Breaking the Word

2013-06-16T12:04:00.001+08:00

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Beyond Carrot & Stick

Readings: 2 Samuel 12:7-10,13; Psalm 31:1-2,5,7,11; Galatians 2:16,19-21; Luke 7:36-8:3

Sisters and brothers, I think you’re familiar with the phrase carrot and stick, right? You know that it refers to a way of motivating people. A way of getting people to do what we want them to do. And to stop doing what we don’t want them to do. The technique is simple. For the things we want people to do, we wave a carrot in front of them. An incentive of some kind. Like money, for example. Or a promotion. Or a prize. For the things that we don’t want people to do, we apply the stick to discourage them. A disincentive of some kind. Like a monetary penalty. No littering. Fine, a thousand dollars. Or a restriction of privileges. If you don’t do your homework, no computer games for a week. Or even imprisonment.

Carrot and stick. Incentive and disincentive. We use this approach everywhere. At home. At work. And even in our spiritual life. In our relationship with God. Don't some of us, for example, come to Church faithfully every Sunday, just because we wish to avoid having to go to confession? Or how many of us are really anxious to find out the answer to the following question: Exactly how late can we show up at Mass before we have to come again for the next one? Or how many of us gauge our spiritual health only in terms of our own performance? Only by how well or how poorly we may be keeping the rules. And how many of us keep the rules mainly because we fear punishment? Or only because we expect some kind of reward? If not here in this world, then later, in the hereafter. How many of us, for example, become shocked and angry when bad things happen to us even though we may have done nothing seriously wrong. Even though we may have kept all the rules?

Carrot and stick. Incentive and disincentive. This approach can, of course, be very effective. Don’t many of us, for example, find ourselves buying many more things than we need, simply because they are on offer? Buy ten, get one free. But still, it’s important for us to remember that, as effective as it may be in certain situations, the carrot and stick approach does have its limitations. For one thing, it’s very task-oriented. It focuses mainly on performance. What it’s not so good at is building close relationships. This is because the technique is modelled on a particular kind of relationship. The relationship between a boss and a worker. A master and a slave. Or, what’s worse, between an animal and its owner. That is, after all, the image that the words carrot and stick bring to mind. Someone trying to get his or her mule to move by dangling a carrot in front of it. And by threatening to hit it with a stick if it doesn’t. In such a situation, even if the animal does obey. It’s not likely to have much love for the one wielding the carrot and the stick.

Carrot and stick. Incentive and disincentive. At first glance, this is also the kind of motivational technique that God seems to be using on King David in the first reading. What does God do after David commits adultery with a married woman and then kills her husband? It seems God reacts in two ways. First, by listing the incentives, the carrots, that God had dangled in front of David to gain his compliance: I anointed you king… I delivered you from Saul… I gave you the House of Israel and Judah... And, second, by brandishing a stick, a disincentive, for disobedience: So now the sword shall never be far from your House…

And yet, it also possible to read God’s reaction in a very different way. If we look more closely at the reading, it’s possible to see that God reacts to David’s sin, not so much as an angry Master, shaking a clenched fist. But more as a disappointed Friend, shedding tears of hurt and regret. I did all these things for you, God protests. I guided you. Showed you the way to peace and happiness. I treated you like my friend. But you have have rejected my help. You have spurned my friendship. And now you suffer the consequences of your wrongful actions. Angry Master? Or disappointed Friend? Which interpretation is the more accurate? At least one thing helps to convince us that it is friendship that is at work here. For instead of punishing David for his sin. Instead of applying the stick, as an angry master would. God forgives him. And the result? David’s relationship with God grows even deeper, even more intimate, than it was before. As we heard in the responsorial psalm, the one whom God forgives sees God no longer as a hard taskmaster, but as a safe refuge. A place in which to live the whole of one’s life. You are my hiding place, O Lord; you save me from distress. You surround me with cries of deliverance.

All of which should help us to understand a little better what is happening in each of the other two readings today. In the second reading, St. Paul tells us something rather shocking. He says that what makes a man righteous is not obedience to the Law, but faith in Jesus Christ. And what does the Law rely on, sisters and brothers, if not the approach of carrot and stick. The same approach that many of us rely on in the spiritual life. Whether we realise it or not. And yet, Paul is telling us that this is precisely the approach that does not work. For as Jesus himself says at the Last Supper, this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent (Jn 17:3). Eternal life is intimate knowledge of God in Christ. If this is true, then it stands to reason that the approach of carrot and stick, of incentive and disincentive, cannot save us. Even if it may motivate us to keep the rules. It cannot bring us into close relationship with God. It cannot enable us to say what Paul is able to say: I live now not with my own life but with the life of Christ who lives in me. But what does it mean then to have faith in Jesus Christ? What does it mean to live the life of Christ? How does one enter this life, if not by carrot and stick?

The gospel provides us with a useful illustration of what Paul means. Here we find a stark contrast between two ways of relating to Jesus. The first is the way of the Pharisee. The way of the Law. The way of carrot and stick. The Pharisee is, of course, an expert at keeping the Law. And yet, even though Jesus enters his home as his guest, Simon the Pharisee fails to show Jesus the proper hospitality. For all his knowledge of the Law, Simon remains distant from the Lord. Probably because he does not recognise the presence of God in him. After all, even though Jesus may work miracles and speak eloquently, he doesn’t seem careful enough about keeping all the rules.

In contrast, the unnamed woman–the one with the bad name, the intruder, the one who gatecrashes the party–somehow manages to enter into a shockingly intimate relationship with Jesus. She sheds tears over him. Cleans his feet with her hair. Kisses him with her lips. Anoints him with ointment. And, what is most important to notice, is that this intimacy does not come from the application of carrot and stick. It is not the product of a craving for reward. Or of the fear of punishment. It is born, instead, of the same things that we find in the relationship between David and God in the first reading, and between Paul and Christ in the second. Intimacy with God in Christ springs from mercy and gratitude. The mercy of God symbolised by the Cross of Christ. And the gratitude of the people of God, expressed most fully every time we gather, as we do now, to listen to the Word of God, and to share in the Bread of Life.

For us who are Christian, this is the true motivation. This is the sure way to life. This is the reliable path to peace. Not so much carrot and stick, as mercy and gratitude. Not so much our performance, as the Lord’s sacrifice. Not so much the keeping of rules and regulations, as intimate friendship with Christ. A friendship for us to enjoy. And to live. And to share with others.

Sisters and brothers, the Lord continues to extend to us his hand of Friendship. How ready are we to go beyond carrot and stick today?

2013-06-10T11:27:00.000+08:00

10th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Raising the Living Dead

Readings: 1 Kings 17:17-24; Psalm 29:2,4-6,11-13; Galatians 1:11-19; Luke 7:11-17

Sisters and brothers, have you noticed how popular dead people have become today? Not just any kind of dead people, but dead people who appear to still be alive in some way. I’m referring, of course, to the living dead. That’s what they’re called. Or zombies. As you know, a zombie is actually a corpse that has somehow been raised. It can stumble around, but it’s flesh remains quite dead. A zombie is basically a moving pile of rotting flesh. It can’t think or speak for itself like a normal person can. It’s driven by only one thing. It has a single obsession. It has an insatiable craving for human flesh. Preferably the brain.

I know this may seem bizarre to us, sisters and brothers. But I understand that, in some places, there’s actually a considerable market for zombie paraphernalia. Zombie costumes. Zombie make-up. Zombie novels. Zombie movies... I myself recently watched the trailer for a zombie movie, a romantic comedy, entitled Warm Bodies. Some of you might have watched the movie. The story intrigued me. It’s about a male zombie named R–he can’t remember the rest of his name–who is brought back to full human life after he meets and falls in love with a girl. As R’s relationship with his sweetheart deepens, his once cold rigid flesh gradually warms up and softens. Slowly, beginning with his heart, blood starts flowing again through his whole body...

But why, sisters and brothers? Why do you think there’s this immense interest in the living dead? I can’t be sure. But perhaps the reason is to be found in the way many of us modern city-dwellers live. Perhaps it’s got something to do with how so many of us seem to live very zombie-like lives. Lives driven by one obsession or another. Whether it be for money or success. For public recognition or personal achievement. Or simply for accumulating more and more possessions. All those different things, with which we furnish our homes, and clothe our bodies, and occupy our time…

Like zombies, much of our daily routines revolve around repetitive actions, whose deeper meaning we often fail to grasp. At least not in a way that gives us life. Or brings us joy. At daybreak we jerk awake to the screaming of an alarm. Then it’s off to work, or school, or wherever else we need to be. We spend the day performing the various mundane duties expected of us. And then collapse into bed, exhausted, long after the sun has gone down. Only to repeat the whole process when the alarm goes off again the next morning. And, of course, throughout each day, we’ll be fiddling with our little gadgets. Staring into our hi-res retina-display screens. Oblivious to whatever may be happening to those around us. According to the 19th century American poet, Henry David Thoreau, the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. A more contemporary, if less lyrical, translation might be this: Many of us live like zombies...

All of which should make us grateful for what our Mass readings are telling us today. For even if it is true that many of us live like zombies, perhaps it’s also true that we all still dream of a different, a much more meaningful, far less lonely and obsessive existence. A movie like Warm Bodies may well be testimony to this fact. The million dollar question is, of course, How? How do zombies get raised to life? This is the question that the scriptures address today.

In each of our readings, we find people being brought back to life. In the first reading, the prophet Elijah raises a Gentile widow’s son from the dead. And, after witnessing his incredible performance, the woman recognises Elijah for who he really is. Now I know, she says, you are a man of God and the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth itself. For the widow, only the Word of God could work such a miracle. So it comes as no surprise when we find Jesus–the Word of God Become Flesh–doing the very same thing in the gospel. Like Elijah before him, Jesus demonstrates his mastery over death itself. A mastery even more awe-inspiring than Elijah's. For Elijah had to stretch himself out over the dead boy three times in order to bring him to life. Jesus does it with far less effort. Moved with compassion by a widow’s grief at the loss of her only son, Jesus utters a single command, and restores the boy to his mother.

But, as incredible as these miracles may be, they would still seem rather far removed from our experience–when was the last time you saw a dead body being raised?–if not for what we find in the second reading. Here, St. Paul writes movingly about how his whole life was changed when he met Jesus. Paul, as you know, had been a fully trained, piously practising Jew. A zealous Pharisee. Someone who was obsessed enough about his faith to go about persecuting Christians. (We can get obsessed by many different things. Even very holy things.) People whom he considered heretics. But then, one day, everything changed. God called me through his grace, Paul writes, and chose to reveal his Son in me. In another of his letters, Paul likens this experience of encountering Jesus to that of a child born abnormally (1 Corinthians 15:8 NJB). For Paul, the experience of meeting the Crucified and Risen Christ was the beginning a new life. Not unlike the experience of R, the zombie in the movie. Who came to life only after meeting and falling in love with his girlfriend.

This then, sisters and brothers, is the power that we are celebrating today. The power of Christ to raise the dead to life. Not just the dead whose bodies lie in our cemetery plots. Or whose ashes fill our columbarium niches. But also the living dead. Those who continue to shuffle around on the face of this earth, leading lives–often very busy lives–filled with quiet desperation. Dreaming all the while of a day when someone might impart to them the power to enjoy a fuller, more meaningful, less lonely, less anxious existence. This, sisters and brothers, is the very thing that each of us has received at our Baptism. This is the very thing that we gather to celebrate at this Mass. The revelation of God’s unsurpassable love for us, made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord. The same power that we are reminded to cultivate, through daily interaction with the Lord. The same power that we will be sent to exercise and to impart to others, once our celebration is complete this evening. When we will once again hear those familiar words: Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord...

Sisters and brothers, even if many people do live like zombies, as Christians, we believe that we hold the power to raise them to life. The power that comes from meeting, falling and remaining in love with Christ Jesus our Lord.

What more can we do to enjoy this power? What more can we do to share it with those who need it most today?

2013-06-10T11:10:00.002+08:00

Wedding Mass of Eujin & Mizuho
Minutes of a Marriage

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 26:1-4, 13-16; Psalm 127; 1 John 4:7-12; Mark 10:6-9
Picture: cc Arvid Bux

Eujin and Mizuho, dear friends. Have you ever read the minutes of a meeting? You’re familiar with how, especially at official meetings, there’s usually someone who records the proceedings. Someone who takes minutes. And you know what most minutes of meetings look like, right? Typically, each page is divided into two columns. The column on the left contains the points that were discussed. The decisions that were made. And the column on the right is usually labelled action. This is where you find the names of all the people who have to carry out whatever has been discussed. To put it into action.

I know it may sound a little strange, but imagine for a moment that this wedding is a meeting, at which minutes are being taken. What do you think these minutes would look like? What will we find in the respective columns on left and right?

It’s probably not too difficult to agree on what belongs to the column on the left. Today, we are gathered here to witness Eujin and Mizuho pledging their love for each other. Committing their lives one to the other. And we offer them our best wishes. We hope and pray that they may have a happy and fulfilling marriage for the rest of their years. That they may continue to love and care for each other. And for the children with whom they may be blessed. All this is beyond dispute. But what about the column on the right? The action column? Whose name or names should we record there?

At first glance, our scripture readings for today give us a rather disturbing–if a little amusing–answer to this question. These readings, by the way, were not chosen by me. They were chosen by you, Eujin and Mizuho. And they are very appropriate. But we need to pay close attention to what they are really saying to us. For the first reading seems, at first, to focus all our attention on one party to this marriage. On the wife. On you, Mizuho. The readings sing the praises of a certain kind of wife. The kind of wife that one finds in a well-kept house. What are the impressive characteristics of this kind of wife? Well, she’s perfect and graceful. Beautiful yet modest. And, perhaps most important, she is silent.

Dear friends, if we were to leave our reflections here, then it would seem that there is really only one name to record in the action column of our minutes today. Yours, Mizuho. But that’s just plain wrong. You see, the first reading is not really meant to be a list of actions for a spouse to perform. Whether it be the husband, or the wife. The person with the amazing qualities described in the reading is, before all else, a gift from God. And this gift is reserved for certain kinds of people. Such a wife is the reward given by God to a certain type of husband. The type of husband described in the responsorial psalm. The type of husband who fears the Lord. The kind of person who puts God first in everything that he thinks and says and does. Who always tries to consider what it is that God wants of him, in any given situation. Blessed are those who fear the Lord… Your wife will be a fruitful vine in the heart of your house… And what is said of the husband can just as easily be said of the wife. For God does not favour one gender over the other.

At this point in our reflection, it becomes clear that at least two names must be recorded in that action column of our minutes. Mizuho’s and Eujin’s. But that’s not all. That would still be incomplete. For the rest of our readings go on to remind us that the couple to be wed are not the only ones involved in a marriage. In the gospel, Jesus states quite emphatically that what God has united, man must not divide. And this is our profound belief. That even though it is you, Eujin and Mizuho, who have freely chosen to be married to each other. Even though various circumstances and people may have conspired to bring you together. We believe that behind all this, God has been, and continues to be, at work. Not only joining you together civilly, legally, as husband and wife. But, more importantly, binding you, fusing you, into one body through the love that exists between the two of you.

What is more, we also believe that this love between you did not originate from you. As much as you have to continue to expend effort at nurturing your relationship–at bearing with the spouse who may forget to take out the trash, or who may leave the toilet seat up (or down), or who may snore at night–we believe that the love you have for one another originates ultimately from God. As the second reading reminds us, this is the love that we mean: not our love for God, but God’s love for us when he sent his Son to be the sacrifice that takes our sins away. We grow in love for one another only to the extent that we continue to receive and to accept the love that God ceaselessly pours into us in Jesus our Lord.

So, three names. Eujin’s, Mizuho’s, and God’s. Is that all we need to record in our minutes today? Not quite. Many more names are required. And those of us here who are already married know this for a fact. In addition to the efforts of the married couple, and to the blessings of God, a happy marriage relies also on the support of family and friends. People willing to lend a listening ear, when burdens may become heavy. When hearts may get broken. When tears may well up and fall. People willing to offer a helping hand, when children may need care. When finances may become tight. When work may get too stressful. People willing to get involved in some way. To be present to the couple. In mind and in body. In work and in prayer.

My dear friends, Eujin and Mizuho, it takes many names to make a marriage work. How ready are we to put these minutes of ours into action today?

2013-05-26T08:01:00.003+08:00

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity (C)
Beyond The Paradox of Publicity

Readings: Proverbs 8:22-31; Psalm 8:4-9; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15

Picture: cc Kinderhotel Lärchenwald

Sisters and brothers, have you ever had to manage publicity of some kind? Say, for example, you wanted to spread the word about an event you were organising. Or maybe you were trying to keep some information from certain people. If you’ve ever had experiences like that, you’ll probably have noticed something very puzzling, something even paradoxical, about publicity. The paradox comes in two parts. The first has to do with how to get people interested in something. How to get them excited and talking about it every chance they get. What’s a good way to do this? You’ve probably guessed it. If you want people to spread the word about something, just tell them to keep it secret.

I think it won’t get me into too much trouble if I told you that a case in point is the recent elevation of our beloved parish priest to the position of Vicar General. As you might expect, the decision was made some time before it was announced. But, for good reason, it was kept under wraps. Those who knew were told to keep it secret. Which resulted, of course, in the parish grapevine buzzing with the news long before any official announcement was made. Which goes to show that the best way to publicise something is to tell people to keep it top secret.

But that’s just half the paradox. The other half has to do with how to keep something quiet. How to ensure that people take no notice of it. How many of us, for example, have noticed what the person next to us is wearing this morning? Or what materials are laid out for distribution on the tables at the entrance to our worship space? Or what announcements are being flashed on the TV screens at the Place of Gathering? I may be wrong, but my guess is that many of us haven’t noticed these things at all. Which goes to show that the way to make people ignore something, is precisely to make that something as obvious and as accessible as possible. Isn’t this, sisters and brothers, the paradox of publicity? If you want to spread the word about something, tell people to keep it secret. If you want to keep something hidden, display it openly. In plain sight.

I mention this, on the solemn feast of the Holy Trinity, because I think it can help us to answer a crucial question that this feast poses to us today. Except that it’s not the question we may be expecting. For some of us, the question the Trinity poses is something like a mathematical puzzle. How can God be both One and Three at the same time? There are various ways to answer this question. We may, for example, compare Father and Son and Spirit to coffee and cream and sugar. Or to shampoo and conditioner and aloe-vera. Three-in-one. And one-in-three. That’s possible. But what good does an answer like that do for us, really? What difference does it make to our lives? Is there perhaps another, more helpful, question we can consider?

I think there is. A closer look at our prayers and readings for today helps us to see the Trinity not so much as a puzzle, but more in terms of publicity. In our opening prayer, for example, we told God our Father that He had made known to the human race God’s wondrous mystery. That’s what this feast is about. It’s about God’s deep and ongoing desire to make Himself known to us. To publicise God’s self to us. It’s about how the Father keeps revealing Himself to us, through the Son, and in the Holy Spirit.

We see this expressed in our readings today. In the first reading, for example, we’re told not only that the Wisdom of God is always by the side of God, ever at play in his presence. But also that the Wisdom of God is at play everywhere in his world, delighting to be with the sons of men. This implies that our Trinitarian God–Father, Son and Spirit–is constantly with us and among us. Continually trying to make His presence felt by us. To publicise Himself to us. And even enjoying Himself in the process. Isn’t this why the psalmist is able to look at things as ordinary as the heavens, the moon and the stars, and to feel himself being led into the presence of God? To experience his heart being moved to praise the glory of God? How great is your name, O Lord our God, through all the earth.

But that’s not all. God’s efforts at publicising Himself to us is not limited to the things that we see around us. It goes even deeper than that. For the second reading tells us that through our Lord Jesus–through the life, death and resurrection of Christ the Son–the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. As a result, it’s possible for us to find God not just in the awesome beauty of nature–in the moon and the stars–but also in the shadowy depths of our own hearts. Even when those same hearts may be broken by suffering. Whether resulting from natural disasters (such as that tornado in Oklahoma). Or from human sinfulness (such as the collapse of that garment factory in Bangladesh). Or simply from the more trivial, but no less heart-wrenching, setbacks of everyday life. Whatever their cause or their circumstances, our sufferings can actually usher us into the very presence of God.

Of course, we aren’t always able immediately to recognise God in such difficulties. Very often our first response might be denial, or anger, or unspeakable sorrow. And this is understandable. Like the disciples to whom Jesus is speaking in the gospel today, much of what the Lord has to say to us, much of what God has to publicise to us, would be too much for us at any given time. And yet, the Lord continues to pour his Spirit into our hearts. Continues to help us to recognise His consoling voice. Continues to enable us to yield, tentatively, to His gentle caress. And to fall, ultimately, into the warmth of his reassuring embrace.

But this is where a crucial question is posed to us today: If God takes so much trouble to make Himself known to us. If God keeps tirelessly reaching out to us through the Son and in the Holy Spirit. Then why do we not recognise His presence more readily? Why are we not more able to find God in the ordinary circumstances of our daily lives? I’m not sure, sisters and brothers. But I think we find the answer in what we were talking about earlier. In the paradox of publicity. By making Himself so close and so accessible, God has actually made it easier for us to ignore Him. To take His loving presence for granted.

If this is true, sisters and brothers, then what we need to do, more than anything else, is to beg God for the grace to go beyond this paradox. We need to ask God to help us to pay attention to the things that are most obvious. The things closest to us. Such as our own feelings and emotions. Or the people around us. Or the situations in which we find ourselves. Our joys and our sorrows. Our friends and our enemies. Those who help us and those who need our help. Since God is Trinity, everything can potentially lead us to Him. What we need are the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the hands to touch, the hearts to feel...

Sisters and brothers, today we celebrate Trinity Sunday. Today we rejoice in a God who continues, relentlessly, to reveal Himself to us. What can we do to pay more attention to Him? What do we need to go beyond the paradox of publicity today?

2013-05-19T08:56:00.003+08:00

Pentecost Sunday (C)
Beyond Chicken & Duck Talk

Readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 103:1,24,29-31,34; Romans 8:8-17; John 14:15-16,23-26

Picture: cc darkpaisley

Sisters and brothers, have you ever heard a baby trying to speak? You know what it sounds like, right? Sort of like goo goo da da. Or something like that? Which is really very cute. Except that it doesn’t mean anything. At least not to us who are listening. Even if the baby may be trying to express itself, it’s not using language that we understand. We don’t know what the infant actually wants to say. To do that, to truly understand, we have to wait till it actually learns to speak our language.

Something similar happens when people who speak different languages try to communicate with each other. The Cantonese have an interesting way of describing such a situation. They say it’s like a chicken and a duck. Which can be very frustrating. Neither party understands what the other is trying to say. No meaningful connection is made. At least not until the chicken and the duck somehow manage to find a common language. One that both can understand.

And isn’t this what happens at Pentecost? Isn’t this what we find the Holy Spirit doing in the first reading today? In a gathering of people who speak many different languages, the Spirit somehow enables each person to understand what is being said. We’re not sure exactly how it happens. The reading itself isn’t very clear. At first, we’re told that the disciples began to speak foreign languages. Then, later, it seems that, although the disciples were speaking a single language, each of those listening, heard them in the listener’s own native language. It all sounds very mysterious. But, whatever actually happened, one thing is clear. People who spoke languages different from them, somehow managed to understand everything that the disciples were saying. All through the power of the Holy Spirit.

But is that all that happened? Was it really only a matter of simultaneous or auto-translation? Is that the full extent of the Spirit’s power in the first reading? If it is, then maybe we should not be too impressed. After all, with the advances of modern technology, it’s not difficult to arrange something similar today. But could it be that something even more important is happening in the first reading? Something even more meaningful for us. For this amazing new language that the Holy Spirit taught the disciples to speak didn’t just enable them to connect with other people. More importantly, it enabled them to remain connected to God.

Isn’t this what Jesus is talking about in the gospel? If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him and make our home with him…. The Advocate, the Holy Spirit will teach you everything and remind you of all I have said to you. What is Jesus saying here, if not that the Holy Spirit teaches us to speak a new language. One that enables us to connect not just with other people, but also with God. And not just to connect with God, but even to allow God to make God’s home in us. What an incredible thought!

And what is this amazing language, sisters and brothers, if not the language of love? The language that we have spent the past seven weeks of the Easter Season celebrating and reviewing and practising. The same language that Jesus was speaking from the Table of the Last Supper to the Wood of the Cross. From the Tomb of his Burial to the Mount of his Ascension. The same language that Jesus continues to speak here at this Mass. From the Proclamation of the Word at the Ambo, to the Breaking of Bread at the Altar. The language of God’s undying love for us. A love that refuses to let us go. A love that continues tirelessly to seek us out. And to send us forth. This is what the Spirit teaches us. This is what the Spirit is for us. The power to speak and to live a new language. One that allows us to remain in communion with God and with one another.

Which also helps us to understand what Paul means in the second reading, when he makes a radical distinction between the unspiritual and the spiritual. Your interests are not in the unspiritual, Paul writes, but in the spiritual, since the Spirit of God has made his home in you. What is Paul saying, if not that the Spirit teaches us to speak a language that gains us access to God. No longer the unspiritual language of selfishness and sin. But the spiritual language of love and self-sacrifice. A new language that allows us finally to understand the Mysteries of God. The same Mysteries we are celebrating at this Eucharist. A language that enables us to cry out to God. No longer saying goo goo da da. But Abba, Father!

Sisters and brothers, isn’t this the true and precious gift of Pentecost. A gift that we need so much, especially in our world today. A world in which we find such difficulty connecting with those who may be different from us. And even with those who are very much the same. Our colleagues at work. Our fellow parishioners in Church. Members of our own communities and families. Ours is a world where we often feel surrounded by many, and yet truly known and understood by very few. A world that often seems to comprehend no other language than that of insecurity and jealousy. Of selfishness and greed. A language that leads too often to isolation and indifference and exploitation. Instead of solidarity and compassion and care.

In a world such as this, isn’t it all the more important for us, sisters and brothers, to do what the disciples did on that first Pentecost. Isn’t it all the more important for us to continue making every effort to speak and live and even to teach the new language that the Spirit imparts. No longer the self-centred dialect of infants. But rather the Spirit-inspired speech of the children of God. The language of God’s love for us made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Sisters and brothers, as we bring the great Season of Easter to a close, how might we continue to speak and to live this new language? How ready are we to keep progressing beyond chicken and duck talk today?