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.