Speaking the truth

Last Friday I was invited to dinner by the Men to Men Ministry. I had not met the group before so I looked forward to getting to know them. I had a great time - it was a fun evening of good food, wine and conversation and I was struck by their easy camaraderie and their commitment to their ministry.

So what’s the secret? I think part of the reason why the men are so strongly committed is due, in part, to the leadership. They joked about how if they skipped too many meetings, they would be invited to a private breakfast tete a tete with Edwyn who leads the group.

We live in a world ruled by political correctness, where often we refrain from “correcting” a wrong, because we are so concerned about infringing the rights of others and offending them. More so if we are Christian. It’s not the done thing. We must make nice all the time. Accept people for who they are.

Yes, we must love the sinner, but we need not accept the sin. We forget that Jesus overturned the tables of the money lenders in the temple. That He was never afraid of telling the truth, motivated by His deep love for humanity.

Although we are adults and should know the difference between right and wrong, we do sometimes need the encouragement and support of our loved ones to steer us back onto the right path, especially if we veer off. That’s where family and friends who love us come in.

I am especially grateful for the forthrightness of E., who has been one of my spiritual guides these past years. She has never been afraid of telling it like it is, unpalatable as her words may have been to my ears at the time. Invariably I would follow her advice (after wrestling with it for a while) for I knew she was motivated by a spirit of love, and wisdom.

So what if she came across like a heavy-handed parent at times? I knew she was right, even if at the time I didn’t fully understand why, for I respected her authority – an authority that came from her sustained, intimate relationship with the Trinity. I am glad, in retrospect, that I allowed her words to guide me for I have gained much, despite "losing" much initially.

There are certain truths in the world we cannot sugar-coat in relativism. Black is black and will never be white even if we argue till we are blue in the face about it. So it's important not to be afraid of treading on toes in the effort to live His way, His truth and His life.

As St. Paul would say, “Never grow tired of doing what is right.” Speak the truth in love.

Conversion stories

A couple of weeks ago, B. rang me and told me she had bumped into my cousin G. and they ended up sharing their conversion stories with each other over dinner. I never cease to marvel at how lives are transformed diametrically when we each meet and connect with the One who brings us the calibre of happiness we look for all our lives and never quite find in things human-made.

Raniero Cantalamessa uses the parable Jesus told of the hidden treasure to describe conversion: "The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field; a man finds it and hides it again, then he goes, full of joy, and sells all he has and buys the field."

It is only when the man finds the treasure that he now has “the strength and the joy to sell all” and this conversion, Fr. Cantalamessa goes on to say, “is the way to happiness and a full life. It is not something painful, but the greatest joy. It is the discovery of the hidden treasure and the pearl of great price.”

Having experienced it myself, I concur with what he says for only such transcendent joy can effect and sustain the necessary process of selling all, which takes time (a whole lifetime, in fact, for conversion is not a one-shot deal but a lifelong process).

While conversion isn’t something painful per se, it does involve pain: the pain of letting go, giving up, dying to self, leaving behind the vestiges of one’s former way of life. Tis not easy… but I would not change a step I’ve travelled on the narrow path. Nor do I wish to switch paths or walk back even when temptation allures so charmingly from time to time.

For it was only when I said goodbye to the final enduring bits of my “worldly” life two years ago that I found the freedom to move light years ahead and find my identity, my worth and my purpose, and consequently, the sense of security and well-being a child finds in her mother’s loving arms.

Like the woman with the alabaster flask in Matthew’s gospel, knowing that my many sins are forgiven has enabled me to be (and feel) loved wholly, and to love wholeheartedly in return.

In a world where people search so desperately for love, they need only look inward into the eyes of the Father to find the hidden treasure.

By His blood

Sometimes I ponder how much I would give up, how far I would go to defend my love for Jesus. Would I be able to give up my life if called upon to do so? Or would I wimp out and deny His name, like Peter did, not once, but thrice.

Even now, in a social setting of "believers" and "non-believers", I let "blasphemous" remarks go, forgoing the risk of being labelled Jesus freak or, heaven forbid, totally uncool.

"Don't rock the boat. Don't make everyone uncomfortable." I rationalise my limp responses or silence. "If I give an honest opinion, I will come across as a narrow-minded Christian and turn people off Christianity, so it's better to let it slide."

Please show me how I can change the world when I lack the requisite courage to bear witness in the world? Especially since I am so comfortable remaining within the enclave of like-minded people.

Instead of demarcating the world into "them and us", to really be like Jesus, I must go forth and sit with "sinners". Break bread with them. Get to know them and to love them. Accept them for who they are. Recognize the seed of goodness within each person I meet and hopefully, by reflecting the love of Jesus, make the seed grow through each encounter.

I've been reading about the recent slaying of Fr. Ragheed Aziz Ganni and three deacons, shot and killed in Mosul, Iraq, last Sunday after Mass. Fr. Ragheed chose to return to his home country in 2003 upon completion of his studies in Rome, knowing he was going back, literally, to a war zone, and an eventual death sentence.

The description of severe and constant persecution, the real fear of dying for one's faith every single day is just mind-boggling to me - who sits in air-conditioned comfort when I attend mass, secure in the knowledge I am safe from violence. No bullets whizzing through church windows or celebrating mass in bombed-out ruins.

Out of love for his people, Fr. Ragheed made the ultimate sacrifice. I find his courage, strength and tireless zeal inspiring. And I pray that this sacrifice will not spawn more hatred and violence, but will instead spur each of us to follow his example of fidelity and bring the message of hope and love to all we meet. Every single day.

"Today I have died to self." Words he uttered to a good friend on the day of his ordination.

May I be given a small measure of the grace given to Fr. Ragheed to die to self and live in Christ, Christ who died for us so willingly out of love. A sacrifice I remember at every Eucharistic celebration, and in particular today, when I tasted His life-giving blood in the wine.

Spirited charisms

When I was five, I knew the Holy Spirit as the Holy Ghost. I saw Him as one of my guardian angels, friendly like Casper, who would play with me and keep me safe. Then He became the Holy Spirit and somehow, by virtue of the name change and my growing up, faded into invisibility.

God was my distant father, loving but stern, and Jesus was some bygone super-hero who performed miracles. To be admired, but from a distance. Father, Son and Holy Spirit, like relatives who lived in another country. We were bonded in a unique way, but we never saw each other much.

Things changed the day, as B. would put it, I got zapped. Big time. The charismatics will say I met Jesus. I like to describe it as the day I fell in love with the love of my life.

The music played and the angels sang as the sun came out from behind the clouds and shone its deliciously warm, ambient rays on a magnificent rainbow in the sky.

Sure, it didn't happen in a flash, more like a diver slowly surfacing after a deep dive, but it was nonetheless dramatic. And life-changing.

God became my compassionate father who forgave me all my sins.

Jesus became heroically human and real to me and began performing miracles in my life.

The Holy Spirit blew away the cobwebs distorting my vision, refreshed my parched, shrivelled soul and lit a fire within.

From that point onwards, there was no turning back.

I have since gotten to know the tenets of Catholicism well. I was astounded to discover how rich and complex in flavours and textures my religion was, much like my favourite hazelnut chocolate torte, and just as rewarding.

I continue to be amazed at how alive and vibrant my relationship with my Triune God can be.

As I mature in my faith journey, I become more aware of my mission in life: sharing His love with others. Simple, but not exactly easy to accomplish for every act of giving involves exposing myself to hostility and rejection, while I cannot, must not, expect anything in return.

What does make it easy is His bountiful love – not only the fruit, but the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Charisms, or what Pope John Paul II calls extraordinary gifts that are not necessarily miraculous in nature, but are given to each of us to help us “in the service of others and the welfare of the Church”, bringing Christ’s love to the world.

These special graces are unique to each person and come in diverse and multiple forms such as wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety and fear of God, to name a few. (By the way, the gift of tongues is not a charism for as Fr. Robert Faricy put it, “Any idiot can babble in tongues,” and it is a gift of contemplative prayer more for self-sanctification.)

Of course we must want the gifts and claim them, be grateful for them as they are bestowed, and treasure them by sharing them, for they are not meant for self-edification or sanctification.

This past Pentecost, I asked for a renewal of Spirit to nourish my faith. Ever generous, Father, Son and Holy Spirit responded. Now it’s up to me to live up to and live out my baptismal promises with the charisms He has given me.