference between hearing and listening (yes, I stole that from ‘Sounds of Silence’). Most people have no problem hearing someone else speak. But they will often want to jump in and make their own comment; suggest a simple solution that the speaker was clearly too stupid to think of for themselves, or worse still, start talking about their own problems. Ask the listener what the speaker said, and all you will get is a blank stare, or one or two unimportant details. This kind of ‘hearing’ isn’t very helpful.

Listening, on the other hand, means to actually pay attention, to be genuinely interested, to forget your own world for a little while and really enter into the mind and world of the speaker. This kind of listening is surprisingly rare in our society today. And more’s the pity.

We have little trouble losing ourselves in a good novel or an exciting movie, but when it comes to a real live flesh-and-blood person sitting in front of us – well, how can they compete? Especially if that real person happens to be someone close to you, like a member of your family. How could a family member possibly be interesting? Why should I waste my time listening to his/her drivel about some boring incident that happened at the supermarket?

Love.

That’s why.

Love means to go out of yourself, to escape the dingy little prison of the ego. I am an incredibly limited being, yet my sense of my own importance in the world is always greatly exaggerated. But love tells me that other people are important too. And interesting. How can anyone not be interested in other human beings? They are such amazing creatures! Even the dullest among them has some emotion, some paradox, some wisdom, some experience, some thought, some foible that can set off a whole line of contemplation and curiosity. Sometimes you agree with others, and other times you don’t, but both situations are really quite interesting. Why did I agree or disagree? Where does the right and wrong of the matter really lie?

But there is more to be gained from taking a genuine interest in others than just curiosity. There is connection. So many people today feel so isolated and alone, even though they live in the middle of a metropolis of millions. They meet thousands of people every day, on the roads, the footpaths, the shops, at work or school – and yet, they never really connect with any of them. Their dealings are superficial and efficient, but there is little warmth, little genuine interest in each other. And then, at the end of the day, they feel so lonely. It doesn’t have to be that way.

Take the time to stop and have a chat with someone today. Better still, get them talking, and then just sit there and really listen…

Fr Ant

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Unbearable Injustice

Wishing you all a Happy Feast of the Cross!

What is the Cross?

Geometrically speaking, the Cross is a symbol that is about as simple as you can get. Two perpendicular straight lines. And yet, within that simplicity lie profound layers of meaning, meaning that became attached to it ever since that fateful day on the Golgotha nearly 2,000 years ago. Those two simple lines contrast the attitude that looks upwards, seeking more to life (vertical), to that which is content with the one-dimensional life of the material here on earth (horizontal). They cross at 90 degrees; the maximum possible separation between two lines, implying that the two attitudes towards life couldn’t be further apart. And yet, they avoid the excesses of fanaticism, for if they increased the angle on one side, the angle on the opposite side would necessarily decrease. So also those who go to fanatical extremes of religiousity on the one hand often find themselves inevitably falling into worldly sins of pride and lust for power on the other.

The Cross represents an event, a real, historical, well-documented real-life event. And that event too is laden with meaning.

The Cross represents that totally unfair burden laid upon One who had already suffered enough. By the time the Cross had been laid upon the shoulder of Christ, He had already been subjected to humiliation and taunts, beatings and a barbaric whipping, blood loss, sleep deprivation and dehydration. The added pain and humiliation of carrying a heavy wooden cross through the streets of Jerusalem was a totally unnecessary and inhuman punishment for One who was about to die anyway. And yet, He bore it with grace and patience, and without a word of complaint. He bore it as far as was humanly possible, and after that, one was provided to bear it for Him, that He might complete His journey.

And we too are charged to take up our cross if we wish to be His disciples (students). Do not be surprised, then, if your cross turns out to be heavy or if it seems unnecessary or unfair. To follow Christ means to share with Him the total humiliation of injustice, and to bear it with grace and patience. Do not expect your cross to be fur lined for your added comfort, or electronically balanced for smooth driving. It will be, by its very nature and purpose, burdensome, unwieldy, ugly and agonising. When we have already suffered ‘enough’ – that is the point at which we are called to take up our cross … if we truly wish to follow Him.

It is at this point that faith becomes real. If faith is to mean anything, it must be trusting when all the evidence points to the contrary. “My God, My God; why have You forsaken Me?” He cried from the agony of the Cross. And yet, He did not bring Himself down. He did not say, “If My Father has forsaken Me, then I too shall forsake Him.” The Cross is faith that crosses the boundary of simple reason, that trusts when there appears to be very little reason to trust.

But this faith is not unreasonable. Probe deeper, and you will find a reason so compelling that it cannot be honestly escaped. “For the Father loves the Son,” – twice He says it in the Gospel of St John, as if to confirm its truth, so that we should not doubt it when we see Him later suffering on the Cross. It is faith in this love that makes this unreasonable, unjust, unbearable cross become our joy – and our salvation.

For without this trust, without this utter surrender into the hands of the Father, accepting whatever, whatever mind you, may come; without this trust we will never experience what the love of God really means. The seed cannot grow into a plant and bear fruit if it does not first surrender to gravity, fall to the ground and die. The Cross represents our surrender of the ego, and our submission to having it broken, however painful that may be, however unfair that may seem. The injustice becomes bearable because it comes from the hand of the Father, who loves us.

That is not the whole story. There is a happy ending:

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
“For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”
Matthew 11:28-30

Fr Ant

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Lent and Lentils

It’s Lent again: Hooray!

By now, you may be reading the above words with disbelief. There is an ever-present temptation in times of fasting to dread what’s coming. The whole problem of having to be limited to fasting foods, the gastric pain of abstinence, and for all you poor mothers (and fathers) who have to prepare the food, that constantly annoying question of “Whatever am I going to cook tonight? We’re sick of lentils!”

Interestingly, the vegan vegetarian diet we adopt in Lent is meant to hark back to Paradise (did they have lentils in the Garden of Eden???) For of course, before the Fall, Adam and Eve ate no foods that involved the killing or suffering of animals.

The simpler diet is meant to lead us to a simpler lifestyle. Today, the variety of vegan foods available is far greater than it has ever been in history, I think. And yet, we still grumble.

My Confession Father once advised me to consider food and drink as nothing more than petrol for the tank during fasting times. Don’t worry about variety and taste and consistency, and all that stuff. So long as it contains the energy and nutrients you need to go about your daily business, just eat it. I have found that a very useful way to look at fasting food.

It confers the added benefit of independence. It is somehow liberating to be able to genuinely eat whatever food happens to present itself before you at any given time, and be quite content. There is a kind of joy in the victory over your tastebuds: “Aha, little buds! I have you now! No longer will you enslave me with your petty pickiness. I’ll show you … have another mouthful of lentils! Take that! And that!”

You may have noticed by now that I have lentils on the mind. I like lentils. They are small and humble, a poor man’s meal. And yet, with the right seasoning, they can be quite delicious. But they’re really not a Western dish. Many young people find a good bowl of lentils quite hard to stomach. And so they suffer in times like Lent. I sympathise. It took me some time to gain the victory over my stubborn tastebuds.

But then, isn’t that what Lent is all about? To eat like a poor person, that you may feel more empathy for the poor, be moved to help them more, and perhaps appreciate your own daily gifts that much more as well. The traditional great Easter Feast after the Resurrection liturgy is more than just a time for meatballs and turkey! It is a time for renewing old friendships with those chums, it is true. But think of the joy of that reunion. Think of how nice that food tastes, after a separation of 55 days. Well, maybe it’s better not to think too much about that when we’re only a couple of weeks into Lent. But my point is that “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. Through fasting, the joy of food that God created for us is renewed and reinvigorated, and with it, our joy in the Creator of the food Himself. As St Paul says, “Therefore, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).

So in Lent, we experience the victory of the spirit over the body, and thus approach closer to God. And after Lent is over, we experience the joy that God has written into all His creation, and thus approach closer to God. Each is all the more vivid an experience because of its opposite. Without the contrast, neither would be as powerful in leading us to God. In a simlar way, marriage throws into relief the beauty of the selfless sacrifice of celibacy, and celibacy brings an appreciation of the sacred mystery of marriage.

Lent … and lentils. Hmmm.

I think they were made for each other.

Fr Ant

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“In Weakness…”

Amin writes:

…how can we unite our weakness with the strength of God as we carry our cross and feel its heavy burden? How is possible to feel my weakness under that cross, but at the same time be able to say with St. Paul, “when I am weak, then I am strong”??

This is one of the great paradoxes of Christianity, and like any paradox it is hard to comprehend, harder still to practice.

But also like most paradoxes, it has a rational solution. My understanding of it is this:

The key lies in the reality of the grace of God.

When I feel strong, I find myself depending on my own personal resources; my strength, my intelligence, my friends perhaps. I turn to theses resources for support and I expect them to resolve my life issues. So long as I do this, God steps back in His infinitely gentle love and allows me to do things ‘my way’. I feel strong.

But every now and then, a situation arises that is well beyond the ability of my own resources. I try to deal with it alone, and fail; sometimes miserably. At the end of my wits, I finally am compelled to turn to God and cry out to Him for help. Now, I am weak.

And here is where the real presence of God often manifests in the most amazing of ways. Our gentle and compassionate God steps in and does that which was impossible for me alone, impossible for any of my resources to achieve. Not only am I saved, but I have also touched the reality of the love of God – something I should never forget again, especially in times of trouble. Now, I do not feel strong (for I have also touched my own weakness), and yet I am incredibly strong (with the strength of God).

Perhaps a tale may help illustrate this experience. In my student days I travelled overseas and was asked to escort an elderly and infirm lady on my plane trip back from Cairo to Sydney. On arrival in Singapore, I learned that the lady’s ticket was only a standby ticket, hastily purchased at the last minute to allow her to travel on the same flihgt I had booked months in advance. Unfortunately, there was no room for her on the connecting flight from Singapore to Sydney, and I was informed that she would have to wait until a seat became vacant on a later flight. I noticed a couple of men in suits arguing at the next counter that they had been waiting three days for a vacancy on a flight to Sydney. This did not bode well…

I certainly couldn’t leave the poor lady alone in Singapore with no English and poor health, yet an extended wait in Singapore was going to cause me some serious problems. But there was nothing within my power to do. Only, to turn to God. A phone call to my longsuffering mother recruited her prayers, and with her, her favorite intercessors. I recall that Psalm 130 played a prominent role in those difficult hours.

Resigned to my fate, I returned to the ticket desk as requested, half an hour before our flight was due to depart. I stood in line quietly behind our two immaculately suited gentlemen as they loudly argued and protested and abused the poor airline lady behind the counter. Suddenly, the lady’s face popped out from behind the men and she beckoned me to approach. With a look of frustration on her face she checked the elderly lady in to the one vacant seat on the flight and whispered to me, “Hurry, the plane’s about to leave!”

I didn’t hang around to see the reaction of the irate businessmen. And I suspect that poor old lady hadn’t walked quite so fast as she did that day for many years. But we made the plane, and that blessed lady arrived safely to be recieved into her anxious relatives’ embrace. There was nothing I could do about that situation; but upon surrendering to God’s will, I discovered just how much He can do.

“When I am weak, then I am strong.”

Fr Ant

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Thank You God

I feel very thankful at the moment. Strangely enough, at the moment, life is pretty tough.

It is one of those things in us that Christ turns upside down when we strive to truly follow Him. The natural response when things are hard is to cry out for deliverance. “Save me Lord!” And here is where the miracle happens; one by one, the experiences of God’s kindness and mercy accumulate in our lives and in our memories. Little by little we build up a principle in life: God is here…


“Can a woman forget her nursing child, And not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget , Yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands” (Isaiah 49:15,16)

We learn that to ask God to stop our troubles forever is not sensible, nor is it a prayer He will grant. It’s just not in our best interests. We look to short term gain while He takes an eternal perspective. But He grants us relief from the immediate problem, in His own time, of course. That’s where the thankfulness comes in.

Lately, the problems in my life have been a little larger and somewhat more complex than usual. Being back at St Mark’s College for a while has meant quite a few more convoluted issues to be dealt with than I really would have chosen for myself. (It is funny how people congratulate you on being appointed a responsibility like this. Here’s how it sounds to me: “Hey, congratulations on being given a crushing responsibility, which, if you don’t carry out faithfully will leave the spiritual blood of hundreds of innocent young souls on your hands! How wonderful that you won’t have time to breath for the next six months! We’re so happy for you!”)

But as usual, the experience is once again nothing more than a reaffirmation of God’s incredible power and His all-embracing love…

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

Problem after thorny problem is solved, and it passes.
All things must pass.
No problem lasts forever.
God is very, very good to us, His children.

The blessing of difficult times lies partly in the fact that it is in these times that we most experience the power of God in our lives, and thus touch His love in a very concrete way. The old Arabic proverb is very fitting: “The bitterness that God gives is sweeter than the sweetness the world gives”.

It is in tough times, when our own hopeless inadequacy and sinfulness is brutally revealed that we finally know the truth about ourselves. And it is in those times we learn of the incredible mercy of God that elevates us beyond anything we had imagined…

“And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:9,10)

And so I am thankful; very, very thankful. I am thankful that God is slowly removing from me the unbearable burden of achieving perfection by my own means, and replacing it, piece by painful piece, with dependance on Him. I am thankful for every problem that comes along, for it offers yet another opportunity for me to wait upon the Lord, to learn to trust Him, and eventually to touch and be touched by the tenderness of His infinite care. It seems such an inadequate response, but it is all I have to offer:

Thank You God.