A Spring Journey
Ash Wednesday, 1 March 2006
Do you recall your earliest memory of visiting a church? Did you think of it as a place the family went to, once a week, or when was your earliest realisation where you felt the urge to visit one because it is the sanctuary of God?
I was baptised on 11 October 1964, ten days after I was born at Kadang Kerbau Hospital, just a few years before that maternity hospital in Singapore could lay claim to fame in the Guinness Book of World Records for the greatest number of maternity deliveries in a single year. I believe that record still stands, and remains the novel reason why a portion of the hospital complex is preserved as a national monument. Fortunately, the new KK Women’s and Children’s Hospital located at the adjacent road (Kampong Java Road) and by a small pond is a splendid architectural tribute and modern facility.
My baptism was at the small countryside church of Our Lady of Fatima, and the presiding priest was Rev. Fr. Thomas Pasquale, MEP, after whom I was named. Italian, and conversant in Chinese, he is now located in Taiwan, where I have tried once to see him, and all I was able to do was go to his parish church in the city but he was not there.
His name is of some interest to contemplate: for Thomas is the Aramaic name of which the Apostle had the nickname “Didymus” which meant, “twin”, supposedly suggesting that he was one of twins born. It was this same Apostle who was not around when Jesus appeared to the other apostles after his death, and when told of his appearance, the doubtful apostle exclaimed:
“Unless I can see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe.” (John 20:25)
Eight days later, Jesus appeared among them again, in the enclosed room, and the doubtful Thomas was able to verify the glorious resurrection of the Lord himself. The best thing to have ever come out of this incident was his profession of faith, which for me – is a pinnacle of faith expressed as witness to the Glory of Jesus, Son of Man, as Divine Lord: “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28)
Apart from Simon Peter’s great profession of Jesus as “the Christ, Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16), I think there have been no other great revelation about the person and nature of Jesus.
When you read of the development of Christology (the theology about the nature of Christ) in the first five centuries, you realise that the apostolic faith among the early Christian churches were exclusively certain about these aspects of Jesus person and nature. There was no doubt about the authority in heaven and on earth which has been given to Jesus (Matthew 28:18), and from this power, Jesus commissioned his followers to “make disciples of all nations: baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands I gave you. And look, I am with you always; yes, to the end of time.” (Matthew 28:19-20)
Firstly, what is striking about this final commission is the authority with which it is given, a command, really, and the tone is almost similar to that when Jesus exerts his ministerial power over evil present in the people or over the hypocrisy of the religious authorities.
Second, is the specific requirement to be faithful, to observe, to keep what has been taught, in this case, by Jesus own oral teaching. The very nature of the apostolic church is evident here, which means “to be sent” in Greek, was taken from this passage in the gospel of Matthew. It follows that the nature of authority within this apostolic church was to preserve these oral traditions (παpαδόσεις – paradosis) or teachings which were taught to them by Jesus and handed down to them by word of mouth or by letters. (2 Thessalonians 2:15)
Thirdly, is the Divine guarantee of his presence, “in the same way” (Acts 1:11), that Jesus is with us through the passing of the world. The mystery of the resurrected Jesus in body and presence is celebrated by those of Catholic faith today in the Eucharist, where space and time has no relevance, and we enjoy this foretaste of heaven by being present with the Lord and in communion with His Life (cf. John 6:53ff).
I cannot remember anything of my own infant baptism of course, but my earliest memories of being at that small wood, brick and zinc church was when I was just three or four years old. The white interior, cardboard white-washed walls, the altar and sanctuary area, the tiny doorway to the sacristy, the statue of Our Lady of Fatima behind the altar, the stations of the cross, the ceiling fans and flourescent lights, the wood door posts and porch of the church, the pews and cement floor, etc. I remember distinctly Fr. Pasquale in vestmests, the altar boys with their censers.
But it would be a Good Friday service where the Stations of the Cross devotions were prayed that my clearest and most complete memories of this church were stamped. For one thing, I tried very hard to follow the whole pious process of kneeling, standing and kneeling, which even to this day, I admit it is an agony of endurance.
I tried to follow the chants and singing, and words, and these were all to be stamped in my memory forever. I think if I was in a coma, it would do well to have the Rosary and the Stations of the Cross prayed piously next to my ears, and if I did not awake, I do not think my earthly senses will respond, perhaps except for the singing of “Down in Adoration” (Thomas Aquinas’ “Tantum Ergo”, from the “Pange Lingua”) in English, or the Regina Caeli in subg Latin. These would immediately sound familiar to me, even in the most unfamiliar spaces.
That would be my earliest memory of being in a church. Upto my youth, I would accompany my parents to church or have it scheduled (catechism classes or devotional meetings). And so as far as I know, I never found myself deliberately altering my course to enter a church or chapel for my own volition because of opportunity until I was old enough to make my way.
But I have a unique memory in all this. For once, after my communion catechism at the meeting room of the Jurong West parish church of St. Francis Assisi, located then at Gek Poh Road, I was early dismissed and my father had not come in his Mini to fetch me home. Usually, if I was with my brother, we would run around the church compound, among the flower pots, field, fence, peering into the fresh new drains, and because of the spanking newness of the church, I would wander and wonder at the architectural elements, not knowing then what some aspects of the edifice might mean. There was one time, for some reason, when I felt drawn inside the empty church, and I went in from the side door near the sacristy and ended up on the right side, second or third pew, and there prayed. I think it was the cool cosy atmosphere inside, with the little palms in pots around the tabernacle, and in particular, the bright “living” flame in the red lamp that gave it a certain glow and peace.
These are my earliest memories and as corporeal as I can get, about being in church, as a space. This start of Lent 2006, on Ash Wednesday, found myself reflecting on my own covenant with God, through my Baptism. Perhaps because I happened to see my Godmother Aunt Elsie who was at the first right pew at Mass, and remembered to include her and my late Godfather Lawrence Chew in prayer.
In any case, through Baptism, I entered the church – the living mystical body of Jesus. It is like a great cool spring of life giving water welling up for a parched soul. When I go out for my long runs in the afternoon, the sun and humidity bears down very hard on my skin and body. Like army recruits training in the heat, all the mind can think of is the salvation of cool fresh water from the fountain at some rest point. As I renewed my Baptismal covenant today, I felt the reality of my soul being just as refreshed as one parched and hot, relishing the coolest spring of life.
Do you recall your earliest memory of visiting a church? Did you think of it as a place the family went to, once a week, or when was your earliest realisation where you felt the urge to visit one because it is the sanctuary of God?
I was baptised on 11 October 1964, ten days after I was born at Kadang Kerbau Hospital, just a few years before that maternity hospital in Singapore could lay claim to fame in the Guinness Book of World Records for the greatest number of maternity deliveries in a single year. I believe that record still stands, and remains the novel reason why a portion of the hospital complex is preserved as a national monument. Fortunately, the new KK Women’s and Children’s Hospital located at the adjacent road (Kampong Java Road) and by a small pond is a splendid architectural tribute and modern facility.
My baptism was at the small countryside church of Our Lady of Fatima, and the presiding priest was Rev. Fr. Thomas Pasquale, MEP, after whom I was named. Italian, and conversant in Chinese, he is now located in Taiwan, where I have tried once to see him, and all I was able to do was go to his parish church in the city but he was not there.
His name is of some interest to contemplate: for Thomas is the Aramaic name of which the Apostle had the nickname “Didymus” which meant, “twin”, supposedly suggesting that he was one of twins born. It was this same Apostle who was not around when Jesus appeared to the other apostles after his death, and when told of his appearance, the doubtful apostle exclaimed:
“Unless I can see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe.” (John 20:25)
Eight days later, Jesus appeared among them again, in the enclosed room, and the doubtful Thomas was able to verify the glorious resurrection of the Lord himself. The best thing to have ever come out of this incident was his profession of faith, which for me – is a pinnacle of faith expressed as witness to the Glory of Jesus, Son of Man, as Divine Lord: “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28)
Apart from Simon Peter’s great profession of Jesus as “the Christ, Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16), I think there have been no other great revelation about the person and nature of Jesus.
When you read of the development of Christology (the theology about the nature of Christ) in the first five centuries, you realise that the apostolic faith among the early Christian churches were exclusively certain about these aspects of Jesus person and nature. There was no doubt about the authority in heaven and on earth which has been given to Jesus (Matthew 28:18), and from this power, Jesus commissioned his followers to “make disciples of all nations: baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands I gave you. And look, I am with you always; yes, to the end of time.” (Matthew 28:19-20)
Firstly, what is striking about this final commission is the authority with which it is given, a command, really, and the tone is almost similar to that when Jesus exerts his ministerial power over evil present in the people or over the hypocrisy of the religious authorities.
Second, is the specific requirement to be faithful, to observe, to keep what has been taught, in this case, by Jesus own oral teaching. The very nature of the apostolic church is evident here, which means “to be sent” in Greek, was taken from this passage in the gospel of Matthew. It follows that the nature of authority within this apostolic church was to preserve these oral traditions (παpαδόσεις – paradosis) or teachings which were taught to them by Jesus and handed down to them by word of mouth or by letters. (2 Thessalonians 2:15)
Thirdly, is the Divine guarantee of his presence, “in the same way” (Acts 1:11), that Jesus is with us through the passing of the world. The mystery of the resurrected Jesus in body and presence is celebrated by those of Catholic faith today in the Eucharist, where space and time has no relevance, and we enjoy this foretaste of heaven by being present with the Lord and in communion with His Life (cf. John 6:53ff).
I cannot remember anything of my own infant baptism of course, but my earliest memories of being at that small wood, brick and zinc church was when I was just three or four years old. The white interior, cardboard white-washed walls, the altar and sanctuary area, the tiny doorway to the sacristy, the statue of Our Lady of Fatima behind the altar, the stations of the cross, the ceiling fans and flourescent lights, the wood door posts and porch of the church, the pews and cement floor, etc. I remember distinctly Fr. Pasquale in vestmests, the altar boys with their censers.
But it would be a Good Friday service where the Stations of the Cross devotions were prayed that my clearest and most complete memories of this church were stamped. For one thing, I tried very hard to follow the whole pious process of kneeling, standing and kneeling, which even to this day, I admit it is an agony of endurance.
I tried to follow the chants and singing, and words, and these were all to be stamped in my memory forever. I think if I was in a coma, it would do well to have the Rosary and the Stations of the Cross prayed piously next to my ears, and if I did not awake, I do not think my earthly senses will respond, perhaps except for the singing of “Down in Adoration” (Thomas Aquinas’ “Tantum Ergo”, from the “Pange Lingua”) in English, or the Regina Caeli in subg Latin. These would immediately sound familiar to me, even in the most unfamiliar spaces.
That would be my earliest memory of being in a church. Upto my youth, I would accompany my parents to church or have it scheduled (catechism classes or devotional meetings). And so as far as I know, I never found myself deliberately altering my course to enter a church or chapel for my own volition because of opportunity until I was old enough to make my way.
But I have a unique memory in all this. For once, after my communion catechism at the meeting room of the Jurong West parish church of St. Francis Assisi, located then at Gek Poh Road, I was early dismissed and my father had not come in his Mini to fetch me home. Usually, if I was with my brother, we would run around the church compound, among the flower pots, field, fence, peering into the fresh new drains, and because of the spanking newness of the church, I would wander and wonder at the architectural elements, not knowing then what some aspects of the edifice might mean. There was one time, for some reason, when I felt drawn inside the empty church, and I went in from the side door near the sacristy and ended up on the right side, second or third pew, and there prayed. I think it was the cool cosy atmosphere inside, with the little palms in pots around the tabernacle, and in particular, the bright “living” flame in the red lamp that gave it a certain glow and peace.
These are my earliest memories and as corporeal as I can get, about being in church, as a space. This start of Lent 2006, on Ash Wednesday, found myself reflecting on my own covenant with God, through my Baptism. Perhaps because I happened to see my Godmother Aunt Elsie who was at the first right pew at Mass, and remembered to include her and my late Godfather Lawrence Chew in prayer.
In any case, through Baptism, I entered the church – the living mystical body of Jesus. It is like a great cool spring of life giving water welling up for a parched soul. When I go out for my long runs in the afternoon, the sun and humidity bears down very hard on my skin and body. Like army recruits training in the heat, all the mind can think of is the salvation of cool fresh water from the fountain at some rest point. As I renewed my Baptismal covenant today, I felt the reality of my soul being just as refreshed as one parched and hot, relishing the coolest spring of life.
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