Merry Christmas!

Hodie, Christus natus est! Glorificate eum!
Today, Christ is born! Glorify him!

Wishing my reader(s) a very Blessed and Merry Christmas!

May God bless you in the year ahead.

Imaginings

Twilight at five thousand feet,
soaring above the clouds in darkness,
the lonely swan, lost, without his fleet.

The roar of the engines silenced
by a baby's sweet short cry,
ignored by the passengers, busy in dreams.

I wished you were here with me,
laughing at the darkness in the window.
The sound of your voice trailing in my ear,

I listen intently through the echoing rumble,
trying to remember each word, each sound, each smile.
Then I look back and see the empty seat.

Rom com on the small screen,
flanked by emptiness.
Long flights are forever.

Questions.

Lately, much apologetics has landed on my plate, mostly to do with defending the sanctity of marriage. Just the other night, someone asked me about that video where that boy, Zach Wahls, who was raised by lesbian mothers gave an emotional testimony to the Iowan courts. Now, I'd avoided posting the video with any comments on facebook, simply because the video had actually very little substance. It was, rather simply, anecdotal evidence wherein a boy appeals to the emotions of people. It raises for me a great many musings of the irony of society. I remember on facebook there were about 15 people who had shared the video on their page with comments like, 'so why stop them?' and so on. One would have thought that a world obsessed with Scientism and the quantifying of any theory to prove its truth through statistical evidence would have stopped to examine the circumstances regarding the video. Marc Barnes takes a deeper look at the numbers here. But I digress from my point for this post.

I'm not intending to really discuss the matter in the post, rather just reflecting on my thoughts with regards to apologetics. Often, in informal discussions wherein some apologetics has risen to the surface, in this case, it was gay marriage, before one is able to finish qualifying a premise or defining the context of the discussion, they are often buried in a fury of questions fired from the mouths of swift archers. Often, the conversation goes no where since topics change with the frequency of a down spinning proton. It often makes me wonder what the conversation would be like if I fired the questions instead. Take the old Socratic dialogue out for a spin.

I was going to a post a hypothetical dialogue, but perhaps a little later tonight after I've finished my work for the day.

Completely overslept and wasted my entire morning. sigh. At least, I'm not tired. That said, a long, long day awaits. Mass in a bit. Most Holy Mother of God and my mother, pray for me!

On Children

On Children
Kahil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

St Leonard's words of advice when the going gets tough.

It's Advent again, and a time to return our lives to Christ and await his second coming as we celebrate his first. It is a penitential time, a time to shrug of the worldly intoxications that we infatuate ourselves with and return to prayer and Christ. It is a difficult period especially in a secular society that began celebrating Christmas last month. For me, end of term MCQs and final examinations are rearing their ugly fanged heads. Now, it's a race to finish memorising everything that I shall have to know for this term.

When you're in university, no matter the course, it's always a mad rush for time. For me, my ADHD distracts me and biology is dragging me behind, it takes three hours to make each set of notes. I am blessed however, that it is only time that ails me because there are others who struggle with deeper issues than me with regards to understanding work and getting it done. But I-- or rather St Leonard has a solution for any of these problems! (Yes, a one size that fits all solution!)

Let me quote from his precious book, from examples to induce Tradesman or Artisans to hear Holy Mass, emphasis mine:

But you are thinking that the avaricious will never listen except to a tune in their own key. Well, then be it so. Get rich, gather up, make profit. What is the surest way? I will show you: daily hear Holy Mass with thorough devotion. It is plainly seen in the case of two artisans whom I could point out. Both pursue the same trade; one is burdened with a family: wife, children, grandchildren; the other is burdened alone with his wife. The first has brought up his family in great comfort and even style, and has all his transactions turn out wonderfully. Customers at his shop, and sales despatched. So he has gone on, till he finds himself putting by every year a good round sum, to serve in time for marriage-portions for his daughters. The other, who is without children, at one time got little employment, was half famished, and was, in short, a ruined man. One day he said confidentially to his neighbour, 'How is it you do? In your home there rains down every blessing of God; while I, poor wretch, cannot hold up my head; and all sorts of calamities light on my house.' 'I will tell you,' said his neighbour, 'Tomorrow morning I shall be with you, and I will point out the place from which I draw so much.' Next morning he took him to church to hear Mass, and then led him back to his workshop; and so two or three different times, till at last the poor man said, 'If nothing else is wanted than to go to church to hear Mass, I know the way well enough, without putting you to inconvenience.' 'Just so,' said the other; 'hear holy Mass, my friend with devotion, every day, and you will see a change on the face of your fortune.' And, in fact, so it was. Beginning to hear Mass every morning, he became well provided with work, shortly paid his debts, and put his house once more in capital condition. (Sar. in Vit. S. Joan. Eleem.) Trust the words of the Gospel. And if you do so, how can you doubt the fact? Does it not say clearly, Quaerite primum regnum Dei…et haec omnia adjicientur vobis? 'Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.' (St Matt vi. 33.) Make but the trial of a year; hear holy Mass every morning with true earnest devotion for one year, and if your temporal interests do not take a better turn, lay the blame on me. But there is little fear of that; you will rather have many reasons to thank me.

- St Leonard of Port Maurice, The Hidden Treasure

Apart from the long beautiful paragraph which our internet brains cannot endure, you may have noticed that this is intended for artisans and tradesmen, the businessmen, whose interests lies in making profits. How does that apply to me, the student, you cry, bewildered, invoking the names of several dinosaurs. It is simple, because we as students, we too desire earthly profit! Our avarice (greed) is in the desire for time! We are so greedy for it. Time is a material worldly value, it is precious, more so than money and we would be most foolish to waste it. Yet, we jealously guard it from its creator and our's. How many foolish times have I, in my youth, neglected even Sunday Mass, to study! And I thank God that he has made me wiser now, that I should give back to Him, what He has deigned to give me.

Now, my dear friends, I am not saying completely give up your studies to spend all your time in prayer. That is not your vocation, it is, at present to study, however, I am suggesting, that you perhaps, through this lovely advent, spend more time in prayer. If there is only one thing you do for Advent, go for daily Mass where possible, it is only half an hour of your time! If you fear the commitment, than, go more times than usual, go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday perhaps, or even just Monday and Friday. Whatever it is, set aside that time for God daily, and plan your day around it. Let nothing disturb that. Watch the change in your life appear.

That is what I shall plan to do this Advent. If you can, please say a Hail Mary for me that I complete all my exam prep in time!

To Thee, O Lord, have I lifted up my soul: in Thee, O my God, I put my trust; let me not be ashamed. Neither let my enemies laugh at me: for none of them that wait on Thee shall be confounded. V. Show, O Lord, Thy ways to me, and teach me Thy paths. V. Glory be. -Introitus, First Sunday of Advent, 1962

Thank you, St Thérèse.

I am very thankful to have discovered St Thérèse just before leaving Singapore. It was within the last four weeks I remember. How humbled I have been by her life so far. These are certainly lessons that I greatly need, for I am a very arrogant and pride boy. I don't even know how I can be so proud, having been born with a disorder that should make me very lowly, since it has been rather life debilitating. I also cannot say that anything I have achieved has been through my own hand, for where I am now is really through the mercy of God. And yet, I am still so proud. Humility is a harsh lesson, one that I am thankful God has deigned to continue to drill into me, though I am a very poor, distracted and inattentive learner.

Now, I just need to stop complaining about how slow and boring the lessons in school are. >.< or perhaps, stop complaining about anything in general.

A lesson from St Thérèse

Currently I am reading St Thérèse's book during adoration. I hope it pleases the Lord that I should learn more from the example of His Little Flower in His presence. I was reading this two weeks ago during adoration, and I thought it was a very lesson to learn, so I shall put the text here and you can try to follow Her example.

Dear Mother, I feel that I have expressed myself with more than usual confusion, and I do not know what you can find to interest you in these rambling pages, but I am not aiming at a literary masterpiece, and if I weary you by this discourse on charity, it will at least prove your child's good will. I must confess I am far from living up to my ideal, and yet the very desire to do so gives me a feeling of peace. If I fall into some fault, I arise again at once—and for some months now I have not even had to struggle. I have been able to say with our holy Father, St. John of the Cross: "My house is entirely at peace," and I attribute this interior peace to a victory I gained over myself. Since that victory, the hosts of Heaven have hastened to my aid, for they will not allow me to be wounded, now that I have fought so valiantly.

A holy nun of our community annoyed me in all that she did; the devil must have had something to do with it, and he it was undoubtedly who made me see in her so many disagreeable points. I did not want to yield to my natural antipathy, for I remembered that charity ought to betray itself in deeds, and not exist merely in the feelings, so I set myself to do for this sister all I should do for the one I loved most. Every time I met her I prayed for her, and offered to God her virtues and merits. I felt that this was very pleasing to Our Lord, for there is no artist who is not gratified when his works are praised, and the Divine Artist of souls is pleased when we do not stop at the exterior, but, penetrating to the inner sanctuary He has chosen, admire its beauty.

I did not rest satisfied with praying for this Sister, who gave me such occasions for self-mastery, I tried to render her as many services as I could, and when tempted to answer her sharply, I made haste to smile and change the subject, for the Imitation says: "It is more profitable to leave everyone to his way of thinking than to give way to contentious discourses." And sometimes when the temptation was very severe, I would run like a deserter from the battlefield if I could do so without letting the Sister guess my inward struggle.

One day she said to me with a beaming face: "My dear Soeur Thérèse, tell me what attraction you find in me, for whenever we meet, you greet me with such a sweet smile." Ah! What attracted me was Jesus hidden in the depths of her soul—Jesus who maketh sweet even that which is most bitter.

It is certainly a very difficult example to follow. I hope the Holy Spirit gives me the grace to find something virtuous and beautiful about the people I most resent or at the very least to smile lovingly at the image of Christ within them.

A little time to reflect.

I had this thought the other day. It was rather unexpectedly injected into my prefrontal cortex. I was thinking about euthanasia, and juxtaposing how the utilitarian values the quadriplegic person as opposed to the Christian. Rather standard mock argument and reflecting. Then I just pictured myself getting run over by a car and loosing sensation from neck down. I heard the doctor telling someone about the options and how humane it would be to terminate my life. And I saw myself blinking a great deal to say, 'don't kill me, I'm alive!'

Of course, survival thoughts turned to thoughts of 'what now?'. To be completely dependent, and vulnerable and unable to do move or do anything at all. The ADHD kid's worst nightmare! We are a special bunch, us ADHD kids, we need to run and jump and just be hyper. There's always something that has to be done. I remember when I had a multi-ligament tear in my ankle earlier this year, and for the first day or two before the air cast, I was confined to house, and not just the house, but to a particular floor. I almost went crazy from having nothing to do and no one to talk to. Being paralysed would be far worse! Imagine, all that, while not being able to even talk! Don't forget, no more nice food, because you can't chew or there's fear of you choking on it. Never mind, basic bodily functions.

Ya, I think being paralysed is kinda inconvenient.

Anyway, what struck me was, what would I do all day? And the answer was simple. Pray. I'll just pray all day, and find someway to spend much of my time in adoration. It's like being a monk....in your body!

What was not so simple was when I found myself asking, 'assuming it is God's will that you are paralysed tomorrow, or now? then what?' and I knew he answer was the one mentioned above, but I didn't like the reluctance in my heart for not immediately reaching to share in the cup of suffering and carry my cross.

O Lord my God, I now at this moment, readily and willingly accept at Thy hand, whatever kind of death it may please Thee to send me, with all it's pain, penalties and sorrow. Amen.

“I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled.”
— The Beatrice Letters, by Lemony Snicket

Good Morning

Very, very happy this morning!

The Lord remembered His lowliest servant and deigned to visit him.

Studying too much

‎6 easy steps that will help YOU, yes YOU to make the most of your pet virus.

1. ATTACH it (to a protein receptor on a potential host cell. Or become attached to it, always good to spend time with your pets.)
2. let it PENETRATE the host cell (because it's naughty that way)
3. UNCOAT the capside (cause penetration gets hot)
4. ECLIPSE. (the viral version of Twilight, cause teenage viruses need to go on dates to facilitate little virus making)
5. ASSEMBLY it (as most young viruses will do, your virus will have run off and left many broken things for you to put together)
6. RELEASE it. (congratulations, you're now a proud owner of >500 more pet viruses. Pass some onto your friends and repeat steps 1-6)

Death.

A little poem reminder of the things to come this week.

Death.
Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Advent is coming. behold.

Do you ever feel like you're not real Christian?

I should be sleeping now, but I can't sleep. I have quite a few things on my mind, needless to say one of those things has become the title of this blog. Now, I've never encountered such a question before until about two weeks ago, when I sat down for a bible study. 'Do you ever feel like you're not a real Christian?'

Needless to say, I was stumped. I'll just go straight out and say it. What the brontosaurus does that mean?! Well, that's what ran through my head colourfully as fast as brontosauri ran, if they could run. How does one be Christian and not feel like a real Christian? What is a real Christian? So, it turns out, that what the question actually meant, according to the facilitator was, having you ever committed such a grave sin that you've felt that you aren't a Christian anymore.

Well, now that he put it that way....well, it almost all made sense. Almost. I guess, I've personally never doubted my identity as a 'real' Christian. If anyone needed proof that I was a real Christian, I had my baptismal and confirmation certificates to prove it. Signed and seal with the Holy Ghost! It doesn't get any better than that. However, if you asked me if I ever felt like a 'good' Christian. Well, the answer is not as clear, maybe, but I probably am not most of the time. I might be religious, but I'm far from Holy.

I find it very strange that protestants can have this idea of not feeling like a real Christian. This idea that sin tears you away from the promises of baptismal, the indelible seal of the Holy Ghost, forever supernaturally marked upon your soul by the very Almighty God who created you. Though, some of them downplay the importance of baptism, some never receive it, even though it's in the bible. So, what makes a real Christian?

Simply put, what makes us Christian is really that indelible mark of baptism. It is the gift of grace that from God that allows to be imbued with his spirit and to given the chance to discover him, and to have that faith. It’s a gift that God free chooses to give and that we choose to accept. No one chooses God, do decides to take Jesus as his personal saviour and lord. It is Christ who chooses you and calls you. And, when we answer that call through our baptism that we become Christians and are admitted into that great family in heaven who will never abandon us in life or death.

I suppose, however, that there is this supposed ideal of being Christian that one has live up to. This ideal generalises that Christians should be virtuous, charitable, kind, patient, and loving. To be a Bl. Mother Teresa of Calcutta, or Bl. Pope John Paul II to everyone. Essentially, while the modern world condemns Christians, they expect them to be really good human beings, and well, they aren't wrong for having such high expectations. After all, the call to be Christian is certainly more than a mere figure of identity, or a paper cert acknowledging the occurrence of some ritual, no, it's far more. It is a call to love and serve God with complete obedience and humility to His divine will. You have to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, take in the stranger, visit the sick and imprisoned (Matt 25:31-46). And that's only one lesson, there are ton from everything on loving your enemies (Matt 5:44), to forgive and keep forgiving(Matt 18:22), to giving up everything and eschewing worldly pleasures (Matt 19:21), to getting insulted and hated for God(Mark 13:13/John 15:18). It is essentially to be completely Christ-like in life and is certainly not an easy one. (Go on, think of the person you hate the most and say I am going to love him, and tell me you think it's easy.)

Hence, because of these great people (noticed how I used two saints as examples), there certainly is a high standard to live up to! After all, our faith manifests in the work that we do and we see that in how St James remonstrates us in his letter that 'What shall it profit...if a man say he hath faith, but hath not works? Shall faith save him?' (James 2:14). Thus, there certainly is an ideal for a Christian to live up to. And, the saints are great examples of that ideal, after all, they strove to love God with all their heart and to live their lives with heroic virtue, and so, represent a semblance of that ideality. However, there is one person in the whole of creation who completely fulfills that ideality, and to us is the greatest example and the greatest saint of all and that is Our Lady and our heavenly mother, Mary. Through her obedience to God, we have attained the Saviour of the World.

Yet, while we strive for ideality, there is always the reality of the situation, we are fallen people, and thus we fall into sin, time and time again. Even Our Lady could not do it alone, She stayed pure and immaculate because God filled Her up to the brim with His grace, and so He too gives us his grace to avoid sin when we ask for it. In fact, more than just his grace, he has given us the sacrament of confession when we still fall, so that we may return to him, and to admit and take responsibility of our sins and through that, we receive his forgiveness and absolution.

And that is the reality of being Christian. We all fall because and we need the humility to accept that we fall, because we are human. We are not perfect, though we must strive to be good, we still will fall. And when we sin, we need to ask God to forgive us, and He will, hence the sacramental confession.

St Peter Julian Eymard says, 'He loves, He hopes, He waits. If He came down on our altars on certain days only, some sinner, on being moved to repentance, might have to look for Him, and not finding Him, might have to wait. Our Lord prefers to wait Himself for the sinner for years rather than keep him waiting one instant.' Like the Father who spent all his days just waiting and watching for the return of His prodigal son, so he waits for us! and how comforting to hear those words,

'God the Father, through the death and ressurexion of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church, may he give you pardon and peace. And, I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.'

O what great comfort! For I know, truly, that through the words of my confessor, and the authority that Christ gave to him when He commissioned the apostles, that 'if you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained (Jn 20:23), I am forgiven of all my sins!

Perhaps, this is why if one is understands the faith sufficiently, one will remember that it is true baptism that one is a Christian. A Christian falls, but stands up again, repents, seeks the forgiveness of the Lord, and does penance. There is no sin too big that God cannot forgive, and there is never any sin that God does not want to forgive, only as long as we ask for it.

'However awkward confession may be, it is the decisive place where one experiences anew the freshness of the Gospel, where one is reborn. There we also learn to blow away our pangs of conscience, just as a child blows a falling autumn leaf. There we find the happiness of God, the dawn of perfect joy.' Br Roger Schutz

'After a fall, stand up again right away! Do not leave sin in your heart for even a moment!' - St John Vianney

'Love Jesus! Have no fear! Even if you had committed all the sins in the world, Jesus repeats these words to you: Your many sins are forgiven, because you have loved much.' - St Padre Pio

I go to a non-denominational church every Sunday.

Hello! My name is David and I am a non-denominational Christian, and I go to a non-denominational church. Yes, it’s absolutely true! Perhaps, if I may, my dear reader, you would permit me a chance to talk a little about my Church and her history?

My Church was started in the 30s. It’s a relatively new church, in the history of the world that is. I should specify, my church was started in 33 A.D., somewhere in Jerusalem, by a man named Jesus Christ, who as it turns out, was also God! It was a great historical event that was chronicled in the bible by the evangelist and apostle St Matthew; see Matt 16:18. God also promised that no matter what happens the Church would never fall, then he commissioned his apostles to lead the Church and sent them His Holy Spirit to guide them in their divine commissions (Acts 2). Having a church started by God himself is kinda special…actually, really special.

I guess you could say that we were one of the first, if not the first non-denominational Church ever in the world. The first twelve leaders of my church took in everyone. They never cared or discriminated against slaves or emperors, the poor and the aristocracy, pagan or Jew, man or woman, white or black, a prostitute or soldier. They especially loved to take in sinners, oh how they love those sinners especially. They also looove to forgive sins through the power invested in them by Christ. They love to turn sinners into saints.

They only had three criteria for joining really, to ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your mind and all your soul’, and to ‘love your neighbor as yourself’ and to understand what that completely meant. They were kinda slack on the first two criteria, because they knew it would be very difficult to follow, so they worked their bestest to help people achieve the third one as much as possible before letting them in. See, they had to be a bit prudent about letting people in, because in that time, if you joined this church, you might lose your life. Anyway, despite all that, the small tiny church did thrive and grow. Nowadays, they still teach people to achieve the third criteria, and we are still growing.

That said, for the first few hundred years they were aggressively pursued and persecuted, with many being put to death, under Nero and then Diocletian and it was only when St Constantine the Great, after the influence of his great mother, St Helena, joined my church and issued the edict of Milan in 313 A.D. that my church-goers were given some peace. It was then, in about 397 A.D., that the leaders of my Church got together for coffee and some biscuits in Carthage and decided to compile the bible, that same Bible that everyone uses today.

They also did some really awesome stuff over the next two thousands years. They evangelised many pagans, and helped intellectually fight heresies and naysayers, they started the first universities, hospitals, brought education to the working class with their schools. They advanced philosophy, one of our greatest philosophers even used logic to reason that God exists, and his arguments stand undefeated even until today, and he lived 900 years ago. They also worked hard to advance science, law, astronomy, art and music. They invented musical notation and the do-re-mi scale. They created polyphony, which is some of the most gorgeous and beautiful music you can ever hear. The gothic and baroque styles of architecture can be traced back to the great churches they built.

They branched out all over the world. It’s really quite cool, you can go to practically almost any country in the world and you’ll be able to find a church to go to on Sunday. They say you can go to one of our churches anywhere in the world and service will be the same. And they don’t discriminate or separate either, no youth or adult service; everyone comes together like a gigantic family to celebrate God. You know what the best part is? They still take in everybody of every colour, race, height, size and shape. From royalty to poverty, professionals to odd-job labourers, everyone! And you know what? They still love sinners, they especially welcome them.

PS:Oh, psssst, I'll let you in on a secret. The actual best part about my Church is that during service, you actually get to physically meet Jesus! Like in person. Shhh ok? It's a big secret.

The Canonised Saints: mere believers or much more?

Today, I attended a bible study on St Paul’s letter to the Philippians, where the apostle addresses the new church in Philippi, greeting them as saints together with the bishops ('overseers' in that translation, but that's for another day) and deacons.

'Paul and Timothy, the servants of Jesus Christ: to all the saints in Christ Jesus who are at Philippi, with the bishops and deacons.' - Phil 1:1

So it was then explained that meaning of the word saint, apart from meaning, holy or 'set apart', was in referral to the Church at Philippi. Then, it was further explained that the word saint could actually be applied to everyone in the room. All that was needed to be one a saint was the belief in Christ, and that's why those people who are remembered on special days are called saints, for their belief. It was further admonished that that was why they weren't any more special than the ordinary Joe and thus don't need to be placed on a pedestal and revered. In fact, it was said, some people get carried away and hold them with such high regard and status, treating them as great people and some denominations even worship them.

Call me Catholic, but alarm bells were going off in my neuro-OS as though the Saracens were trying to invade Constantinople again. I could feel my blood heating up. Then, I thought for a second, and I realised that you know what? By golly gosh, he's right!

The Saints were ordinary people. They were just like us, 206 bones, two eyes, one mouth, two ears, hair, one nose. They came from all walks of life. Some were peasants, farmers and extremely poor, others were emperors, royalty and aristocrats. Some were geniuses and redefined philosophy as you know it, others were very simply minded or had mental problems. Some were physicians, scientists and lawyers, others were artists, simple folk, maidens. Some were married and started families and parented children, others married Christ, and devoted their lives to prayer, meditation and parenting His flock. Some confessed Christ and were brutally murdered for his name, other's confessed Him and lived long lives in a testament to His name. At the centre of it all, is their ardent belief in one Jesus Christ, the God who became man, lived amongst man, and sacrificed Himself to save man.

So, these saints, they were really just ordinary people, much like ourselves, who believed in Christ. If that's true, than what makes them so special? Nothing much after all, they believed, and because of that belief, struggled to live their lives with heroic virtue, eschewed the pleasures and mindsets of this world and lived out their lives completely as Christ desired. Oh, and did I mention, that they also attained eternal salvation and happiness in heaven, through their great love for Christ, which they expressed in every aspect of their lives?

Wait, you say, but are you implying that heaven is not easy to get to? Well, yes.

I’m sure you’ve all read John 3:16, ‘For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in him may not perish, but may have life everlasting.’ But, what does it mean to believe?

In the gospels (and I looked all of these up. You know how Catholics don’t memorise the bible right?), Christ says to believe in him you must ‘sell what thou hast, and give to the poor… and come, follow me’ (Matt 19:21), meaning to give up all worldly possessions and ideals, and give oneself completely to Christ. He also said that you must feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, take in the stranger, cloth the naked and visit the sick and imprisoned, for what you do to ‘these my least of brethren, you [do] it to me.’(Matt 25:45). And, he further says, ‘I am the bread of life which came down from heaven. If any man eats of this bread, he shall live forever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, for the life of the world…He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath everlasting life: and I will raise him up on the last day.’ (John 6:51-52, 55).

Sounds like believing is a tough call isn’t it? This doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. The gospels have many more requests of Christ to his believers. To follow Christ completely, is certainly to be set apart from the rest and to be holy. It is also a challenging and arduous path.

I, for one, though I am believer, I am nowhere near even coming within one million kilometres of the holiness that a Saint has. I am so arrogant, so proud, and so impatient, so attached to my worldly possessions and pleasures of the flesh. I mean, seriously! Just look at what some of these guys have done! St Dominic, born to wealthy and honourable parents, gave up everything to live in poverty and to spend the rest of his days preaching about Christ, started the Order of Preachers. Ss Cosmas and Damian, twin physicians and surgeons, charged not a penny for their services, survived crucifixion, stoning and being shot by arrows before being martyred by the sword. Bl. Teresa of Calcutta, gave up everything to be a nun, then gave up even more to go to Calcutta to live amongst the poorest of the poor and to love them. St Edith Stein, German jewish convert, philosopher, and nun who openly criticised Nazism, and was gassed for it.

Yet, even then, they were still unworthy to go to heaven (no one is worthy after all. One enters heaven solely, by the grace of God). And yet, these lot made it. They completed the feat that Christ said was harder than making a camel pass through the eye of a needle. They recognised, realised and actualised the true meaning of life, to love, know and serve God in this temporal life and to be reunited with Him forever in the next. And, they did all of it, not for themselves, but for God, who then deigned to take them in his kingdom. For that they truly deserve the title of Saint, which comes from the Latin, sanctus, meaning holy.

How can I even compare with them? But, hey! You know what? Remember, they’re just ordinary people like you and I…that means….if they can do it…so can I! So, that got me thinking, if I wanted to go to heaven, who would be the best person to model myself on? Hmmm…I’d choose someone who has probably done it all before, someone with good virtues. A real stand up fellow. One that I wouldn’t mind hanging pictures off in my room to remind me of their great example or someone that I could turn to for help when going through similar problems. Someone who has already made it to heaven.

Oh, I know! I’ll choose a Saint! They led lives of heroic virtue, didn’t they? They fully confessed Christ as their God, creator and saviour right? They went through the same struggles with sin and concupiscence that I go through, didn’t they? And, they’re also in heaven aren’t they? Hey, isn’t that a great idea? And since the Saints are still part of my celestial family, when I need help, I can ask them to pray to God for me! They could be my role models, my heroes! This is too good an idea to keep to myself! The Church should make them heroes and role models for everyone!

Oh wait. She already has.

Sancti et Sanctae in caelo, ora pro nobis!

PS: I’m not going to touch on the worshipping thing. Any good protestant worth his salt should know that when you revere, admire and respect one of God’s creations for the beauty and glory that God has given to them, you give glory and praise to God, the creator. After all, which parent doesn’t bask in the achievements of their children, and can’t wait to boast about them to others? Which teacher doesn’t feel great when she finds out her students scored distinctions? At the end of the day, it’s all for the Glory of God.

Our Lady, the greatest Saint of them all. Without her obedience, and humility. Without her love for God, without her 'yes', we would not have the Saviour of the World. Thank God, she's our mother too, and watches out for us as her children from heaven.

Feisty.

BEATRICE I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick; nobody marks you.

BENEDICK What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?

BEATRICE Is it possible that disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her prescence.

BENEDICK Then is Courtesy herself a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved by all ladies, only you excepted. And I would I could find it in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.

BEATRICE A dear happiness to women. They would else been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than hear a man swear he loves me.

BENEDICK God keep your ladyship still in that mind. So some gentleman or other shall scape a predistinate scratched face.

BEATRICE Scratching could not make it worse an 'twere such a face as yours were.

BENEDICK Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

BEATRICE A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

BENEDICK I would hold my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, o' God's name. I have done.

BEATRICE You always end with a Jade's trick. I know you of old.

Beatrice.

BEATRICE

Lewis Carroll

In her eyes is the living light

Of a wanderer to earth

From a far celestial height:

Summers five are all the span --

Summers five since Time began

To veil in mists of human night

A shining angel-birth.

Does an angel look from her eyes?

Will she suddenly spring away,
And soar to her home in the skies?

Beatrice! Blessing and blessed to be!

Beatrice! Still, as I gaze on thee,

Visions of two sweet maids arise,

Whose life was of yesterday:

Of a Beatrice pale and stern,
With the lips of a dumb despair,

With the innocent eyes that yearn
Yearn for the young sweet hours of life,

Far from sorrow and far from strife,

For the happy summers, that never return,

When the world seemed good and fair:

Of a Beatrice glorious, bright

Of a sainted, ethereal maid,

Whose blue eyes are deep fountains of light,

Cheering the poet that broodeth apart,

Filling with gladness his desolate heart,

Like the moon when she shines thro’ a cloudless night

On a world of silence and shade.

And the visions waver and faint,

And the visions vanish away That
my fancy delighted to paint

She is here at my side, a living child,
With the glowing cheek and the tresses wild,

Nor death-pale martyr, nor radiant saint,

Yet stainless and bright as they.

For I think, if a grim wild beast
Were to come from his charnel-cave,

From his jungle-home in the East

Stealthily creeping with bated breath,

Stealthily creeping with eyes of death

He would all forget his dream of the feast,

And crouch at her feet a slave.

She would twine her hand in his mane:

She would prattle in silvery tone,

Like the tinkle of summer-rain

Questioning him with her laughing eyes,

Questioning him with a glad surprise,

Till she caught from those fierce eyes again

The love that lit her own.

And be sure, if a savage heart,

In a mask of human guise,

Were to come on her here apart

Bound for a dark and a deadly deed,
Hurrying past with pitiless speed

He would suddenly falter and guiltily start

At the glance of her pure blue eyes.

Nay, be sure, if an angel fair,

A bright seraph undefiled,

Were to stoop from the trackless air,

Fain would she linger in glad amaze

Lovingly linger to ponder and gaze,

With a sister’s love and a sister’s care,

On the happy, innocent child.

Dec. 4, 1862.

Youth Mass

After assisting at Holy Mass yesterday, while standing outside the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes talking to friends, I kept overhearing the things the old uncles and aunties were saying. There must have been some confusion. They must have been, because they were surprised and shocked and saying things like, ‘wah! This one Youth Mass ah? So many young people!’

The concept of seeing so many young people assisting at Holy Mass must have been quite alien to them. There were no drums, no electric guitars, and no modern hymns with saccharinely sappy lyrics. Heck! There was hardly any English at all! The Mass was a missa cantata celebrated in the Extraördinary Form, also known as the Tridentine Rite, the pre-Vatican II mass. It was almost entirely in Latin, save for the homily, complete with heavenly Gregorian chant and polyphonic motets. A Mass where the priest faces the altar, says prayers quietly and the altar servers are decked out in über cool black cassocks and surplices.

Yet, the youth had come from all over the island to attend this Mass for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross and to venerate a relic of the True Cross, from the very same cross that once hung the Saviour of the World himself. It was truly a Youth Mass. The youth organized it, they served at the altar, they sang in the choir, and they assisted devoutly in appropriate dress, chanting the responses, kneeling, bowing their heads and crossing themselves.

To the older generation, who were mostly from the parish and had come to see the Extraördinary Form(EF) for the first time, it must have been truly a sight to behold for them. For those who regularly attend the EF, it is a very regular sight to see.

My dear reader, you see, for years, they were taught that the youth have to be engaged and in order to do so, they must organise Masses specially for them, with music that they could connect with or relate to. The older hymns were not suitable, Gregorian chant was beyond them, they wouldn’t like a Mass in Latin. Yet, here they were side by side with the youth!

So what brings the deluge of the young to hear Latin Mass? Novelty might seem the suggested answer had the EF been a one off event, however there is a regular EF at the chapel of St Joseph’s Institute (International) on Thomson Road, every first and third Sunday of the month at four o’clock. Convenience doesn’t seem to be the answer either, since these youth regularly walk up the long slope of the school in the middle of nowhere in the hot Singaporean weather at a timing which is horrid for students. Any student will tell you that Sunday afternoon is prime time for some serious mugging. Transecting that afternoon for Mass in a far off place is certainly a lost of important studying time, regardless of how one manages their time.

If novelty and convenience are not the answers, then what is? Why are the young faithfully coming for Latin Mass? Perhaps, these young energetic faithful are searching for their Catholic identity. An identity which many of them do not really understand after having been brought up with decades of Masses which pander to them and Churches that seem to be more protestant than Catholic. They want to sit in a Church and catch a glimpse of heaven as their eyes trace the gothic arches and the high altar up into the high ceiling of the sacred architecture. They want to hear music that lifts them up in to those heavens and a chance to taste the mystery of God. When one attends an EF Mass, it is immediately distinctly Catholic.

Perhaps they decided that instead of going to Mass that was celebrated in a fashion whereby God is brought to them, they chose to go to God instead, even though that means not knowing exactly what is going on, where they have to come of their comfort zones, and seek a silence where they can pray.

There could be so many reasons to rationalise this phenomenon, however one thing is sure. If you assist at a EF Mass regularly, you will learn to appreciate the Ordinary Form of the Mass much more. What’s more, you will soon find your spiritual life changing. Just ask any of the youth! You know where to find them.

Please Stop Attending Mass.

Recently, I was reading a book called, ‘The Hidden Treasure: The Holy Mass’ by St Leonard of Port Maurice. It was a very good read which extoled upon the greatness and goodness of assisting at the Holy Mass, especially daily, and I recommend that everyone should get a copy and read it, it is short and easy to peruse and is certainly for everyone.

Now, perhaps you may be confused as to why I say that a book, which explores the graces of assisting at the Holy Sacrifice, is a book for everyone though not everyone helps out at Mass unless one is an altar server, a chorister, or the celebrant himself. I’m just a normal average Joe, you say, I just attend Mass like everyone else, what good is it to me?

Ah. That is where you are misconstrued, my dear reader. It is actually you who are assisting at Holy Mass. Yes. That is right, you are the one who assists at Holy Mass. But, how can this be, you inquire, I do not do anything, I merely sit in the pew, trying to pay attention. I can’t really sing because the songs are so heavily syncopated and don’t even sound nice. That is where you are most gravely wrong. Anyone who hears the Holy Mass, has the potential to assist at it.

Perhaps, we might take a look at why you feel that you do not assist at the Holy Mass. For the past four decades, we have firstly seen a dramatic shift in our vocabulary regarding the Holy Mass, and our liturgy. We have been told to ‘attend’ Mass, whereas when one was in Church to ‘hear’ the Holy Mass, one was also expected to ‘assist’ at it. St Leonard’s book is strewn with phrases such as those aforementioned, so is the Baltimore Catechism. However, we have only been thought to attend Mass. No wonder there is great confusion with what is truly required of us at the most Holy Sacrifice!

How should we then participate in at Mass? Let us turn to the Baltimore Catechism and have a look.

Q946. How should we assist at Mass?
A. We should assist at Mass with great interior recollection and piety and with every outward mark of respect and devotion.

Thus, while the servers, choristers and the celebrant have the special privilege of assisting externally at the Holy Sacrifice, you, who are sitting devoutly in the pew, in modest dress, are to assist as well. It is about an interior assistance as opposed to an external one. It means that we need not know the responses or possess the capability to sing the propers or ordinaries of the Mass, we only need to be pious with our prayers and offer up our intentions during the Mass.

So what is the difference between merely attending and assisting at Mass? In the first place, the connotations of the words are very different. To ‘attend’ merely implies to one’s mere presence at the event, while to ‘assist’ implies the necessity of helping out and being part of the event. Francis Cardinal Arinze, the Cardinal Prefect Emeritus of the Congregation for Divine Workship and Discipline of the Sacraments, the Congregation in Rome dealing with how Mass is to be said and how the Sacraments are administered, says that we can prepare for Mass by not only reading the readings beforehand, but by reading the opening, offertory and communion prayers as well as the various antiphons. He also describes the need to pray and ask God to allow one to receive communion. These pre-communion prayers are very necessary to remind ourselves of the great gift that we are to receive.

What’s more another priest once described that during the preparation of the gifts, we offer our own prayers and intentions into the chalice and raise it up to heaven. Also, during the consecration, it is said that largest amount of souls in purgatory are granted entry into heaven. Thus, it is during this time we should offer our prayers for the souls in purgatory.

There are so many things that we as the congregation need to do! To listen devoutly to the readings and the digest and meditate upon the words of the homily, to prayer for the Church, her people, the world and ourselves during the liturgy of the word. To meditate upon the beauty of the chanted antiphons and the words in the psalms they’re from. It amazes me that we even have time to sing along with the choir or to listen to the priest says his prayers on our behalf!

So it would be nice if you would stop attending Mass, my dear reader, and to humbly accept the office of the lay person and to interiorly devote yourself to Christ and his sacrifice as it unfolds before you. Also, do pick up St Leonard’s great book. I hope to see you assisting at Mass soon!

Studying For Souls

Dear friends,

Some of us have exams nearing. And, as any of us normal students know, studying can be a difficult process marked with stress, frustrations, book-throwings, page-tearings, crying and other sorts of sufferings and sacrifices.

Also, you may know that there are many souls in purgatory. If you didn't, you do now. And suffering can be offered up as penance for the souls in purgatory. And since studying can have suffering, perhaps you may wish to offer up your academic sufferings for the holy souls in purgatory.

That way your studying won't go to waste (it won't either way but it feels that way sometimes). :)

If you think this is a good idea, you may wish to write down this prayer and keep it in your pencil case or file or book, and say it before you commence the daily mugging.

Pray Before Studying
O Jesus, You who suffered and died upon the cross for my sins, and gave me the opportunity to learn of the knowledge you so wonderfully created, bless me today as I carry out this vocation and to give you glory in all I do. I also wish to offer you, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the sufferings that I endure through the course of my studying today for the intentions of the souls in purgatory. And, I ask that You and our Blessed Mother, through the prayers of all the patrons of students, especially St Joseph Cupertino, St Gregory Wonderworker and St Thomas Aquinas, to watch over me in my studies and my examinations. Amen

God bless!

PS: in desperate circumstances, St Jude is the patron saint of desperate cases.

PPS: I have started a facebook event for this, you can find it here. Please do show your support by attending and checking in with your progress from time to time!

The Diner.

This was for a writing competition.

Sheets of rain splashed onto the windscreen as I tore down the viaduct. I didn’t really care where I was going, I was just racing across from expressway to expressway trying to get some control on what my mind was spinning at me. There was just something about this city, with its tall ominous buildings that just seemed to mock your existence. Thunder erupted and an eighteen-wheeler sped past in the other lane, momentarily blinding me with a deluge of water from its tyres. God, I could use a smoke. I haven’t had one for nine months but I promised a friend in a collar that I’d quit once and for all. I don’t actually like smoking, it makes your fingers smell and ruins your sense of taste. The only redeeming feature was the quick escape it provides from life and the romantic notion of watching the smoke drift up into the sky as it leaves your mouth. Maybe it’s a writers’ thing, maybe I just wanted to get away from my sordid life. I had driven aimlessly for four hours now, it was about two in the morning and I was hungry. So, I floored the accelerated and pulled the old mustang into the first exit. The tyres skidded on the slippery road and left sprays of dirty water in their wake. I drove a few more miles and finally spotted the familiar diner.

The diner had opened there when I was a kid, a long time ago back in the day. It was one those grease joints that opened at all hours, where the burgers had enough oil in them to start a war. My family lived around the block, so we used to step in regularly to clog our arteries. Now, the place looked pretty rundown and more oleaginous than ever. I wondered when was the last time any health inspector surveyed the place, then I realised I hadn’t been in this neighbourhood for nearly a decade. Too many memories, and as I stepped in, they all flooded back. Old man Johnson used to run the place, left it to his kids who sold it on condition the menu was retained. The place has traded hands several times since then, each time on the same condition that the menu is kept the same. Don’t know who runs it now.

A young waitress greeted me with all the enthusiasm of a sea slug and began to chant out the specials while throwing the menu at me. I ordered the oiliest cheeseburger on the menu and a coffee. Ms Hospitality ran off to inform the greasy eyed fry cook behind the counter. It was really quiet in the diner. Looking around, I realised I was the only customer here. Somewhere in the background, a jukebox was playing some of the latest hits and I began to wonder what in hell I was doing with my life. I was going through one of those periods where one suffers the full blunt of life’s vicissitudes. The sort one sits up into the night nursing a bottle of Jack comparing what one has inadequately achieved to the overachievers he calls friends, wallowing like a baby in self pity as he wonders amidst the crushing loneliness what he was going to do with the rest of his miserable life. You know the sort: in between jobs, or girlfriends or dogs. The kind of depression you just want to blame God for until you realise it’s probably your fault and then you wish He’d never created you. Outside, the tempest continued to howl.

My food had finally arrived. The coffee tasted gray, but the burger was decent. I was in a mood for something greasy anyway. I had just taken a second bite when she threw open the doors of the diner and nearly brought in half of the storm with her. She was a pretty thing, about my age with a sweet smile. She seemed to fill the place with colour as she walked in. The walls magically seemed to regain their original lustre from decades ago. The waitress, too, underwent some metamorphosis before my eyes and cheerfully greeted her. Perhaps, it was something that she wore in her soul. Perhaps, she may have just been a regular, since the waitress and her stopped exchanging pleasantries and started to exchange the gossip of their lives. After the waitress promised to bring her ‘the usual’, she came and sat down in the table next to mine. One can’t help being drawn to such people I guess, so I turned and said ‘hello’. She ‘hello’-ed me back with a sweet sweet smile and before long she was sharing my booth and we were chatting away like old friends.

Her name was Melissa, she worked in a hospital somewhere, just got off her shift. Turns out, we shared a lot in common. She grew up in this neighbourhood, on the other side of the huge dual carriageway. We had the same childhood parish, but my parents had lost their piety. I couldn’t believe that we’d never bumped into each other in the past. I told her I could have never forgotten a pretty face like hers and it was a pretty face. I teased her about her eye bags, which were like crescent moons holding up her eyes, she said she got them from her mum. She teased me about my scruffy writer’s stubble and attempts at keeping fashionable hair. We talked a bit of politics, and the weather and the arts. We talked about importance of chastity amidst the fall of a decadent promiscuous society. We talked about music. She told me about her bad day at work, and I was amazed at her determined cheerfulness. I told her about my lack of progress with my book and my attempt to escape this dreary city in a month. We lamented about it, and chatted some more. I suppose that is the human condition, to be lonely and tired in life, searching for, yearning for some companionship in the hope of affirming one’s own existence.

We talked for two hours and then she refused to let me make the two-hour drive home and offered me her couch instead. It was a just a block away and I could leave the car at the diner. I held her hand as we walked back down the cold, slippery streets toward her flat. The smell of wet grass wafted through the air.

White Queen (revised)

White Queen
Everywhere I walk, you seem to build castle walls in my face.
High, looming towers across the black and white plains.
You hide there too, beautiful, up in the highest place

While your horses gallop past with their knighted lords,
seeking out many an enemy or some spritely foe,
with which to slay with their mighty swords,

Or perhaps, with cold stare and silent conversation.

So, I hide away here in the black tall grass
and watch you from so very far away.
Your smiles, and sorrows I long to share and grasp,

But your bishops say, 'no', with an excommunicating stare.
I have never understood those prelates of yours,
With their slanted thinking in black and white, of ill-gotten cause.

Their reach was frightening and they travelled very far,
so, I hid from them too, and stared out at you from castle walls.
It would seem that every step I take shall require much thought.

How strange, for I had only one quest:
to deliver you a flower with my heart on it's petalled breast.
O, how the crescent moon reminds me of you.

But I am a trained soldier, and so continue to seek,
through the monotone grasslands with my tarnished crown,
that my quest and Triumph shall soon meet.

(It seems such a foolish play on my part,
but alas, a stubborn fool I was born.
So, now in mud and forest I shall have to creep.)
I shall take my time to cross each square,
one
by
one.

Sirach 38

‘The real difficulty which confronts everybody, and which especially confronts doctors, is that the extraordinary position of man in the physical universe makes it practically impossible to treat him in either one direction or the other in a purely physical way. Man is an exception, whatever else he is. If he is not the image of God, then he is a disease of the dust. If it is not true that a divine being fell, then we can only say that one of the animals went entirely off its head.’ – GK Chesterton

I should be sleeping but I shall write this before it leaves me. A friend gave me this lovely going away card. In it, she pasted a lovely letter, the prayer of St luke for physicians and this excerpt from Ecclesiasticus (Sirach). I shall reprint it here:

Medicine and Illness
Sirach 38

1 Honour the physician for the need thou hast of him: for the most High hath created him.
2 For all healing is from God, and he shall receive gifts of the king.
3 The skill of the physician shall lift up his head, and in the sight of great men he shall be praised.
4 The most High hath created medicines out of the earth, and a wise man will not abhor them.
5 Was not bitter water made sweet with wood?
6 The virtue of these things is come to the knowledge of men, and the meet High hath given knowledge to men, that he may be honoured in his wonders.
7 By these he shall cure and shall allay their pains, and of these the apothecary shall make sweet confections, and shall make up ointments of health, and of his works there shall be no end.
8 For the peace of God is over all the face of the earth.
9 My son, in thy sickness neglect not thyself, but pray to the Lord, and he shall heal thee.
10 Turn away from sin and order thy hands aright, and cleanse thy heart from all offence.
11 Give a sweet savour, and a memorial of fine flour, and make a fat offering, and then give place to the physician.
12 For the Lord created him: and let him not depart from thee, for his works are necessary.
13 For there is a time when thou must fall into their hands:
14 And they shall beseech the Lord, that he would prosper what they give for ease and remedy, for their conversation.
15 He that sinneth in the sight of his Maker, shall fall into the hands of the physician.

The remainder of the verses, 16-39, deal with mourning the dead and how people’s crafts contribute towards building the city and it is through their work that they make God happy. Of course, the ones I have reprinted here are the ones that shall interest me tonight.

The Work of God.
Sirach writes, ‘For all healing is from God’. When I read this passage, I’m reminded of the great humility with which I shall need to carry out my future responsibilities as a doctor. Without the Almighty, from whom all healing comes, would my work be in vain and most fruitless. It is so important that a doctor should remember this in his daily duties. How disheartening it is for all those physicians who do not place their faith in the one who provides them with their abilities, and does not give Him credit. How great is the mercy of God that he still works his healing powers through them.

Moreover, this is a particular vocation that ‘the most High hath created’. God is so great that he has, in the wake of the illness and disease, a consequence of original sin, created the vocation of physician to aid man. ‘[F]or his works are necessary’, Sirach instructs the reader. What a great privileged it is, to have a job created by God for the necessity of mankind. How great is God that he shall allow me to partake in his wondrous works! He has created me for this job, this vocation, and has deigned to use me so that He can heal illnesses and wounds, and through me let his mighty works be shown. He is the primary agent and how blessed am I that I should partake as the secondary agent.

God provides for the tasks he has ordained
I find great solace and comfort in the knowledge that God provides for the tasks He puts one through. Medical school is long and very stressful. There is a tremendous amount of knowledge to be learnt, assimilated and memorised. One practically has to learn to speak in a different language, whereby acronyms can replace nouns, adjectives and verbs. Once school is the done, the learning continues forever and work is stressful (‘of his works there shall be no end’). Work puts one continually at the forefront of health risks. A mistake could result in a malpractice suit and the suspension of one’s license or even jail time. Yet, this is the job that God himself has created, we cannot fail in it, certainly and especially if we stand by him, and if He wills it. Sirach says, ‘The virtue of these things is come to the knowledge of men, and the meet High hath given knowledge to men, that he may be honoured in his wonders.’ Which is a great comfort for me as a student. I, for one, am not particularly intelligent, as this rather clumsy amateur exegesis inadvertently reveals. Thus, I am rather relieved that I shall not have to memorise everything alone. Not to mention, all the tools of the trade does he provide, for ‘The most High hath created medicines out of the earth’. Hurray for divine providence!

Treat not just the body, but the soul as well.
A wise Jesuit by the name of Fr Hilario heard that I was going to medical school and quickly reminded me of the nature of my future work. He said in a patient, fatherly tone, ‘A doctor is both a healer of body and soul.’ and then went on to regale me with a tale of how a Hindu doctor used to visit a sick patient every day and asked how she was, and how she felt so much better after each visit. It wasn’t that he actually did anything, but his presence comforted her soul and that brought about some healing. The entire story reminds me of two things. The first, corny as it is, is the age old adage that a doctor ‘cures sometimes, relieves often and comforts always.’

The second, is far more delightful, is of my patron saint, the first modern doctor to be canonized, St Giuseppe Moscati. He once told an intern,

‘Remember that you have to deal not only with the bodies but also with the moaning souls coming to you. How many suffering people you will more easily soothe by advising and going straight to their souls, instead of giving cool prescriptions to be given to the chemist! Be joyful because great will be your reward; but you will have to set a good example of your elevation to God.’

St Guiseppe was greatly concerned with the state of his patients’ souls and viewed the sacraments as the ‘first medicine’, often encouraging his patients who would be undergoing major surgery to receive them, especially that of communion and confession. He couldn’t have been more right. Confession truly brings healing both to our souls and to ourselves, and communion, which is the very gift of Christ himself, fills us full of supernatural grace from God!

I bring this up because it ties in largely with what Sirach has written.

‘My son, in thy sickness neglect not thyself, but pray to the Lord, and he shall heal thee.
Turn away from sin and order thy hands aright, and cleanse thy heart from all offence.’

Sickness and disease, like death, are consequences of original sin. When the soul is in the state of mortal sin and is turned away from God, the body too suffers from this disconnexion. Mortal sin ruins and kills the soul by removing the connexion we have with God and destroy our humanity, which is the image of God. Consider the effects of Post Abortion Syndrome and how it affects both men and women and ruins their lives. Perhaps listen to a few of the stories from the Silent No More campaign.

His grace, the late Archbishop Fulton Sheen actually predicted this phenomenon back in the seventies when Roe V. Wade came about. He actually understood how sin corrupts the body and the need for confession. You can watch that here.

Of course, with the aggressive militant secularity of modern culture, public displays of religiosity are looked down on and attacked. We live a society that persecutes us for merely wearing a symbol of our faith on our person. I just read about a nurse who was given a desk job for refusing to take off her crucifix, a crucifix she had worn for thirty-one years without complaint from anyone in the hospital. Therefore, looking after patient’s souls will become a difficult task, however there are still ways about it. I read recently of a physician who hired people to pray for the intentions of his staff, himself and for his patients.

It is more than necessary nowadays that we center our lives in prayer and on Christ, for he will give us the strength to persevere and be good Christians. He will give us the necessary spiritual armour to face the day and the strength to carry our cross. Which brings me to the next point.

Personify Christ.
I should note that Haydock says that the verse, ‘Was not bitter water made sweet with wood?’ is an allusion to Moses, striking the rock and making the bitter water sweet. It is upon this same staff was mounted the bronze serpent that healed all those afflicted from those fatal snakebites. That same serpent on a stick is the symbol Ascelpius’ staff, the usual symbol of western medicine. Ascelpius is the greek god of medicine. That symbol of the bronze serpent foreshadows Christ. It is interesting to see this foreshadowing throughout history. Many theologists talk about how the Truth is written throughout time and space, in the very fabric of Cosmos itself.

Sirah too describes this, ‘He that sinneth in the sight of his Maker, shall fall into the hands of the physician.’ The physician is none other than Christ, God himself, who has come into the world to heal it from sin through his suffering and death on the cross. St Thomas Aquinas references this in his prayer in preparation for communion, where he goes ‘sick to the physician of life’. Christ himself uses the analogy in the gospels of Ss Matthew and Mark when he speaks to the pharisees, ‘They that are well have no need for a physician, but they that are sick. For I came not to call the just, but the sinners.’, Mk 2:17

In this nifty allusion, it not only foreshadows the coming of Christ, his role as the physician of life, but also our role to personify Christ for others. While all Christians are called to be Christ for others (and also to see Christ in others, since Christ may come in veil of the lowliest and ugliest that frightens us), the doctor has a special role, he personifies the healing powers of Christ, he personifies Christ the healer. Again, I say, what a great privilege that is to share in this wonderful plan of God, and co-healers with Christ.

To end of, perhaps I can take you to this tongue-in-cheek writing about the Christ, the polymath specialist.

We Are Catholic.

Some late night thoughts.

Now that my blog has a new look, though it looks worse, I might, for a while, take up the blogging thing again. Look! you have three new entries in just one night. Two of them are complaints or close to it anyway. It's better then nothing, though.

Anyway, I thought I'd just post about the Gospel reading for today. It's from Matthew 16:13-20, wherein Christ commissions Peter and the apostles to start his Church with the promise that it will never fall. It's one of my favourite passages, herein lies the power of the sacrament of confession, which I take great comfort in. Herein lies the might of the Church. I shan't write to much about it because I am not a theologian, but I'm sure if you look through the regular spots, you'll find a great deal of posts in the Catholic Blogosphere regarding this passage.

Unfortunately, in Singapore, we use the Jerusalem Bible for our lectionary. Thankfully it's not the New Jerusalem BIble, what with all it's Yahweh's and all. Though the JB is in itself, rather horrid. It essentially tried to pull a Luther on the bible and went back past the Septuagint and used the Torah as it's base for translating the Old Testament, and so instead of the more credible Koine Greek, we have the Hebrew from the 2nd century onward. Also, they dropped all the exclusive language and thus ending the Thous and Thys which were attributed to God. The translation is also rather clumsy to read and doesn't have the flow that the King James Bible has. So much for doing a Luther. Though another pet peeve was the translation of Luke 1, which didn't have the Angel telling Mary she was 'full of grace', which is far accurate, but that's for another day.

The passage, you can easily find online, however I like the way the latin sounds. So I shall post that here.

Et ego dico tibi, quia tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram ædificabo Ecclesiam mean, et portæ inferi non prævalebunt adversus eam. Et tibi dabo claves regni cælorum. Et quodcumque ligaveris super terram, erit ligatum in cælis: et quodcumque solveris super terram, erit solutum et in cælis.

I hate how my blog looks now, but at least, I can now have comments. urgh. To think 10 years ago, I was really good with html.

Had one of those forever alone laments with a friend of mine. It went something like:

'you're pretty, smart and nice, don't see why you should have trouble finding someone'

'thanks that's nice of you'

'I, on the other hand, look like some sort of literary monster.
Tall, big, fat, scary and knows physics and does calculus'

In light of the fact that probably no one reads this blog, I am shameless willing to humiliate myself in such a fashion. Of course, the sentiments above are true. So hopeless.

Pity party over.

I also wish that I could stop thinking about you.

I miss...

I hate nothing more than being injured. Recovery and rehab time are always an eternity and something greatly to be suffered. Injury means you have to start from scratch with your fitness, which if you’re like me, was never there in the first place means a few months of pain and humiliation trying to bring up your stamina to run 5km again, never mind getting back on the track to do intervals for anaerobic stamina. Of course, there’s being left out. Everyone else is having fun, while you pace the side of the field, looking on. Finally, aside from your game, there’re all the little things in life that I miss being able to do.

I miss being able to
- keep up pace with my friends when we’re walking
- brisk walk
- change in less than 3 minutes
- run up and down stairs
- tiptoe
- roll around in bed
- shake my left leg, though it’s a very bad habit
- stretch my left foot and pointing my toes
- wriggle my left toes
- not have pain under my arms from the crutches
- jump about all of the place
- to get a snack anytime i wanted
- to walk to church for Mass

In fact, I’m not sure if it’s because of the injury, but I am really earning to go for daily Mass now. One of my worries is that when I go for Mass this Sunday, I won’t be able to kneel properly and adore the Lord and thus won’t be able to commune. Of course, I might be being scrupulous, but I guess you could say that I refuse to commune unless I may treat the Lord, my God with the greatest respect possible.

There’s still spiritual communion! And, what a treat to be chosen by God’s grace to be at the Lord’s Supper. http://fisheaters.com/TLMmissingmass.html

If We Hold On...

I'm miserable. I can't believe that another calamity could befall me, and what a vicissitude it is. Before, I had to slow down a bit, and I was fine, things were picking up again, and now everything has come to a sudden stop. This new issue is costing me much greater that its predecessor, far too much. I might be overreacting, and I hope I am not wrong here with regards to the extent of the damage. I know I'm far too stubborn not to take it easy all the way, I'm going to do my best and everything I can to make it back by the 3rd. I must, I have to. It will probably be my last locally.

If I can get back by the 3rd with a lot of tape, then the damage will be minimal, I can still recover after that, however, if it is to the worst extent, then I am out for months. Everything I've done for the last three months will be for nothing. A miserable winter awaits me ahead. I can't stand the bleakness.

I want to be mobile again, I want to independent, up and about. Invisible chains have me.

Hamlet

Lately, I've been going through a lot of obstacles in my life. Just when you think everything might be going smoothly for once, suddenly, life throws you an earthquake. Of course, that might be a fair bit of melodramatic exaggeration, however, things are certainly not looking great for me. Well, superficially anyway.

Everyone has their own problems, certainly, definitely. Everyone of course thinks the crosses they carry are the heaviest, at least at some point in time in their life. Lately, I have been pondering the famous soliloquy from Shakespeare's Hamlet.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

I haven't actually read the play proper, but I remember the plot. It is a such a dark and macabre tragedy, akin to the Duchess of Malfi. The protagonist, Hamlet, discovers that his father, the King has been murdered by his cousin Claudius after receiving a message from the ghost of his father. The ghost then commissions Hamlet to avenge him. Like any loyal son, he does, and across the story pretends to fall deeper into madness. Depressed greatly by the events unfolding around him, he considers suicide and utters the above text.

He considers deeply whether it is worthwhile to succumb to all the pains and sufferings of life or to fight them to the death. How easy does it seem to simply die, it would be the end of all suffering and end of life's unjust and unfair schemes.He has even convinced himself that in suicide, true courage is found.

Somehow I wonder if I am running, alone, on a similar path. I know where it is going, but I am so stubborn that I cannot stop myself. It is most self-destructive and eschews any concerns of the future. Or perhaps, even dispels any possibilities of the future before they make themselves available. Maybe, I'm just waiting for someone to save me from my foolish stupor, though experience tells me otherwise.

I always tell my friends in similar situations that they're very lucky they don't have full knowledge about the possible extents it could lead to. I wonder where I will be heading to…

and in that sleep of death, what dreams may come….

Knee worries.

My knee is injured again. The same one with the lateral mensicural tear that I had operation to fix two years ago. Same pain shooting through the joint, same swelling, same tightness. The operation was to shave off the bits of frayed meniscus, and quite a bit was shaved that i have little left linking the lateral horn to the medial horn, if it tears, then I am at great risk of accelerated arthritis.

This injury could not have come a worse time. I'm stronger than ever, I feel fitter than ever and I'm improving so much. There is a match on the 3rd, and the season would have started when I touch down in Dublin later that month. I don't know how I got it because i have been pain free for the last two years since the op. I think it is a combination of very quick weight gain, getting much fitter and using metal studs on astroturf. I hate astroturf, but then again, who doesn't?

I hate the feeling of complete hopelessness as I watch my dreams of actually getting real good at my favourite sport while I'm away. It doesn't help that the country is crazy over it and that season will just be starting since it's a winter sport. The six years that I'll be in Dublin will the prime of sporting tour if anything, since once thirty hits, everything slows down. Sure, I'd love to be like Elvis, my fifty, that's right FIFTY, year old teammate who still plays after two heart bypasses. Elvis is actually japanese, but wears his sideburns like his famous namesake, hence the nickname. Damn, those Japs are hardy. Also, once housemanship and the working life start, I'll never be able to commit the same amount of time too it.

Furthermore, through all the waves of despondency that wash over the shores of mind as I question the future of my knee, I can't help wondering why me? Why does God have to pick me to have the torn meniscus. Why can't I have a torn ACL? I could live with that, in fact, I think it's a far better injury to have than a torn meniscus. I don't know. But still, why me? I hate asking that sort of question, as if I'm challenging his infinitely greater wisdom.

Honestly, I don't know what I'll do without it. It's a huge part of my life, my identity. Nothing gives me the same rush as being on the field. Perhaps, all my hobbies are just psycho-analytical proof of some self-destructive behaviour since I can't see any bright future ahead. Maybe I just wish someone would save me from all these destructive addictions. Maybe I'm just being melodramatic. I don't know. In the immortal words of Hamlet,

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

I just want to run and hit people. ):

Melancholic Munch

Rainy days are for sleeping. Really.

And I über late for work cause of the rain. Thank God for a nice boss.

Also, it really sucks when the only thing on my mind this morning is the one thing I shouldn't be thinking about.

No, it is not sex. Yes, it is someone.

A rare snippet into my daily life on this blog. Be grateful.

Ship Shape

We are but prisoners of this insipid race,
on fetid boats that scour the seven seas,
sailing across tepid waters for a taste
of what is, what was, of what will never be.

Hard at the oars, row,row, row, row,
'faster!' screams the sordid midshipman,
driving whip into bone, much pain to sow.
there is no sight for hope, no island.

Here, out at water, moon pushes tide,
so seize the sails, all hands on deck,
a little bee flies around the side,
staring out at empty sea to check

for a ray of turbulent hope,
amidst endless hollow water,
we should be sailing proud, yet
sipping secretly, demoralised by the spirit.

So push on me hearties and fly the Jolly Roger!

One of those tired days

I've had one of those days where you one of those annoying rock songs on unrequited love gnaws your soul, while you drag your feet through the various treacherous activities of the day, tugging at some stubborn cardiac muscle lost in a ventricle somewhere that just won't let go.

Then like any good soldier ant, marching on carrying more than it's weight back to the hive of circumstance.

Sometimes you just feel really alone left to your insecurities and obscure futures.

Response to relativism.

In referral to this: http://www.catholicnews.sg/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=6339:viewpoints-use-pulpit-to-address-controversial-issues&catid=278:july-17-2011-vol-61-no-14&Itemid=79#comment-570

I'd like to thank refer Mr Au for his objective comments on the 12th of July, 2011.

In his comment, Mr Au implies that the key to deciding the morality of an action is based one's viewpoint and the semantics that define it. His example of abortion states that one side views abortion as murder as 'not a statement of fact but of value, of belief,…of judgement where inference becomes judgement' while the other position is a 'statement of what ought to be'. He treads dangerously in relativism in his suggestion.

If one follows the concepts of relativism, then, there can be no absolute fact from which to base our arguments on. Wrong can be right in one person’s eyes and this becomes a valid viewpoint as it has to be accepted since there is be no fact, only belief. Without this objective and factual absoluteness of fact to rely on, there is no morality in society, since there is no absolute right or absolute wrong.

An action, regardless of the semantics used to define it, or the beliefs held by another is still an action. Once committed, it cannot be taken back, it has become fact. These actions will, according to natural law, have consequences. These also become fact. If the pebble falls into a pond, there will be the consequence of a splash and ripples in the water. Regardless of disbelief, or viewpoint, the fact that the action of the falling pebble and the consequence of the splash and ripples is absolute. Simply put, no matter how much you believe and tell yourself that you believe that no ripple or splash will occur, it will occur. Also, if the action has moral consequence attached to it, it can either be described as evil or good. If the action has an evil consequence, it is an evil action, as it will cause evil, regardless of the intent.

Thus, the three examples, which Mr Au argued for, are without a doubt evil. Abortion is the direct surgical destruction of the unborn child. It is murder of one completely innocent and defenseless. One cannot murder an innocent child without consequences. Many women and their partners have been shown to suffer from Post Abortion Syndrome, a post-traumatic stress disorder, which causes their lives to destructively out of control.

Pornography makes men and women objectify each other, and turns the marital act into a plaything, to be enjoyed whenever one wants without fearing the consequences. Research shows that it causes the breakup of marriages, creates unrealistic expectations and makes one unsatisfied with what is normal and healthy, causes one to seek out abnormal behaviours to gratify oneself. The extreme consequence is to become a serial killer or rapist.

Same-sex marriage makes a mockery of Holy Matrimony and of the family. Allowing the floodgates of Same-sex marriage in society to open will soon create a hole that will allow gay adoption to thrive. Such an evil imposes on society the need for ‘equality’ in their adoption processes, allowing children who could be adopted by the childless heterosexual couples, to be adopted by a couple who cannot fully provide for the emotional development of a child. Studies show that children need both a male father and a female mother to thrive ideally. Furthermore, they also show that a child raised by homosexuals is more 7 times more likely to have a non-heterosexual sexuality and more likely to experiment sexually in adolescence. The nice ‘equality’ is great from the couple, but does nothing but ill to the poor child.

Similarly, we all have souls regardless of whether we believe that we do or not. When we die, we shall be judged and our soul will either go to heaven or hell to await the last day where it shall be reunited with our bodies. Our souls require nourishment and care, moreover, they can be injured through evil actions. When the evil action committed is a grave one and down with full intent and understanding, such as abortion, it is called a mortal sin, and like a mortal wound destroys our soul’s connection with God and prevents it from receiving salvation. Even small acts of evil can accumulate and become mortal.

We are lucky that we as members of the Church founded by Christ, that we escape the hell and eternal damnation through frequent reception of the sacraments, namely confession and communion. However, those who do not believe do not have access to these same sacraments and place themselves in great danger.

Therefore, such evils must be proclaimed and condemned publically by the Church, who is our only hope against evil because that is what she was commissioned by Christ to do. If she is silent, society will suffer. And when she speaks, it is with the truth. The truth does not impose, it merely is, it presents itself and allows for one to believe in it. When faced with the truth, one is innately drawn to it. That is the way the Church has always acted, she has told the good news and the truth and allowed people to make their minds up for themselves. One cannot have faith and understand it without being able to think.

Evil, on the other hand, imposes untruth on society, it seduces with sweet words and tells you what you want to hear, then forces you do what it wants. The legalisation of abortion while seemingly noble in it’s intent in respecting women’s rights has destroyed respect for life in general. Now pregnancies are treated as an inconvenience instead of a joyous celebration; people have become more selfish in society, instead of being blessed with the gift of bring forth life, they choose to have it ripped from their wombs in a most inhumane manner. It removes responsibility from people in society.

Hence, regardless of public opinion, the Church must speak out against evil, otherwise the devil’s laughter will flood hell as he fills it up. Without the voice of the Church, society has no hope.

New Poems.

They all sound horrid, really.

White Queen
Everywhere I walk, you seem to build castle walls in my face.
High, looming towers across the black and white plains.
You hide there too, beautiful, up in the highest place

While your horses gallop past with their knighted lords,
seeking out many an enemy or some spritely foe,
with which to slay with their mighty swords,

Or perhaps, with cold stare and silent conversation.

So, I hide away here in the black tall grass
and watch you from so very far away.
Your smiles, and sorrows I long to share and grasp,

But your bishops say 'no' with an excommunicating stare.
I have never understood these prelates of yours,
With their slanted thinking in black and white, of ill-gotten cause.

Their reach was frightening and they travelled very far,
so, I hid from them too and stared out at you from castle walls.
It would seem that every step I take shall require much thought.

How strange, for I had only one quest:
to deliver you a flower with my heart on it's petalled breast.
O, how the crescent moon reminds me of you.

But I am a trained soldier, and so continue to seek,
through the monotone grasslands with my tarnished crown,
that my quest and Triumph shall soon meet.

(It seems such a foolish play on my part,
but alas, a stubborn fool I am.
So, now in mud and forest I shall have to creep.)

I shall take my time to cross each square, one by one.

The Finch

Fly, fly little finch,
away from Mister Darwin's reach.
He intends to sack you with other birds
and hold you in his keep.

You shall be the loam with which
he will thunderously preach;
the cornerstone of your Creator's fatal sleep.

How, a century more, and stuffed
upon a shelf you'll see, out of jewelled eyes, one
Mister Dawkins exaggerating beyond your finder's speech.

And your Creator shall look down
upon the Society, and
sigh and weep.

I Hate That You Are Still My Greatest Muse

I hate that you are still my greatest muse.

The long forgotten laughter now pervades the air,
drifting up into the clouds like a balloon.
Your sweet smile beams like sunshine rare;
out of breath, I gasped for it all afternoon.

Drowning in this desert drought of hopelessness,
like a salvage diver seeking great treasure --
uninspired and mouldy sunken ships sit timeless.
These very words are a water burial assured.

Together forever in these depths of deep,
Chased constantly by seductive angler fish
only to put on that ugly mask you keep
to avoid being someone else's side dish.

(There is no reprise for the wicked, no chance for sleep.)

I hate that you are still my greatest muse.