‘Follow the clues’

It’s odd how science & faith are often portrayed as rivals these days, the former being hijacked by atheists and held up as the cleverness of enlightened man to explain all. It is increasingly impressive too.

I find it comical in a way as all we do as scientists is really follow breadcrumbs neatly laid out by our creator so we can make the discoveries He has hidden away in nature. We can use our inquisitive nature to unravel the mind blowing complexities of our world and this ought to lead us directly to Him in an attitude of awe. In this way all discoveries are meant to benefit the human race.

Sometimes however, our reliance on knowledge can also undermine our dependency on God so we don’t look to Him as we should.

Too little attention is paid to following the clues that lead us to discover why we are here in the first place. This field of study too has a trail of breadcrumbs to follow that lead to His throne. The saints point the way and the many movements across the centuries have their own pathways like the desert fathers, Celtic communities, charismatics or the schools of prayer that develop during Marian apparitions. It is up to each individual to pick up the trail head and follow one of the schools of prayer which will deepen knowledge and closeness to God. Then, as with a scientific discovery, we can enter the mysteries and treasury of grace, to come into the fullness of life (John 10:10). The Lord has so much to give to those who want it. 

In a way the rigidity of the church, with its obligations and regulations, tends to make many stop at the minimum as if it is the maximum or all there is. Perhaps the growing numbers of prayer groups is a remedy to this blockage in our search for a deeper and fuller walk with God. 

Practicing our faith is more than just showing up on Sunday. Often people go to church weighed down with problems and difficulties and after Mass just bring them home again. Can a community develop in the few minutes before or after Mass? 

Small groups have advantages in that people can get to know each other and a sense of community forms and praying openly together seems to make people more understanding or compassionate of one another’s difficulties as they intercede for each another. We realise we are not alone and can learn from each other’s experiences. 

And the more we pray, the more aligned our prayers become to God’s wishes, the more are answered and this builds faith in communities and confidence in a God who is no longer a remote Sunday morning visitor but an intimate ally. 

The prayer group I attend gives an opportunity to lay down one’s burdens and concerns and bring them to God in prayer and miracles happen as the community prays in faith for His intervention. Nothing is off limits, no prayer too big or too small. 

“See those Christians, how they love one another”

During a Lenten visit to the Blessed Sacrament at a local adoration chapel, I came across a couple of street children (maybe 7 and 10 years old) who also came in for a visit. I was taken aback by their reverence as they entered, knelt at the feet of Jesus, and bowed down, foreheads to the floor; just two pairs of blackened feet sticking up as they prayed silently for a while. They knew their faith; perhaps being on the streets was a recent thing. A few days later another street dweller came in, a man this time, and he too, whilst more vocal and with many tears, made his pleas to the Lord. I added my own prayer to theirs.

Once upon a time; in the early church, even its persecutors acknowledged something about the quality of its members as they used to say “see those Christians, how they love one another”. Nowadays it’s different. There is a rich church and a poor church, rich Christians and poor ones and an ever increasing gap between them. Years ago a pagan work colleague, after delivering a litany of examples, declared in essence “see those Christians, they live the same way as us pagans” There was more than a shred of truth in his observation.

Perhaps the early church had more cohesion as a community and a shared common purpose and belief which out-weighed worldly considerations and enticements. I can’t imagine them gathered round in prayer petitioning God for the latest model of chariot, designer toga’s, new palaces to live in or the prestigious i-trumpet and yet modern day equivalents seems to be the focus of attention of many church goers while the needs of their brethren go unmet, sometimes in an extreme way.

Its seems paradoxical when we consider that the world is really getting smaller; we know of a crisis within minutes via media and can respond with equal rapidity through a net of Catholic charities with a few button pushes on  a smartphone if we like.  But we often process the ocean of faces of refugees, asylum seekers, homeless, widows and orphans as a collective never ending entity rather than brothers and sisters with their individual stories of real pain and suffering, who need us as we need them.

The early church was rich in compassion and with a  clear sense of identity and purpose whist the modern Christian community seems rather wrapped up in itself and in the world and by comparison, seems rather impoverished in compassion, and unsure of its allegiance.

‘A band of brothers (and sisters)

Last night (August 15th) Cardinal Tagle visited our parish church of Our Lady of the Assumption for Mass and to bless the newly renovated church. 

The walls of a church, it has been suggested, store within themselves the prayers of the faithful; and in time I am sure that’s true. In the beginning though they are cemented together with toil, sweat, sacrifice and pain. I am referring of course to one of the major fundraising events, where the 1500 ‘volunteers’ in the inappropriately named ‘Fun Run’, gave their all.

In his homily the Cardinal warned against arrogance and lifting oneself up saying it is better to wait for God to lift you up. Similarly he spoke against competitiveness especially in the church. 

Perhaps more than a few of us took that to heart. Whilst the fun run probably was enjoyable for the youngsters, and the old ladies walking their dogs, for the men of a certain age it became a bit more serious. Whilst the glory of 1st place would certainly not be attained, the humiliation of last was to be avoided. Thus as the theme tune to Chariots of Fire rose to a crescendo (in my head), we were off. The wind was howling through thinning hair, as an overweight pack of ageing warriors pounded the tarmac to dust all the while being shadowed by a private ambulance hoping for a customer as blood pressures rose, arteries constricted and cartilage and bone grinded.

The outgoing Mayor of Manila, Fred Lim, presented the prizes at the event in May, the incoming Mayor, former President Joseph Estrada attended last night’s celebration Mass; the Laurel wreath of glory fades quickly for politicians as for our runners; as we too acquired (painfully) a sense of our own mortality.  But it was good to be part of it, the lesson learned; generations will worship there now, live and die under the new roof and sturdy walls.

It’s not so much about the building really, but community. It’s a poor parish, but everyone participated somehow in this massive project of rebuilding, even the Parish priest was offering to take in laundry to stress the need for participation and all responded, at least for this moment in time all stood together, a band of brothers and sisters.

English Native

No Parking

A few years ago in the Sta Cruz district of Manila, a couple of old men lived on a street corner, one in a wooden cart, the other on an old sofa. I think they were former inmates of Manila city jail, which is nearby and when they could no longer look after themselves, they were just dropped off outside. One could not walk at all and the other could just move himself around with a couple of chunks of wood he’d salvaged.

A grim future awaited them, but somehow they were able to survive. People from the neighbourhood looked after them. A loaf of bread here and there, a cooked meal etc, everyone chipped in, in a casual manner.

Once I dropped off a bit of lunch with ‘the man on the sofa’ and he asked me for water, he had ran out and it was the height of summer. I had not thought of that; and slightly irritated went off again to get some. A couple of days later he died and the sofa was gone.

The man who lived in the cart lasted longer, he was always trying to walk everyday, sometimes pushing his cart along, although his mind was gone by this stage. 

Many street dwellers are scavengers, collecting scrap and anything saleable or usable and over time pieces of his cart started to disappear. First one end, then a whole side. (even his crutches vanished) By the time he died there wasn’t much left of it and what was left of his cart was dismantled and someone made a ‘No Parking’ Sign out of it.

I found it quite a fitting memorial or reminder, we are just passing through. Generally we live like we are planning to stay.