"Bums" - Reflection for Christmas Eve

            It is human nature to be forgetful. We can become increasingly forgetful in the excitement of the Holidays. Children, while composing their wish-list, can be forgetful of their parents’ financial capacity. Women, in doing their Christmas shopping, can be forgetful of their credit card limits. Men can be forgetful merely because they have a bit too much of homemade “eggnog” which has in it so little eggnog, but plenty of other “drinks.”

            In the excitement of the festivities, we all can become forgetful of the true meaning of Christmas. We can run the risk of reducing it to an occasion for decorating competition between houses, for mad parties, for Christmas shopping deals, for gift-exchanging, and thus forgetting the reason why we celebrate Christmas in the first place.

            Perhaps this little story can serve well as a reminder,

            It was Sunday, Christmas Day. Our family had spent the holiday in San Francisco with my husband’s parents, but in order for us to get back at work on Monday, we found ourselves driving the 400 miles back home to Los Angeles on Christmas Day. We stopped for lunch in King City. The restaurant was nearly empty. We were the only family, and ours were the only children.

            I heard Erik, my one-year-old, squeal with glee. “Hithere,” the two words he always thought were one. “Hithere,” and he pounded his fat baby hands –whack, whack, whack – on the metal high chair. His face was alive with excitement, his eyes were wide, gum bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled, and then I saw the source of his merriment. And my eyes could not take it in all at once.

            A tattered rag of a coat, obviously bought by someone else eons ago, dirty, greasy, and worn; baggy pants; spindly body; toes that poked out of would-be shoes; a shirt that had ring-around-the-collar all over; and a face like none other – gums as bare as Erik’s. “Hi there, baby. Hi there, big boy, I see ya, Buster.” My husband and I exchanged a look that was a cross between “What do we do?” and “Poor devil.”

            Our meal came, and the banging and noise continued. Now the old bum was shouting across the room, “Do you know patty cake? Atta boy. Do you know peek a-boo? Hey, look! He knows peek-a-boo!”

            Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hithere.” Every call was echoed. Nobody thought it was cute. The guy was a drunk and a disturbance. I was embarrassed. My husband, Dennis, was humiliated.  Even our six-year-old said, “Why is that old man talking so loud?”

            Dennis went to pay the check, imploring me to get Erik and meet him in the parking lot. “Lord, just let me get out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” and I bolted for the door. It soon was obvious that both the Lord and Erik had other plans.

            As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back, walking to sidestep him and any air that he might be breathing. As I did so, Erik, all the while with his eyes riveted to his best friend, leaned over my arm, reaching up with both arms in a baby’s pick-me-up position. In split-second of balancing my baby and turning to counter his weight, I came eye-to-eye with the old man.

            Erik was lunging for him, arms spread wide. The bum’s eyes both asked and implored, “Would you let me hold your baby?” There was no need for me to answer since Erik propelled himself from my arms to the man.  Suddenly a very old man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship.

            Erik laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath the lashes. His aged hands, full of grime and pain and hard labor, gently, so gently cradled my baby’s bottom and stroke his back. I stood awestruck.

            The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm, commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” And somehow I managed, “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone.

            He pried Erik from his chest, unwillingly, longingly, as though he was in pain. I held my arms open to receive my baby, and again the gentleman addressed me: “God bless you, Ma’am. You’ve given me my Christmas gift.” I said nothing more than a mutter “thanks.”

            With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. Dennis wondered why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly. And why I was saying, “My God, forgive me. Forgive me.”

            What do we celebrate during Christmas?

            We celebrate the mystery of a babe, born in a manger to reach out to bums like us. We are bums in the sense that we, in our own ways, carry within ourselves the tattered rag of imperfections, the stain and dirt of sins, the pain of sadness, of wounds so deeply scarred in our hearts, and the burden of struggles and difficulties which weigh heavily down on our minds and spirits. We celebrate the mystery of a loving God who became man in the form of a baby, innocent and fragile, so that he could reach out and touch the wounds that so long have pained us. We celebrate the mystery of God became man so that man can become God (St. Augustine).

            Recall those who were first announced the birth of the Savior. They were a group of shepherds. These were men who were looked down and despised by their society. These were men who were rough and hardened with struggles of life. Lowly and bum-like as they were, they were the first to whom the Word-made-flesh reached out to. He did so to show them that there is no pit so deep that his love could not reach deeper. He did so to show them that God, indeed, is with them in their most deriding conditions.

            This is the joy and hope that we celebrate at Christmas: the joy of receiving such an undeserving gift of God’s love; the hope of knowing that God is with us in our struggles, our burdens, and our pains.

            Perhaps, on this Christmas Eve, we should take a moment before the manger of our Lord to thank him for such amazing love he has for us. Perhaps, we should take a moment to let him reach out and touch what is so deeply hidden in our hearts. Perhaps, we should take a moment to let him embrace us, love us, and forgive us.

            We rejoice; we celebrate, but, not in a shallow way of the world, rather, in knowing that a child has been born for us. He is the Emmanuel. He is God-among-man.

            Merry Christmas!!!

"Whose Goodness was Never Made Known" - Reflection of Thanksgiving

Let me tell you of my great-aunt.

Everyone in our family had always thought of her as a very greedy person. She was considered as a money-lover. One of the reasons for such a thought was that whenever we asked her if we could give her any gift, she would respond, “Just give me some money.” Not just that, sometimes she didn’t even wait for us to ask, she would go to several houses of her relatives and friends, and ask herself, “Do you have any money for this old lady?”

Her children were embarrassed of her, and we, her relatives, were hesitant whenever she came around, because we know she would ask for money.

What was this 98 year-old lady doing with all the money that she got?

No one ever knew until after her death.

At the funeral, the parish priest began to tell the family how our great aunt used to walk to the rectory, old as she was with her little cane, and give him a bundle of money wrapped in several layers of paper. As it turned out, she went about asking us for money so that she could help out the parish to fix up the church building which was running down. Whatever she got from us, she gave it all to the parish while she herself lived in complete poverty.

Everyone in our family was stunned to hear the story. We had told her straight in the face several times that she was so greedy. She endured it all without a word of complain or explanation. The only person who knew the whole story was the parish priest.

Why telling this story on Thanksgiving Day?

 Truly it is the day when we all are called to give thanks. We are called to acknowledge the blessings and gifts we have received.

Let us not forget, however, the many blessings that we have not yet become aware of, because those who perform such goodness are too generous to make themselves known:

-          Mothers who sit through the night next to her sick children.

-          Fathers, who work long hours, even several different jobs, to make sure there is food on the table for the family.

-          Teachers who spend great energy trying to prepare to a good lesson.

-          The garbage men who pick up the trash for us two times a week to make sure we won’t be drowned in our own garbage.

-          The mailmen who always come despite the weather to make sure we get our mail in time.

-          Most importantly, let us be mindful of the thousands men and women in the arm forces whose faces and names we do not know. These are the people whose sacrifices make it possible for us to live in peace and security. Let us also not forget their families, their spouses, their children, their parents.

There are many, many more!

Today the Vietnamese Church celebrates her 118 Holy Martyrs among thousands and thousands of people who had given up their lives for their faith. I am myself reminded of the gift of faith that these witnesses have given to our people. As Tertullian once said, “the blood of the Martyrs is the seed of Christians.”

 
Faith itself is a gift – a gift from God who works in silence.

We should be grateful to him!

As we gather today at the Table of the Eucharist which itself means Thanksgiving, let’s offer God our gratitude to the people whose sacrifices have become our blessings. Let’s offer God, from whom all good things come, our gratitude as well – the gratitude for our life, our family, our friends, our jobs, our faith, our everything.

As it is said, “A grateful heart is a joyful heart, and a joyful heart is a saintly heart.”

Happy Thanksgiving!

"Why?" Reflection on the 33rd Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

Alright, it is time for a little confession.

 I hate studying.

 People often thought my “geeky” Asian look meant that I am a book-worm. The truth is, however, I have never been very fond of academic pursuit. My reason often is that I have a practical mind. I would much prefer being out there doing something useful, rather than sitting in a classroom studying abstract ideas.

It stroke as a big blow after I entered the seminary where my fundamental responsibility, of course, is to study. Not only to study, I was asked to study Philosophy. In other words, I was to study thoughts and abstract ideas. Ironic enough, isn’t it?

Needless to say how much I struggled trying to find meaning and the will to sit through classes of Metaphysics, Epistemology, Anthropology, the Philosophical sequence, in which we learned about the thoughts of Ancient Greeks to Contemporary thinkers, such as Nietzsche, Heidegger, Hegel, etc.

I remember telling Fr. Ferdinand Santos, one of my professors, how much I hated almost all of my philosophy classes. I didn’t know why I had to do it. And, above all, I found them utterly useless.

The wise priest looked at me and began to tell me that he too hated Philosophy with all his passion as a young seminarian. Then, his bishop decided to send to Belgium to attain a degree in Philosophy. He, too, struggled to find meaning for what he was asked to do. His spiritual director, at that time, challenged him with these words, which he, in turn, challenged me,

“For one to whom much has been given, much will be expected. God has given you a good brain; he is going to expect much from you.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, can you?

Today’s Gospel recounted the parable of the Master and his servants to whom he entrusted a certain amount of talents. Two of them invested the talents and brought about interests, while the third buried it. The Master, after he returned, commented the two faithful and wise servants, and sent the other one away “into the darkness outside.”

The Gospel challenges us to ask ourselves, “What talents have I received from God? What have I done with them? Have I make use of them wisely?”

To students like me, have we made us of our privilege to have a good education? Have we “invested” our intelligence and our capacity to learn and to gain knowledge?

To workers, have we given our utmost abilities and skills to our work fields?

To husbands and wives, have we given ourselves completely to our spouses, and ultimately to our children who are both gifts and talents entrusted to us?

Most importantly, we also ought to ask ourselves, “Have we done everything out of love, or merely out of no-other-choice grudging duties?”

As Mother Teresa wisely put it, “The important thing isn’t how many actions one carries out, but the amount of love one carries in each action.”

After all, it is not what we do, but why we do what we do is what matters.

Hopefully, for all of us, Christians, the reason would be for the love of God and of our neighbors. So that, one day, when our Master truly return, we humbly hear him say,

'Well done, my good and faithful servant.
Since you were faithful in small matters,
I will give you great responsibilities.
Come, share your master's joy.'

"In Need of Mercy" Reflection for the 26th Sunday of Ordianry Time - Year A

On the wall of a church in France, pilgrims find this beautiful saying which relates well to this Sunday’s readings:

No saint is without a past. No sinner is without a future.

Concise, but the saying so profoundly speaks of God’s inexhaustible mercy. It speaks of hope for us who are sinners in our own broken humanity.

Often, many of us find ourselves become so alienated from God because we feel ashamed of our sinfulness. We find ourselves unworthy to be close to God. We fear not being accepted. We fear condemnations. Many would not hesitate to call themselves “the scarlet sinner.”

It is true that, in our weakness, we sin often. Nevertheless, in the realization of our sinfulness, we find the need of a redeemer; there lies our possibility for redemption; there lies our hope for forgiveness.

Among all the old pious sayings, I like this one the most: “In heaven, there are all sorts of vices, but lacks only pride. In hell, there are all sorts of virtues, but lacks only humbleness.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus presents the parable of the two sons. One refuses to do the Father’s will at first, but then feels bad, so he changes his mind. The second one eagerly agrees to his Father’s entrusted task, but does not carry it out. The Lord goes on to compare tax collectors and prostitutes, who, in the eyes of the culture of his time, are considered sinful outcasts, to the first son who, in fact, has done the Father’s will and hence commendable. The Lord even shockingly says that these outcast sinners will enter the kingdom of heaven before the chief priests and elders. It is rather harsh to hear, isn’t it?

Why is the Lord being so hard on those folks who are so conscious with the laws and have been observing them to the dot?

These wonderful religious leaders are in fact very fastidious when comes to fulfilling the laws of the Torah. They are rather concerned with holiness. As one of the spiritual directors here at the seminary would always say, “they are very holy. And they also know that they are holy.” Yes, there is only one flaw with the high priests and elders; they have become too self-righteous. And because they are so self-righteous and so at ease with their own conscience, they are no longer in need of a Savior. Forgiveness isn’t necessary.

But, for the tax collectors and prostitutes, they know that they are yet sinners. They are aware of their shortcomings and stains. Thus, they find themselves in need of God’s forgiveness always. And as long as they need God’s forgiveness, his forgiveness will always be available for them.

Same can be said for all of us. Even though, we have fallen short many times. Even though, we have sunk into the deep pit of sins and shame. As long as we are aware of our sinfulness, and as long as we are aware of our need for God’s love and forgiveness, his love and forgiveness will always be available for us; because, “there is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still” (Betsie Ten Boom).

Shortly after he was elected to the Chair of St. Peter, John XXIII visited the Regina Coeli Prison outside Rome (Why a prison is called Queen of Heavens is beyond my comprehension). This action set off an international orgy of press reporting. There he is on film, a confident, cheerful old man, his soft brown eyes alight, completely at ease with himself and his audience, gesturing expressively his big farmer’s hands, and speaking with spontaneity, obviously making up his comments as he goes along. Since they couldn’t come to see him, he tells the prisoners, he came to see them.

He told them that one of his brothers had been caught poaching; an uncle had done time. “These are the things that happen to poor people,” he said, and then added, “but we are all children of God. And I, John, I am your brother.”

The audience – from priests to politicians, from convicts to jailers – wept openly, and in the film you can see copious tears coursing down hardened faces. Then suddenly a murderer dared approach the pope to ask, “Can there be forgiveness for me?” In answer, the pope just took the murderer in his arms and hugged him, heedless of all danger to his person, let alone his dignity.

What Pope John did that day at the prison reflects what Paul said of Christ in the second reading today:

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness, and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

Christ strips himself of his glory and dignity so as to enter into the pit of human sinfulness to show those who find themselves in need of God’s mercy that there is indeed no pit so deep that he himself is not deeper still.

"Become One like That" - Reflection on the 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

This reflection will contain a considerable amount of my personal life. I did feel rather hesitant; nevertheless, I thought that, for the sake of the Gospel, sharing a bit of my vulnerability would not be too detrimental.

I would like to begin with this little story which I came across a few years ago. It proved to be very meaningful to my life much later,

I was given a beautiful mountain bike for my birthday. One time, I took it down to the park for a little ride. There, I met a boy who kept staring at my bike with interest and admiration.

-          Is this bike yours? He asked.

-          My brother gave it to me for my birthday. I replied, unable to hide a hinge of pride and satisfaction.

-          O, I wish… - He muttered.

Of course I knew what he was wishing for. Definitely, he was wishing that he would have a cool brother like that. But, what came as the boy’s response astounded me beyond telling.

-          I wish I could become a brother like that! – He spoke slowly with a face filled with evident determination. Then, he walked toward the bench behind me where a little crippled boy was sitting and said to the boy:

-          On one of your birthdays, I will buy you an electronic wheelchair. Ok?

Ever since I set my heart on following the Lord in this wonderful journey of vocation to the Priesthood, there have been countless trials which my family had to face. Starting when I told my mom that I truly wanted to be a priest, everything went downhill. We began to face episodes of financial difficulties. I, from being a little spoiled prince who could get anything I wanted, had to learn to work and support myself studying in the States.  My mother and I are now as poor as we can be in this country without being homeless; even that also is a constant threat…

For the last two years, most of my stipends and other monetary gifts have been used to help mom out with rents and bills. I settled to live with about $50 a month. With such a limited amount of money, I was not able to get many things which I wanted. Admittedly, there was a period of time when I was not particularly happy with such a condition. It did get quite more difficult when all about me, my peers and classmates could just spend their money as they wish without having to worry about anything else. Even though I realized what I had been doing was a noble and loving sacrifice, I have to confess I did wish things could have been different.

At times, I found myself complaining words that were similar to the workers of the vineyard in today’s Gospel. I found God to be unfair. I found God to be unfair when he allowed those who I thought did not deserve wealth to prosper while good people had to suffer. Perhaps, some of us can identify with my thought then.

Almost too subtle to realize, but I placed a contract to my dedication to the Lord. I gave him my life; he then, in turn, ought to take good care of us. Don’t we do the same to God sometimes? We treat him as if he was an ATM machine. We pray a bit, and then, we expect God to return the favor…

A few weeks ago, my friend introduced me to the show House. As I watched one of the episodes from the first season, the story line reminded me so much of my own condition as well as the story I mentioned above. It was the story about a young teenage boy whose mother was severely ill. She was not at all able to take care of herself, and so the burden of the household’s affairs and her health fell upon the young boy’s shoulders.

Then one day, the mother collapsed and was brought to the hospital where Dr. House worked. The boy was by his mother’s side night and day taking care of her. Despite of his young age and the challenges of his life, the boy remained steadfast to his duty attending to his mother’s needs.

Seeing him sitting in his mother’s hospital room reminded me of myself sitting on a similar hard chair next to my mother’s bed all night.

So similar was the situation, yet the boy proved to be a better man. Whenever he was asked, he always responded that he and his mother were perfectly happy the way they were. I, on the contrary, was bitter.

As I watched the episode came to a happy ending where Dr. House treated the boy’s mother to perfect health and they went home happily, I found a wish urging up in my heart. I wish…not to have someone like House who would fix all the problems for us. I wish that I could become a son and a man like that boy.

I suddenly realized that I had changed so much after four years.

 I no longer wish things to be different. I wish to be different. 

I no longer wish things to be better. I wish to be better.

I have learned my lesson. I have become so much more content.

Now, connecting what I have been talking about with the Gospel of this Sunday, we find ourselves facing two options. We can either be the complainers of how unfair God is, or we can learn to be generous as God is generous. We can choose to dwell in bitterness and anger with the conditions of life, or we can allow the tests to chisel our rough edges to become a better person.

The parable Jesus presented in today’s Gospel speaks of the kingdom of heavens as the manifestation of God’s goodness and love which embrace all despite how small our merits are. The parable also presents an invitation – an invitation to getting rid of the flaw of self-entitlement, as if we, at all, deserve anything. It calls us to a true sense of gratitude for the goodness our Master has shown us. Furthermore, the Gospel calls us to become ourselves this goodness and love which place no calculations and demands. Christ invites us today to strive to become the better persons He knows we are capable of becoming.

"Return to Life" - Reflection on the 24th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A in Memory of 9-11

Calvin Coolidge Jr. was the younger son of the two children of Calvin Coolidge, the 30^th President of the United States, and Grace Goodhue, the First Lady. On the afternoon of June 30, 1924, the teenage boy played a game of tennis with his brother John. Because he wore tennis shoes without socks, Calvin developed a blister on his right foot, which eventually progressed into blood poisoning and caused his death on July 7^th, 1924, less than three months after his 16^th birthday.

The death of the younger son, without a doubt, caused immense devastation to the family, most especially Lady Grace. President Coolidge was greatly saddened to see the life of his wife being sucked out of her by depression. Being a man of few words, he decided to write her little note. So, one day, Lady Grace came to her room to find a box on her bed in which laid a beautiful yellow dress and a note from her husband. The note simply said:

“Honey, it’s time to return to life!”

Understood what was said, Lady Grace put on that beautiful dress and came downstairs to join her husband for lunch.

…

As it so happens, this Sunday marks the 10^th anniversary of the terrorist attacks into the twin towers of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I was rather reluctant in writing this reflection. I am aware that the wounds which were caused by these despicable acts are still so fresh in the hearts of the American people, and the message I am to convey in this reflection may come by as difficult to embrace. But, the message of the Gospel is always challenging, yet, at the same time, life giving to those who are willing to struggle to embrace it. And this week’s Gospel is so very appropriate:

“Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive?”

To what extend must we forgive?

A rather difficult question to answer in the context of what we are remembering today!

I could still distinctly recall that fateful day when I came home from school and turned on the news to see the image of that horrible crash into the first tower, then the second crash, and then the shocking image of the collapsing of the World Trade Center. After I came to the States in 2006, my host family took me to see the movie World Trade Center, but we left after about fifteen minutes into it. She couldn’t take it, and neither could I.

What was all the more saddening was the following aftermath of that distressing event – Wars.

Years of ongoing war which sucked into it many, many human lives – those of the terrorists, those of soldiers who bravely carried out their missions, and, alas, those of innocent civilians, most of whom were women and children.

The tears of those who lost their loved ones in the attacks of 9-11 now became one with those who lost their loved ones in the war, in the suicide bombings, and in the raiding of villages and towns.

The event of 9-11 itself was indescribably traumatizing and, perhaps, forever effected the mind and history of the American people. Sadly, what followed it is just as equally distressing.

It proves one thing however; that the answer for violence and offenses cannot be vengeance, for what comes out of it will just be, once more, vengeance and offense.

9-11 should also teach us two very important lessons. They are one of forgiveness and of transforming grief into conviction – conviction to work for peace.

I know it is easy said than done. I might have just offended so many who lost their loved ones – dedicating spouses, caring parents, loving children, devoted friends, etc. If I was in their position, my first thought would probably be vengeance. But, despite it all, once again, I must speak what our Lord Jesus teaches:

“Amen, I say to you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” – that is limitless, over and over again.

So challenging a message! So difficult to comprehend! Seemingly almost impossible to carry out!

 On Monday morning, October 2, 2006, a gunman entered a one-room Amish school in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania. In front of twenty-five horrified pupils, thirty-two-year-old Charles Roberts ordered the boys and the teacher to leave. After tying the legs of the ten remaining girls, Roberts prepared to shoot them execution with an automatic rifle and four hundred rounds of ammunition that he brought for the task. The oldest hostage, a thirteen-year-old, begged Roberts to “shoot me first and let the little ones go.” Refusing her offer, he opened fire on all of them, killing five and leaving the others critically wounded. He then shot himself as police stormed the building. His motivation? “I’m angry at God for taking my little daughter,” he told the children before the massacre.

What did the parents of these Amish children do?

Shockingly, they forgave the murderer. Not only did they forgive him, they attended his funeral and burial, and later, they collected a fund for his wife and the three children Charles Roberts left behind.

The outside world was incredulous that such forgiveness could be offered so quickly for such a heinous crime. Of the hundreds of media queries that the authors received about the shooting, questions about forgiveness rose to the top. Forgiveness, in fact, eclipsed the tragic story, trumping the violence and arresting the world’s attention.

Within a week of the murders, Amish forgiveness was a central theme in more than 2,400 news stories around the world. The Washington Post, The New York Times, USA Today, Newsweek, NBC Nightly News, CBS Morning News, Larry King Live, Fox News, Oprah, and dozens of other media outlets heralded the forgiving Amish. From the Khaleej Times (United Arab Emirates) to Australian television, international media were opining on Amish forgiveness. Three weeks after the shooting, “Amish forgiveness” had appeared in 2,900 news stories worldwide and on 534,000 web sites.

I guess we have much to learn from our Amish brothers and sisters. They proved to us that forgiveness for despicable acts is possible. They proved to us that transformation of grief and anger to reconciliation and love can take place. They proved to us that peace is achievable.

It’s the tenth anniversary of the attack on September 11. We remember and commend the souls of those who were killed during this tragic event and those who were killed in the aftermath.

But, just as President Coolidge’s reminder to his wife, we need to know that, “It’s time to return to life.” It’s time to work and strive tirelessly for peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation, so that our children of future ages will never have to face such violence, such pain, and such sorrow again.

"There is no pit so deep" - Reflection on the 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year A

I wonder if anyone who read the account of today’s Gospel would feel as intrigued as I was at Jesus’ teaching to his disciples. Why on earth would he tell them to treat the brothers who have sinned as a Gentile or a tax collector?

In Palestine during Jesus’ time, tax collectors were considered to be traitors for they worked for the Romans to oppress the Jews. They were probably among the most hated ones of their people because they made their living, some even became wealthy, by collaborating with the Empire. They were a special class kind of sinners with whom no one wanted to be involved at all.

Then, the Gentiles were nothing to the Jews other a bunch of idol-worshipers. They were considered to be defiled and unclean. Thus, they should, as far as possible, be altogether avoided[1].

What Jesus taught us to do does not at all seem to make any sense!

Did Christ not preach love and forgiveness? Was he not the one who constantly reminded us that we should love and bless our enemies (Matt. 5:44)? Did he not proclaim in the Beatitudes, which is the Constitution of the Kingdom of Heaven, that, “Blessed are the merciful for they shall be shown mercy” (Matt. 5:7)? In another occasion, did Jesus not challenge Peter to forgive his brothers not only seven times but seventy times seven times – that is not say endless (Matt. 18:22)?

And here, he told us that we could treat our brothers and sisters who offended us as tax collectors and Gentiles. How strange!

Surely, it would be strange if we look at the way the people of his time treated these fellows mentioned above. However, it wouldn’t be strange by any means if we look at this passage of the Scriptures under the light of how Jesus himself treated tax collectors and Gentiles.

Recall how he scandalized the Pharisees by constantly eating and “hanging out” with sinners and tax collectors. Recall how he chose to dine with Zacchaeus in his home (Luke 19:1-10). Recall how he called Matthew, who himself was a tax collector, to be among his disciples (Matt. 9:9-13).

To the Gentiles, we recall how he treated the Canaanite woman’s daughter (Mark 7:24-30); how he healed the Roman centurion’s servant (Luke 7:1-10); and how he spoke and offered living water to the sinful Samaritan woman by the well of Jacob (John 4:4-26).   

That was how Jesus treated tax collectors and Gentiles!

That is how Jesus is asking us to do the same to our “trespassers!”

By constantly reaching out, loving and forgiving.

St. Paul reaffirms this message as he wrote to the Roman Church saying, “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.”

Or, as the Beatles would put it: “All you need is love. All you need is love.”

Such truth!

Nevertheless, this love, or, as we use the politically correct term, Christian charity, must not in any way be romanticized, for as the great Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky wisely wrote, “Love in dreams is sweet and pleasant; love in reality is a harsh and dreadful thing.”

I heard of a family in my town in Vietnam who struggled to live by after the war. Their only means of going by was a small herd of swine. Their neighbor one day, after a small conflict, secretly poisoned the swine and killed them all. The only means of living was destroyed. How were they to love that neighbor?

I know of a family of two, a widowed mother and a son, who were as poor as they could be in Modern America without being homeless. Their only source of income was a little shop the mother managed. Yet, one day, a black man came in with a knife and robbed her of everything that she had. How was she to love this “brother” of hers?

Yes, in reality, love is difficult, harsh, and, at times, painful. How so? Because love demands forgiveness of offenses and such a thing is not always easy to do.

But, it isn’t impossible!          

An unknown woman in the Ravensbruck concentration camp wrote this little prayer and pinned it to the dead body of a little girl there. “O, Lord,” she wrote, “remember not only the men and women of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all the sufferings they have inflicted on us. Remember rather the fruits we have bought, thanks to this suffering: our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, our courage, our generosity; the greatness of heart which has grown out of all of this. And when they come to judgment, let all the fruits which we have borne be their forgiveness.”

Betsie Ten Boom, who died in the same concentration camp, steadfastly refused to hate the guards who beat her and eventually beat her to death. Her dying words are both simple and profound: “We must tell the people what we have learned here. We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still.”

Think of someone who have recently offended us and caused us pain. Face the challenge of forgiving that particular person. Then, let us try to take up Jesus’ demand to treat him or her as a tax collector or a Gentile, not as the world, but as he himself has done so by reaching out, loving, and forgiving.

It is not going to be easy. It is going to be difficult. But, it won’t be impossible because “There is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still.”

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[1] http://www.realtime.net/~wdoud/topics/jewsheathen.html