I have minted a new word from the Sunday pulpit: “fifany”. This is the season of Pentecost. So over the last few Sundays we have been preaching about the Holy Spirit and people’s encounters with Him. We planned a series of sermons that will cover Acts 1, 2, 8, 9 and 10. Last Sunday I was preaching Acts 8, about what happens when the Holy Spirit comes, as seen through the eyes of Simon the sorcerer. I mentioned to the church that the word “simony” comes from this story. Simony is the buying of religious office and positions. Bribes are given, lands are given, money is given and in exchange someone gets appointed a bishop, or archbishop or some other position of power and influence. During the dark ages such positions yielded power and wealth and thus are coveted. Simon the sorcerer saw the Holy Spirit’s amazing power given with the laying of hands and it so impressed him he wanted to buy that
God given grace from the apostle Peter and John. Peter scolded him, “To hell with your money! And you along with it. Why, that’s unthinkable—trying to buy God’s gift! You’ll never be part of what God is doing by striking bargains and offering bribes. Change your ways—and now! Ask the Master to forgive you for trying to use God to make money. I can see this is an old habit with you; you reek with money-lust.” Then I mentioned about “fifany” – in FIFA the world’s federation of associations that control international football. In FIFA bribes were used to buy votes so that a country could host the World Cup. Everybody suspects it but now the FBI from USA is investigating it. The country least interested in football is going to do the rest of the world that is crazy about football a very big favour: catch the crooks and surgically remove the cancerous organs. I wish them success. Remember this word: “fifany”.
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The Sabah earthquake and the tremble of mighty Mt Kinabalu shocked and struck many chords within me. I love trekking that mountain. As a pastor I have led three church groups (20-40 members each time), of young people and families mainly from eleven years old to over fifty. To hear of news of the Sabah quake and the deaths of young climbers aged 12, and teachers of Tanjong Katong Primary School is deeply sad and disturbing. I was a teacher before, and I am a parent too, and I understand to some extent a parent’s heartbreak for I have lost a child before.
The pointing of fingers have started. People blaming the “angmohs” for disrespectfully posing naked and peeing on the sacred mountain and invoking the wrath of the gods. People blaming the school, the Ministry of Education and impersonal policies and decision making processes. Parents blaming each other and themselves. This is not the time for all these. Not the time.
Writer Ovidia Yu posted this in her Facebook:
So long as we live, they too shall live,
For they are now a part of us,
As we remember them.
Poet, writer, artist, social commentator Gwee Li Sui posted a haiku on Facebook:
Haiku to the Sabah Quake Victims
———-
As you sought to reach
the sky, it rained down boulders.
Nature has wronged you.
A church member Cynthia Koe posted in her Facebook:
In times like this it is not about what to say but what should not be said.
A time like this is a feel moment not a word moment. A listening moment not an encouraging moment.
Mourning takes time and a hand to hold not a ” aww, it is ok” hug time. Let them share their loved ones’ stories and lets hear with tears as they say their last goodbyes.
What she said is true and it inspired me to write a Haiku on my Facebook account:
Not the time for blame
But for tears and holding hands
For grief to mend hearts
So it was good that the Tanjong Katong Primary School opened it grounds for its school community to grieve.
It was good that the Ministry of Education mobilized its counselors to help survivors and classmates of the departed to grieve and process the trauma.
It was good that the government declared a day of mourning today: flags flown at half-mast, a minute of silence at all South East Asia Games venue before the start of events.
We need to pray for TKGS and all the bereaved families. It will be very very painful for them in the coming months. No, years.
I had been preparing the messages and workshops for a Methodist church retreat in June. It is a preached retreat to introduce fervent evangelicals to a few spiritual disciplines and spiritual formation. The topics include Slowing down, Silence, The six stages of the life of faith, Journey through he wall, The review of the day (examen), Devotional reading (lectio divina). I was preparing the talks, the Powerpoint and collecting material. Then I chanced upon this beautiful poem in Chee Soo Lian’s Facebook entry. As is often the case, the Lord has his way of bringing suitable materials to help me teach. This is a poem by Pablo Neruda, Nobel prize winning poet and writer. In one of the sessions in the preached retreat I will lead the people into a great silence or grand silence – a lengthy period of keeping quiet usually practised in the monastery. Imagine young people doing this! I will use this poem as a summons to launch the grand silence.
KEEPING QUIET
by Pablo NerudaNow we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.For once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.