Faith and Heaven

One might ask, what is the relationship between faith and Heaven?  A great deal, if you ask me.  In the Bible, it is written that

Faith is the assurance of what we hope for,
being certain of what we cannot see.

Hebrews 11:1

That’s such a difficult verse to comprehend.  Put simply, I think faith is having the belief, despite having doubts.  To quote one of the catechist who lectured us during my RCIA, do we need faith to believe that the sun rises from the east and sets in the west?  Of course not.  That is a universal truth, and we do not need faith for that.

Now, let’s bring on some harder questions.  How do we know there is a God?  And how do we know that the Bible is the Word of God, and not some fictitious piece of literature written by someone really brilliant?

Faith.  Well… some people would argue that there is substantial evidence in history to prove that God exists, and the Bible is indeed written by prophets, inspired by the Holy Spirit.  The point here is, it is arguable, unlike the sun rising from the east.  Now that is a fact.

I find the hardest hurdle to clear during my RCIA journey is this elusive thing called ‘faith’.  Having faith is one thing, while sustaining the faith is another ball game altogether.  It’s hard work maintaining a relationship with God; nobody ever said it’s easy.

I am reaching the end of my RCIA journey; next week is the last session.  For me to have reached this far on this journey is no mean feat.  You see, I’m known to have no perseverance (the hubby can attest to that).  To make matters worse, my faith fluctuated from ecstatic highs to rock bottoms in matter of hours.  My group spent a lot of effort keeping me on track and rendering support when I needed it.  I wanted to leave them with something meaningful to celebrate our 10-month journey together.

And so I decided to get them books.  To be exact, ‘Heaven is for Real’ was the book I wanted to share with them.

This is not a post on a review of the book, so I’ll summarise the contents of the book –  a young boy had a near-death experience and it was revealed to his parents several years later (when he could verbalise what he saw) that he actually travelled to Heaven during the time when he was slipping in and out of consciousness.  I read this book one Saturday afternoon when I was feeling confused about whether I should go ahead with my Rite of Election.  Suffice it to say that I felt regenerated and inspired enough after completing the book to forge ahead.

Do I believe every single word written in the book?  Can I believe what the little boy professed to have experienced?  I don’t know, but I choose to have faith that every word and every single experience is true.  If it isn’t, that’s between the author and God – he answers to God and not to anyone of us.

In more ways than one, this book provided a sort of closure for me when I was most confused on this faith journey.  Of course I did not bank my entire decision (to go ahead with Baptism or not) on this book, but I admit it was a contributing factor which I took into consideration.  I did say that I was looking for signs from the Almighty, and I would view this book landing on my lap (not quite so literally though) as part of His plan.

Full Circle

I received the full Sacrament of Initiation the Sunday passed and with that, I’ve effectively come one full circle, where my religious faith is concerned.

I was put in a group full of people with health issues.  We started out with 8 of us Inquirers.  Along the way, 3 dropped out.  Come baptism, only 4 of us were left – one had spinal problems and went under the knife several times, one had cancer in remission, and one is recovering from a stroke.  And then there’s me with my respiratory problems.

Not one who relies on superstitions for questions I have no answers to, I find it hard to explain the coincidence without attributing it to divine intervention.  There were in total over 200 Inquirers who began the RCIA journey last July.  How likely is it to place the 4 of us in the same group, on the same day?!  He works in strange ways, indeed.

The only difference between my group mates and I is that, they are well on their roads to recovery while I am still struggling with my health.  I was put in that group to learn something.  And learnt I did.  Through their examples, I found strength to carry on.

Confession time.  I almost didn’t want to attend my baptism because I thought I wouldn’t be able to find a white dress.  So strong was the belief that I refused to go search for one, till Good Friday.  I said a prayer before I left the house, saying “God, you have to help me find a white dress if you want me to go through with baptism.  You know that wretched dress is the only thing standing between me and the sacrament.”

And Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.’”  <Luke 4:12>

Yet I tested Him.  And he chose to reciprocate.  Early Good Friday morning, the hubby and I drove to town to begin what we thought would be a long search for the dress.  And the hubby suggested an out-of-character location to park the car ( we frequent this mall and I have my favourite section to park at).  We took the escalators up to the mall and guess what, we came by a shop full of white dresses.

I didn’t get a dress at the first shop we came by but the moral of the story is, I did eventually find my white attire.  He wanted me to go through with the sacrament, white dress or not.  This much I know.

The Pray-Over

This showed up as one of the activities slated for the second night of the retreat.  Not knowing what it was about, I attended the session with no expectations whatsoever.

Before elaborating further, I probably should cover a little on what happened earlier in the day.  During one of the exercises, we were instructed to pick a stone of varying sizes available to us to represent the burden we were all carrying in our hearts, put it into the plastic bag provided, tie it around our wrists, and walk around with the stone the whole day.  If we wished to.  And you know how herd instinct works – everyone dutifully did as told.

There was a little ceremony held at the grotto in the night.  One by one, we were supposed to go forward and lay our ‘rock of burden’ at the cross.  And then we were individually brought to one of the many pray-over stations where 3 members of the Church will pray over us.

I walked to my station and along the way, I saw someone falling flat on his back (with ‘catchers’ to hold him before he hit the ground), as if he had fainted.  I had a shock and was very rattled and unsettled by the time I reached my station.

Later, I learnt that he was being ‘slain’ or rested in the Holy Spirit.  It was an unconscious act and someone who is ‘slain’ will never be injured.  On the contrary, someone who pretends to be ‘slain’ will inadvertently injure himself in the process.  This was what I learnt.

In any case, not knowing what to expect during my pray-over, I resisted all emotions and resisted opening my heart.  The last thing I wanted to do was to faint or lose consciousness – that was the only thought I was preoccupied with.

But resistance was futile, especially when you are up against the Holy Spirit, I suppose.  I closed my eyes and allowed the 3 of them at my station to pray over me.  None of them at my station prayed in tongues but the only audible part which I heard was an incessant chanting of “Jesus loves you”.  And if you’d read this previous post, you would know my issue at hand.  The chant was the answer to the very essence of my problem and my doubt – that He loves me in spite of who I am, and that He loves me even though I don’t love myself.

I’ve finally made up my mind about something that has been bothering me for quite a while now.  I have been in considerably poor health the past 5-6 years and it has reached a point where I have decided I should put a foot down and do something about it once and for all.  Thus the decision to leave my present job for a spell for some repose.  It wasn’t an easy decision to arrive at, considering that I am no longer young and that I will be giving up what I have worked hard for in the past 4 years in the service.  But, health comes first.  This is in line with loving myself more.

Finances will be tighter in that I won’t have the liberty of spending whatever I wish to spend on.  And my posts will likely be less varied now that I will be spending most of time at home.  In spite of all these, I have a good feeling about it.  And my heart actually did feel lighter after I made the decision.

This has to be a wise decision.  I will make it one.

After note: this is the last of my series of posts on the retreat.  And the hardest to write about although it was the first to find its way into my long list of drafts.  In the wake of my impending Baptism on Easter Sunday, I decided that this post has to be completed before the day.  You may find a lot of repetition in these posts and those in between; that’s because I didn’t write them in the order of when they were published.

The Mini Stations

Stations of the Cross, that is.  There were 9 stations set up in the Adoration Room at the retreat.  We were sent into the room in batches, and told to visit each station in order.  No skipping stations, and no going to the empty stations first.  It must be done in order, we were instructed.  And so in the room without lights and only lit candles at the stations, we shuffled along from station to station.

In summary, the 9 stations depicted different symbols in Catholicism, with emphasis on Jesus Christ being the good shepherd and us as the lost sheep.

Station 1 – Psalm 23

Station 2 – Repose

Station 3 – Near restful waters he leads to me, to revive my drooping spirit

Station 4 – He guides me along the right path, He is true to his Name.  Phil 2:9-10

Station 5 – Staff of the Shepherd

Station 6 – Banquet in the sight of the enemies

Station 7 – My head You have anointed with oil.  My cup is overflowing.

Station 8 – Surely goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life

Station 9 – Parable of the lost sheep.  Luke 15:1-7.  In the Lord’s own House, shall I dwell for ever and ever.

I am an extremely impatient person.  Plus the fact that I read and write fast, so it didn’t take long for me to catch up with the group afore.  Everything irked me: Why do you need to stand right at the poster to read, and be in the way of everyone else behind?  Why do you have to write at the station?  Why can’t you move off and answer the questions elsewhere?

In short, every single thing was pricking at my nerves so bad I had to stop and take in a few deep breaths just to calm down.  This exercise was done immediately after I had indicated my wish to return home and I was still in a mess, internally.  Nevertheless, as a good student I was brought up to be, I stuck to the instructions – no skipping of stations, and dutifully answering all the questions there were.

One question struck me – ‘Are you afraid of death’?  I can’t recall which station it was that asked the question… but looking at my written responses, it must be at Station 9.

And my answer?  Very atypical, I have to forewarn you.  I don’t fear death.  And I don’t fear what is to come after death.  Someone who has once sought death can not and does not fear death.  Instead, I fear life more than I fear death.  Living is much, much worse than dying, in my opinion.  Living is a chore.

And this is my dark secret.

We were also instructed to reach in the basket set at the centre of the Adoration Room after we completed all 9 stations, after praying for what we want.  Of course I prayed to be allowed to leave the retreat.  Any affirmative sign I get received Him and I would be ready to boot.  I reached into the basket, and this was the exact scripture I picked up:

Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.  I am the vine, you are the branches.  Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.

John 15:4-5

At first glance, I knew I got my answer.  He wanted me to persist on.  Never mind that I weren’t quite sure what the scripture was about, because He would have factored that in.  I texted the hubby to give me the exact meaning of ‘abide’ and he told me it was to ‘tolerate, or to put up with’.  Bingo; put up with whatever I was worried or unhappy about, just as He has put up with me and my nonsense.

I stayed on, as mentioned in my previous post.  And learnt a little more about myself.

I am a mangled mess, that I know.  I cannot forgive myself for unknowingly causing a rift between little sis and I back then, for taking my hubby away from home thus unwittingly contributing to my late father-in-law’s untimely demise, and for causing ex-colleagues to treat me shabbily.  As a result, I stopped loving myself.  The retreat helped me identify that and the revelation was awakening.

Six years had passed since my act of sheer folly.  Sure, I’ve moved on, but I still often question the meaning of life and what there is about me worth loving.  I often ask the hubby why he loves me so despite my pessimism, my wilfulness, my mood swings and my ill health.  And he always brushes my question aside, never taking it seriously – perhaps he doesn’t understand how much his answer means to me.  Or maybe he honestly cannot answer my question.  I don’t believe in unconditional love, at least not in non blood-related relationships and most definitely not in such a bad deal i.e. moi and my baggages.

My quest for answers brought me to the Church.  It was quite a ‘spiritual moment‘, that.

In the meanwhile, I shall continue seeking answers to my questions.  Nobody has all the answers, but in the very least, I have to find half-answers I am willing to settle for.

I’ve always loved Socrates’ declaration that ”The unexamined life is not worth living”.  Perhaps I sometimes examine life a little too excessively, but someday I’ll learn to strike a balance.  Someday…

Of My Faith Journey

I was brought up almost single-handedly by my late grandma (both my parents worked) and lived with her till I was about 8 years of age when my parents’ spanking new flat was ready.  Prior to moving back with my parents, I attended Sunday classes at my kindergarten, and accompanied grandma to all her Saturday services, listening to preachings in Mandarin before they broke up into their dialect groups.  I have to admit it was rather queer listening to the preachings in Hakka, but as a young child, you get used to everything very quickly.

And I absolutely loved Christmas, because Christmas celebration at my grandma’s was the epitome of tradition, complete with a fully dressed Christmas tree, a feast and a visit from the Church choir on the Eve.  My love for Christmas carols must have started from there.

But everything changed after the age of 8.  I stopped attending Church services after moving out from my grandma’s place, although attending an Anglican primary school and a Catholic secondary school meant that I was still somewhat spiritually close to the Lord.  And once in a while, I get soft promptings from Him that perhaps I should return to Church.  One of the most unforgettable experiences was that at Fatima, Portugal.

Fatima has an impressively huge square for worshippers to gather, but the day when we visited Fatima, I was ill and not in the mood to take in the impressive sight.

We walked into the Church, a cool respite from the scorching sun outside.  I felt peace engulf me, and absorbed myself in the spirituality of the shrine.  I stopped briefly at the end of the centre aisle, and then proceeded slowly to the altar, not wishing to disturb or startle the worshippers at the altar with any sudden movement.

An old lady was done with her prayers and she slowly rose from her kneeling position, made the Sign of the Cross and turned to walk down the aisle.  The hubby and I stopped and stepped aside to let her pass.  Instead, she stopped in front of me and gently touched my cheek with her wrinkled hand, as if blessing me.  Her gesture overtook me by surprise, but I saw no malice – only pure gentleness and kindness in her blue eyes.

After she left the shrine, I asked the hubby why he thought she did that.

‘Maybe she’s never seen an Asian before?’ he suggested.

Hardly, I thought.  She doesn’t look like a pilgrim, so she could hail from the area.  Fatima, being a popular pilgrimage destination, must have seen many Asian pilgrims.

I would think it is considered rude in most, if not all cultures to suddenly go up to a stranger and touch her face, so I really don’t think that old European lady did it out of curiosity or jest.  Although we’ll never know why she really did that, I’d like to think that either one, I reminded her of somebody (because she reminded me of my late grandma) or two, I looked quite ill and she just wanted me to get well soon.

It’s not magic we are talking about here, so neither did I get well immediately after she touched me, nor after drinking the holy water.  But I started thinking about my faith, and whether a subtle reminder was dropped and meant for me to pick up the sign.

This experience was one of the most important reasons attributing to my decision to joining the Catholic Church as opposed to other denominations.  I described my experience to Bro Cel, and he gave me quite a different perspective which gave me pause – that the old lady could be an angel or messenger sent to touch my weary soul.  And the fact that she reminded me of my late grandma despite being a European was not at all normal.  Brother advised me to evaluate what my grandmother represented to me and how she had affected my life.

Well… despite her being a difficult lady to put up with as she aged and became somewhat demented, I never had problems with grandma.  She showered all her affections upon me, and introduced to me a life of deep spirituality that was promptly cut off when I left her care.  That I should be reminded of her at such a poignant moment in that significant a location must symbolise something more profile than just mere coincidence – this is a conjecture I am willing to accept.

Baptism is just around the corner, and I find myself having cold feet despite having submitted my form.  I am ready, but I fret about the ritual because it’s not just sprinkling some water on our heads; it involves being submerged in water and that puts me ill at ease.

Rest in the Lord and He will provide, Genn.

对我而言，宗教是精神寄托、心灵的食物
Religion is the spiritual food for a hungry world

令我印象比较深刻的 是在2006年到葡萄牙的宗教圣地法体玛
因为水土不服 那几天都在伤风感冒 气色应该是很差
那天的天气很炎热
所以进入了阴凉的大教堂 觉得很舒服
就止步在大门前不远处
不一会儿后 一位年迈的老奶奶在祈祷完毕 缓缓地从中间的走道前进
忽然间 她止步在我面前 很和蔼地微了微笑
然后举起右手抚摸我的脸颊
这突来的举动 其实让我大吃一惊
但我在她眼里 看到了无限的爱与关怀

同行的另一半说 或许老奶奶没见过东方女孩
所以好奇地摸了摸我的脸
那老奶奶不象是旅客 而法体玛又是个圣地 所以估计她应该看过数以千计的东方人
况且我相信不论任何种族或宗教 随意抚摸陌生人的脸 是视为不礼貌的举动

我自己的看法？
老奶奶或许看得出我身体不适 有点心疼我吧？
或者 她甚至察觉到我当时的精神状态欠佳
当时的我 患了抑郁症 对很多事都一直在转牛角尖
总之 我把她当作是天主派来给我的小提示
目的是要提醒我 尝试重返教堂

不同人的机遇会大有不同
我的机遇不是非常‘灵异’
但的确触动了我心灵内深处一个阴暗的角落

The Short Journey in Darkness

One of the activities we partook at the retreat required us to be blindfolded and be led from the Adoration Room to the Auditorium about 200 metres away.  This ‘game’ is not new to me.  Back in my secondary school days, ‘Blindman’s Fold’ as we called it was a must-have on the last day of every training camp I attended.  They claimed that it builds up camaraderie and team spirit.  Call it whatever they would, but I think they were just cooking up a legitimate excuse to tekan* us.

I knew the ‘game’ played at the retreat would have very different rules.  And it sure did – the entire exercise was supposed to be carried out in total silence, and I only learnt of it during the exercise itself.  Darkness and silence, quite a deadly combination for people who feel insecure, myself included.  To my surprise, I accepted the arrangements with no sign of trepidation whatsoever.  In fact, I took to the game like fish took to water; it didn’t require any much of a leap of faith from me because I had the inherent confidence that no one will allow me to come to harm.

The blindfold wasn’t able to block out all the light, but I chose to close my eyes even when blindfolded, just to experience the full purpose of the exercise.  Before I knew it, I was led out of the room and handed over to my guide who kept mum throughout the walk.  I was confused but just kept walking on, concentrating on nothing in particular.  And then I felt pressure asserted on my arm, by my guide.  I didn’t know what it mean, but concluded that he must be trying to tell me something.  So I stopped, used my foot and hands to feel around me.  I felt a wall to my right and instantly understood that he was trying to tell me to be careful not to walk myself into the wall.  For some reason or another, I never thought of opening my mouth to clarify.

We continued our journey in complete silence, and in total darkness for me.  I was beginning to understand the messages he wished me to receive through the pressure exerted on my arm.  Sometimes he meant for me to stop, and sometimes he wanted me to feel the steps ahead.  He never left my side throughout the whole duration of the exercise.

Because we were making good progress and were often stopping to allow people ahead of me to make some progress before I caught on again, I found my mind wandering.  It was very clear to me what the purpose of the exercise was – that the prospect of progressing in the darkness without apparent instructions may seem scary, but if you dispel your anxiety and quieten down, the signs which will lead you to safety will come to you.  Similarly, the Lord is always with us in every step we take but we often ignore His presence or are unable to feel Him because of our inner chatter and obsession with earthly possessions and desires.  It took just one simple childhood game to open my eyes.  And what a powerful message it was.

I attribute the success of this exercise, at least for me, to my very competent guide.  He persisted in maintaining the silence at all times during the exercise, unlike other guides whom I heard were giving instructions to the charges on the location of the stairs etc.  I never found out who he was, but I would like to thank him from the bottom of my heart.

Thank you.

*  frequently used in Singaporean English, or Singlish.  Derived from the Malay Language.  Commonly used to describe being abused or scolded.

On Closing Doors

A wise counsellor once said to me that
the ability to close some doors,
never to open them again,
is one of the principal signs of maturity.

-  Robert P. Maloney

How true!  This was my one thought when I first came across this phrase at the recent retreat.  The usual phrase we often come by, is that when one door closes, another door opens.  The emphasis has always been to be forward-looking, and with faith, you will find the next open door.

But honestly, how many of us close doors hastily, wishing to quickly move on?  Or worse still, leave the doors ajar so that we can quietly creep back into our old ways, our comfort zone – and hope never to move on?

Me.  I’m guilty of all of the above.  As a result, I have loads of unresolved issues with people and with situations I had no control over.  I hung on tightly to the past, nursing them like babies.  Painful it has been, but I refused to let go.  Feeling the pain is the only way to remind myself that I am still alive.

I grew up a little during the retreat.  I wouldn’t go as far to say that the retreat was life-changing, but it was eye-opening.  And heart-opening.  For the longest time, I thought I knew exactly why I was ‘summoned’ to attend RCIA – that I needed to do some forgiving.  And boy was I in for some rude shock!  Oh yes I needed to learn to forgive, but it was not about forgiving the people I thought I bore grudges against.  Instead I needed to forgive myself because I blamed (and still do blame) myself for every single bad thing that has taken place in my life the past decade, some of them literally life-changing.  If only I were nicer, more sensitive, less petty, more composed… and the list goes on.

The revelation struck me like lightning.  And upon some deep reflection, I realised that I knew it all along but had buried it so rootedly in the depths of my heart I chose to conveniently forget about it.

I am now ready to close the doors to my past, and never to open them again.  Well… almost.  Just one more little hurdle I need to clear and I’m not sure how I should proceed.  I shall say a little prayer tonight, and hopefully I will receive some guidance.

About time to grow up, Genn… about time.

P/S.  This is my 100th post on this blog.  How apt a post to celebrate this milestone!

Giving Up, Almost

Back from the retreat this afternoon, utterly exhausted.  I have not slept well the past 2 nights because the air-conditioning was too warm for the first night, and too cold for the second.  I have grown up to become a difficult person to please.

The first day was an ordeal for me.  Because of the intense heat from the afternoon sun, my cheeks were flushed red and numb for a good few hours.  It wasn’t a good feeling walking around with ‘dead’ cheeks.  There were so many people about and so much cacophony I developed a migraine (think: moi-introvert-need a lot of private space).  To add salt to injury, we were herded into a large auditorium where the personnel leading the Praise & Worship segment thought it prudent to sing into the microphone.  At the top of their voices.

I was at the end of my tether.  If you are a fellow frequent migraine-sufferer, you must understand why.  Migraine = heightened senses. And to start with, I am already ‘blessed’ with very sensitive hearing on normal good days.  But everyone around me seemed to be having a good time, so I concluded I must be the problem.

And then there was the sleeping arrangement I was agonising over.  Prior to leaving for the retreat, I have had asthma attacks every single night for 3 nights consecutively.  Poor hubby had been awaken by my coughing and gasping for air, but could do nothing except watch and hold my hand.  I should have made a trip to the doc’s to get some medication, but time wasn’t on my side.  Unwisely, we made the decision that I should proceed with my plan to attend the retreat.  No doubt there was a resident medical doctor amongst us, but he doesn’t know me and my medical history.  And I agonised that I would wake up my whole dormitory of over 50 Elects should I suffer from an attack during pre-dawn again.

I’m only human – I caved in to my selfish desire and requested to opt out and return home.  And if you know Catholic retreats, you know they will do their best to persuade you to stay on just for a day more.  By the next day, if you request again, they will tell you it’s just one day left.  I knew the game plan, yet fell for it all the same.  But because I told them about my asthma attacks, they very kindly offered to make other sleeping arrangement for me.  My group’s Facilitator cum my Godma offered me the comfort of her single room (so that she could watch over me if I had an attack again), complete with air-conditioning and a bathroom.  After some consideration, I accepted the offer shamefully.  And so, I bunked in with her.

I felt like a total brat.  And I won’t blame you if you think the same of me.

I decided to stay on because of His message for me.  I prayed for some sign, any sign hopefully to allow me to leave the retreat, and I received one when I reached into a basket full of scriptures during one of our exercises.  Based on my limited knowledge (and He probably would have expected me to interpret it as such), I thought I was asked to put up with the situation just as He has put up with me and my nonsense.  I chose to abide by His will.

Ask, and it shall be given unto you; seek, and you shall find.  Personally, this has never been more true.

Am I Ready?

Last week we were asked if we were prepared for the Rite of Election and subsequently Baptism.  I kept quiet while my group’s facilitator and sponsors went round the table asking each of the catechumens present that night.

The fact is, I think I am not.

My admission surprised them because right up till this point, I have not shown any indecision.  They probably put me in the ‘safe’ basket, sure that I would be completing the whole journey.  Truth is, I felt some progress and positive changes in me as I journeyed with this group of people on my RCIA course.  But in recent weeks, I felt that I have regressed much, almost back to the point where I was when I started.

I always tell the hubby that the state of my study is a true reflection of my inner self.  When it is neat and pristine, I am in control of my life; and when it is messy, so is my life.  My study is extremely messy right now, in correlation to how I have neglected my personal and spiritual life in exchange for more time at work to cope with the peak period.  It disturbs me profoundly that I am so prone to reverting to my old self whenever I get trapped in the busy-ness of daily life.

Am I getting the infamous pre-Baptism jitters?

Perhaps.

Is Satan playing games with my mind because I am close to making an informed choice of receiving God into my life, as someone suggested?

Maybe.

All right, I don’t quite know why I feel this way.  I just don’t feel… ready.  There are so many more things to learn about Catholicism.  How did the past 9 months fly by so quickly?  I feel so unprepared I am entertaining thoughts of going through another cycle of RCIA.

And so I told S I will be looking out for signs at the retreat, to help me decide.  I’ve heard so many stories about catechumens going through life-changing experiences during the past retreats which made them determined to go through with the whole process.  Surely our Heavenly Father would reserve a sign for me, the confused one?

In response to my statement, S told me a true life story of a priest:

A Catholic priest-to-be was feeling unsure; he didn’t know if he should proceed to be ordained, or to return to the secular world.  After 7 years of training, these doubts had to surface just days before his ordainment.

While praying in the Adoration Room, he spoke to God and asked for a sign in the form of a rose.  He prayed and prayed in the room, but no rose appeared.

Dejected, he left the room when time was up.  And as he walked along the corridor to congregate with the rest, he met a priest who called out to greet him.

The priest was carrying a folder and the cover was – you might have guessed – the picture of a rose.

I understand what S was trying to tell me, that I shouldn’t bank my decision all on one retreat because with limited time and space, the sign that I desperately need may not appear.  Furthermore we both agree that He works through many ways, sometimes when we least expect it.  In His Time, I was reminded yet again.

I will be going through the Rite of Election in slightly over 12 hours’ time.  And the name will be Genevieve Inez.  Inez won by a vote of 6 to 5.

Oh yes, I won’t be around the next weekend.  Will be going for the retreat where I will still be looking out for a sign.  But I have posts scheduled for the 3 days so you probably won’t notice anything amiss.

Don’t miss me ya?

Is It Wrong?

For Christians to gamble, that is.

This topic was inspired because I talked about wishing to try my luck at the $10 Million Hong Bao Draw and someone asked if I should, being a Christian and all.  I didn’t strike Toto, by the way.  And even if I did, I wouldn’t be telling here.  So maybe I did.  Your guess is as good as anyone else’s haha.

Back to the topic.  Based on the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC),

2413 Games of chance (card games, etc.) or wagers are not in themselves contrary to justice.  They become morally unacceptable when they deprive someone of what is necessary to provide for his needs and those of others.  The passion for gambling risks becoming an enslavement.  Unfair wagers and cheating at games constitute grave matter, unless the damage inflicted is so slight that the one who suffers it cannot reasonably consider it significant.

As with most other things, gambling is not inherently evil, but it does have the potential to become evil if one gambles with someone else’s money, borrows to sustain the habit, or neglects one’s duties as a parent/child to the family.  And as with most other things, anything done in excess is bad.

Moderation is the key.

Many think that Christians should not gamble, as told by their pastors or Christian friends.  I do not know and therefore cannot speak for the other denominations, but even before looking up the CCC, I’d already decided that it is ok because my conscience tells me so.  Father Gerard had also, in one of our RCIA classes, said that it’s ok to buy 4D or Toto once in a while.  Considering that the number of times I do so is limited to the number of fingers I have on one hand, I hardly think that could even surface as a problem.

And just in case anyone is confused, Roman Catholics are Christians.  Please don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.