GIVE ME SIGHT, LORD!

He is a young priest and I am, sometimes, privileged to hear his Mass.  I look forward to his homily – always an unusual take on the day’s Gospel.  He makes me think.  His words are not palliative or passive, and they sometimes (most times!) bring home unwelcome truths.  Even so, hearing them makes the Gospel come wholly alive. 

Yesterday, Jesus cured the blind man.  But first he asked, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Huh? Jesus is God; surely, He knows that the man is asking for sight? And yet he asks the question! He wants to know whether the man has thought of the consequences. Sightless, he invoked pity and could beg for alms.  Sighted, he would have to work and pull his weight.  When we pray and ask for what we desire, do we think of the consequences? Are we willing to take on the consequent challenge? Ouch!

Previous takes on this Gospel reading always taught that Jesus hears prayers, Jesus heals.  Yes, we know that.  Yesterday’s homily woke me up and how.  Here’s the result!

GIVE ME SIGHT, LORD!

Lord, I want to see.

Will you not restore my sight?

            Do you know what you ask?

Yes, Lord!

I ask for sight that I may see

The glorious dawn and sunset,

The moods of the skies as they unfold,

The crest of waves as they break upon the shore -

The glory of all your creation!

            But will you also see the abandoned child,

            The battered woman,

            The homeless man?

            Will ‘seeing’ help you understand?

Give me sight Lord!

I have never known

The myriad hues of flowers,

Or seen the flutter of a bird’s wings;

The anger of the storm,

Or delight on the face of my beloved.

            But will you also see the anguish

            Of a war torn world;

            The desperate outstretched hand…

            Will ‘seeing’ help you understand?

I have felt the earth and know its scent;

But I have never seen its fruit,

Or watched life unfurl

From within its warm embrace:

Will you not let me see, Lord?

Will you not have mercy?

            Mercy is yours and also sight.

            Now, will you work for honest wage

            And share the yield?

            Will you labour in my field?

           

Lord, how could I be so blind?

Or, so selfish be…..

Give me your sight Lord

That I might truly see!

A BLUEPRINT FOR LIVING

The alarm went off punctually at its appointed time; I was awake to its demands but reluctant to get out of bed.  Could I cadge a further five minutes?  I hit snooze and, promptly, five minutes later I received a shrill reminder.  Whoever invented the alarm and all its functions knew what he was doing!

Since I had time on my side, I decided that first Mass would be a good idea (instead of the afternoon which is a comfortable alternative).  It really was a good idea!  The first reading contained Paul’s advice to the ‘Romans’ – the best blueprint for Christian living that one could ever receive.  It makes me wonder why we listen to anything else!  Here’s the text, judge for yourselves:

“In the same way, all of us, though there are so many of us, make up one body in Christ, and as different parts we are all joined to one another.⁶ Then since the gifts that we have differ according to the grace that was given to each of us: if it is a gift of prophecy, we should prophesy as much as our faith tells us;⁷ if it is a gift of practical service, let us devote ourselves to serving; if it is teaching, to teaching;⁸ if it is encouraging, to encouraging. When you give, you should give generously from the heart; if you are put in charge, you must be conscientious; if you do works of mercy, let it be because you enjoy doing them.⁹ Let love be without any pretence. Avoid what is evil; stick to what is good.¹⁰ In brotherly love let your feelings of deep affection for one another come to expression and regard others as more important than yourself.¹¹ In the service of the Lord, work not halfheartedly but with conscientiousness and an eager spirit.¹² Be joyful in hope, persevere in hardship; keep praying regularly;¹³ share with any of God's holy people who are in need; look for opportunities to be hospitable.¹⁴ Bless your persecutors; never curse them, bless them.¹⁵ Rejoice with others when they rejoice, and be sad with those in sorrow.¹⁶ Give the same consideration to all others alike. Pay no regard to social standing, but meet humble people on their own terms. Do not congratulate yourself on your own wisdom.”

-          Romans 12:5-16

Tuesday’s Cantor is usually in good voice and today was no exception.  And even better was the choice of hymns – consolation, support and advice just when they were needed: In my heart, O Lord, you are there… you are there to lighten my burden … you are there to help me when I’m in need and God will make a way where there seems to be no way.

Prophetic?  I certainly feel so.

May your day be blessed.

ASSOCIATIONS…

Remember the game?  You call out a word and the other person spontaneously responds with the first thought that comes to mind.  ‘Cake?’ and ‘Birthdays’ is a good example. Another is: ‘Ice cream?’ and ‘Yes Please!!’

We have a new maid.  She stepped in clad from head to foot in a burqa with just her smiling face in view.  She seemed to glide forward, every line graceful – she flowed through the house.  Eventually, she removed the burqa and continued her stay in a very homely salwar kameez.  Somehow, the burqa transformed her into someone graceful, even ethereal.  I have observed many burqa clad women and I am drawn to the ones who wear it with dignity and elegance.

I remarked once to a friend that I would love to try on a burqa and see what it feels like.  He exploded, ‘Why would you ever want to wear a symbol of repression?!!’ Burqas are worn by women of one community and one community only.  You see a burqa and you know that the wearer is a Muslim, just as the Cross identifies the Christian. The association is carved in stone. 

I once saw a program on TV.  The woman was a traveler covering the incense trail which naturally took her through very traditional Muslin territory.  On the way, in certain areas, she had to wear a burqa (no matter your nationality or religion, if you are a woman you are required to be covered!).  When she was finally allowed to remove it, she burst into tears.  She sobbed and sobbed bitterly on camera; her explanation was that she felt that a tremendous burden had been lifted from her.  She truly viewed that burqa as a shackle. And yet some Muslim women I have spoken to say that it makes them feel safe, protected.  Some even view it as freedom because they can wear what they wish underneath it, disrobing only at their destination.  Much as one would wear a coat. One of my college classmates used to wear the deadliest minis.  Coupled with her voluptuous figure, her appearance would certainly have qualified as ‘oopmh!’ and she could never have walked freely down an Indian street.  In her burqa, she was armour clad.

So, will I ever wear a burqa? I do not know.  The associations make it an obstacle.  But the desire lingers.  How does it feel to wear another’s identity? Especially when the garment that defines it is obligatory and not optional? Will it affect the way I think, I feel, I talk, my outlook? How will I be viewed by others? How will they react? Do I really need to know?

In the meantime, there are other associations with happier consequences.  Sunday Mass means music and I still carry the song in my heart – I am free, I am loved and I am blessed.

And our Muslim maid looks after my mother with a devotion that is not confined by associations of any kind.

AN UNUSUAL LEGACY

My Mother is a recluse.  She loves the four walls of her home and needs no company other than herself.  She is dependent on the maid for her needs and interacts with her.  She also welcomes anyone bearing the Eucharist; for the Lord, there is always a welcome in her heart and home. At 89, she is now on the final leg of her earthly journey.  

Today’s sermon was on gratitude and it set me thinking as to what I should be grateful to my Mother for.  She still is a stickler for correctness and a very strict disciplinarian - she could never be gainsaid.  Her word was law and even my Father obeyed! Though I have reached senior citizen status, whenever I slouch, accidentally mispronounce (given the environment, it happens!) or let out an unladylike wisecrack I experience that ‘ouch’ moment when I remember what Mother would have said!

So what exactly is her legacy?  There are three things that stand out: her faith, her never grow old attitude and her ear for music. And these are best illustrated by the anecdotes that follow.

My Mother has an unshakeable belief that the Lord will provide: the ‘His eye is on the sparrow’ kind of faith.  When my Father passed away, his military pension should have automatically transferred to my Mother.  This did not happen because of a goof up by the bank.  My husband and I spent an inordinate amount of time and energy, corresponding with the powers that be and running from pillar to post (now, I understand what that means!) and finally, the pension came through.  My Mother promptly gave a hefty donation to Don Bosco.  Why? Because he helped her to get her pension.  What about all the running around?  We wouldn’t have been able to do it without His intervention.  Oh well, I guess even saints need human legs!! And of course, in my Mother’s eyes, Don Bosco sits at the right hand of the Lord and is therefore a powerful intercessor.

In her mind, she is still twenty-one!  For her seventy-fifth birthday, my husband and I went shopping for dress material.  I picked up a festive red print, splashed with colour.  My husband promptly remarked, ‘I thought we were shopping for your Mum.  Not for you!”  I replied, ‘This is for Mum.’  ‘She won’t wear that.’ “Yes, she will!’.  To avoid being locked in a battle of tastes, I suggested that my husband pick up another piece.  He did.  A lovely pastel blue with a very subdued print.  We presented the dress pieces to my Mother.  She ooohed and aaahed over the red.  Hubby asked, ‘What about the other dress piece?’  Mother looked it over and said, ‘It’s nice but it’s an old lady’s colour!”  Get what I mean?

Her ear for music? Sharp even to the fraction of a discrepancy in sound.  ‘That’s false!’ often put pause in the middle of what I thought was a tuneful rendition of a popular number. Once, we had choir practice at home and one person was woefully out of tune.  We tried to be polite and rehearsed the hymn again and again.  My Mother was not so accommodating.  Her reaction? ‘What is that noise?!!!’  

I often thank the Lord for my sense of humour.  I have just realised that I also have to thank my Mother for honing it!