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Freedom in Surrender

Freedom in Surrender Homily delivered by Fr. Bien Emmanuel C. Cruz, SJ 15 June 2026; Monday of the 11th Sunday of Ordinary Time (1 Kings 21:1-16 and Matthew 5:38-42)Cenacle Retreat House My dear brothers and sisters, the Word of God today presents two sharply contrasting visions of the human heart. In the first reading, we encounter King Ahab, who sees Nabothā€™s vineyard and desires it for himself. He is not in need, yet what belongs to another awakens a desire that quickly becomes entitlement. When Naboth refusesā€”faithful to his inheritance and to the law of Godā€”Ahab does not accept limitation. His desire turns into resentment, and resentment opens the door to injustice. What begins as wanting ends in the violent taking of what was never his to claim. This is more than an ancient political story. It is a revelation of the human heart when it forgets God. It is what happens when desire is no longer shaped by gratitude, when power is no longer guided by responsibility, and when possession is no longer restrained by moral limits. It is the logic of grasping: if I want it, I should have it; if I can take it, it is mine. In the Gospel, Jesus presents a radically different horizon. ā€œTurn the other cheek.ā€ ā€œGive to the one who asks of you.ā€ These are not calls to passivity or weakness. They reveal a deeper strengthā€”the freedom of one who is no longer ruled by the need to dominate, retaliate, or control outcomes. The disciple of Christ is not powerless, but free: free from revenge, free from the anxiety of possession, free from the need to settle every wrong by force or repayment. Both readings place before us a fundamental question: what kind of person are we becoming in the face of desire and injury? Do we become like Ahabā€”consumed by what we lack and willing to overstep moral boundaries to obtain it? Or do we become like the disciple Jesus envisionsā€”rooted in trust, capable of generosity, and free enough to step outside the cycle of grasping and retaliation? The world teaches a different grammar. It tells us that life is secured through accumulation: more possessions, more achievements, more control over the future. It tells us that relationships are governed by exchange: I give so that I may receive, I help so that I may be helped, I forgive if it is deserved. It is a world of balance sheets and measured reciprocity. But the Gospel quietly disrupts this entire logic. Jesus reveals a life where love is not calculated, forgiveness is not conditional, and generosity is not measured. This is not irresponsibility. It is a deeper freedom grounded in trust in God. Here we meet one of the deepest paradoxes of the spiritual life: to be full, we must first be emptied. We often think fulfillment comes from holding more tightly, securing more guarantees, and controlling more of life. Yet the Gospelā€”and the experience of faithā€”reveals the opposite. God fills not what is full, but what is open. This emptiness is not nothingness. It is not despair or loss of identity. It is surrender. It is the interior act of releasing our grip on what we thought we needed so that God may give what we truly need. We surrender our plans, not because planning is wrong, but because our plans are often too small for what God is doing. We surrender our expectations, not because hope is futile, but because Godā€™s generosity exceeds imagination. We surrender control, not because life is chaotic, but because providence is deeper than our calculations. As long as our hands are clenched around our own desires, there is little space for grace. But when we open themā€”even in uncertaintyā€”we discover that what felt like loss becomes the very place of receiving. This is not only a theological idea; it is also a lived experience. Recently, I received my first pastoral assignment as a priest. I was assigned as Assistant Parish Priest in a small mission parish in the mountains of Bukidnon under the Jesuit missions. It came unexpectedly, without warning or preparation. None of the plans I had quietly formed seemed to apply anymore. At first, there was disorientation. What I thought would be my path suddenly shifted. It felt like something had been taken away. But in time, what seemed like interruption revealed itself as invitation. What felt like loss became the beginning of something deeper. I can now only see it with gratitude: God did not follow my plans; He led me beyond them. There, I began to understand more clearly that God is not competing with our control. He is not waiting for us to get everything right before He acts. Rather, He draws us into His wisdom, often by loosening our grip on our own. What feels like uncertainty can become the beginning of true freedom. It became an opportunity to surrender. And in that surrender, I learned something essential: God does not fill what is already full. He fills what is empty. He does not work on the logic of exchange or ā€œquid pro quo.ā€ His generosity is not transactional. It is overflowing, excessive, and beyond calculation. God is never outdone in generosity. Every gift we offer has already been preceded by His gift. Every act of love is a response to a love that came first. Every surrender is met not with deprivation, but with deeper life. God does not simply return what we give; He transforms it and multiplies it. Seen in this light, Ahabā€™s tragedy becomes clearer. He cannot accept limits because he does not trust abundance. He believes what he lacks must be taken, because he does not believe it will be given. His grasping becomes his prison. Jesus, on the other hand, reveals the path to true freedom: not the freedom to take what we want, but the freedom to release what we cannot control; not the freedom of possession, but the freedom of

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“Jesus wept.”

“Jesus wept.” A homily delivered by Fr Mamert Manus, SJ | Anticipated Sunday Mass Fifth Week of Lent 2026 There is a very short verse in the Gospel that we often pass over quickly, but today it stands at the center of everything: ā€œJesus wept.ā€ Before the miracle, before the command, before Lazarus walks out of the tombā€”Jesus weeps. In the story from the Gospel of John, Jesus does not rush to fix the situation. He first enters into it. He stands before the grief of Martha and Mary, before the confusion, the loss, the silence of deathā€”and He allows Himself to feel it. This tells us something deeply consoling: God is not distant from our pain. He does not wait for us to be strong before coming near. He meets us exactly where we areā€”in our grief, in our disappointment, even in the quiet places we try to hide from others. For many of us, that is where Lent truly begins. Because Lent is not only about what we give up. It is about what we finally allow ourselves to face: the parts of our lives that feel lifeless, relationships that have grown cold, or the burdens we carry quietly, like stones sealed over a tomb. And it is precisely there that Jesus comesā€”not with immediate answers, but with presence. He weeps with us. He stays with us. He meets us where we are. Exactly where we are. But the Gospel account does not end there. Standing before the tomb, Jesus cries out: ā€œLazarus, come out!ā€ And the dead man comes outā€”still wrapped, still bound, still needing help. And then Jesus says: ā€œUntie him and let him go.ā€ Jesus raises Lazarusā€”but others are called to unbind him. And this is where the Gospel turns toward us. For our lay sisters and brothers hereā€”families, professionals, young peopleā€”this is your daily mission. You are called to notice where people are still bound: by fear, by failure or by loneliness or doubt. Sometimes, the most life-giving thing we can do is not dramatic. It is simply to help ā€œunbindā€ another person: by listening without judgment; by forgiving when it is difficult; or staying when it is easier to walk away, when it is easier to turn away. And for the religious amongst us here, this mission takes on an even deeper meaning. Our vocation is a living witness that the resurrection is realā€”that a life given to God becomes a life given for others. In our communities, in our ministries, in our quiet fidelity, we are called to be signs of this unbinding: helping others experience the freedom and dignity that come only from God. But here is the humility that the Gospel also invites us to: all of us are both Lazarus, still bound, still unfree; at the same time, we are also the ones called to unbind and free others. There are parts of our lives where we are still in the tomb. And there are moments when God invites us to help others step out of theirs. This is the journey of Lent. It is a journey from death to lifeā€”but not in one dramatic moment, not in one fell swoop. It happens slowly: each time we allow Christ to enter our wounds; each time we hear His voice calling out to us and we respond; each time we help another person breathe a little more freely. And so perhaps today we can ask: Where is the place in my life where Jesus is weeping with me? And who is the person He is asking me to help unbind? Because the same voice that called Lazarus from the tomb is still speaking, still calling. And when we allow ourselves to hear itā€”and when we help others respond to itā€” then even now, even here, we begin to see what Lent has been leading us to all along: that no tomb is final, no life is beyond reach, and that in Christ, we are always being calledā€”gently, patientlyā€”from death into life. Into fullness of life.

General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Making Love For God Visible

Making Love For God Visible A homily delivered by Fr. John Chong, SJ on Friday of the Third Week of Lent 13 March 2026 Friday of 3rd Week of Lent. March 13, 2026  A scribe once asked Jesus, ā€œWhich is the first of all the commandments?ā€ Jesus answered, ā€œThe Lord our God is Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.ā€ And then he added, ā€œThe second is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.ā€ When I listen to Jesusā€™ answer, something strikes me as interesting. The scribe asked for the first commandment. Normally, when we ask a question like that, we expect just one answer. But Jesus gives two. Why did he do that? That is what I would like to reflect on today. But first, let us ask why this question matters at all. Sometimes different commandments can seem to pull us in different directions. For example, we are told to keep the Sabbath holy. We are also told to honor our father and mother. But imagine that your parents are seriously ill and need care on a Sunday. In that situation, those two commandments might seem to conflict. At moments like that, we need to know the deeper principle behind all the commandments. What is the heart of them all? If the heart of every commandment is love, then when two commandments appear to clash, love helps us decide what to do. Now let us return to our original question. Why did Jesus give two commandments when he was asked one? It seems that, in the mind of Jesus, these two cannot be separated. And it is his conviction. Because this was clearly a conviction he had reflected on for a long time. Love of God by itself can become empty. Love of neighbor by itself can lose its direction. Love of God that does not show itself in love for our neighbor becomes hollow. Our love for God must take flesh in our love for others. Thatā€™s why Jesus agrees clearly with what the scribe said: ā€œTo love your neighbor as yourself is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.ā€ The theologian Karl Rahner called this the principle of simultaneity. In this world we cannot love God while excluding our neighbor, and we cannot truly love our neighbor while excluding God. When we love God, we are at the same time loving our neighbor. And when we truly love our neighbor, we are also loving God. Our neighbor becomes the path and the channel through which our love for God becomes real. ā€œTo love your neighbor as yourself is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.ā€ Today these words may sound familiar to us. But in the time of Jesus, they must have sounded quite revolutionary. They remind us of the words of Pope Francis: ā€œI prefer a Church that is bruised, hurting, and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church that is unhealthy from being closed in and concerned only with its own security.ā€ So today, let us ask for the grace to live this commandment. May this day be a day when our love for God becomes visible in the way we love the people around us.

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The Gift of an International Experience: Faith Alive!

The Gift of an International Experience: Faith Alive! A Reflection by Sr. Xiaowei Li, rc A particular aspect of formative experience prior to my final vows, that of living with a Cenacle community outside of my region, had to be postponed due to the pandemic. I was glad that it was finally possible to do so in September of 2025 and that I would be with our Sisters in Kremlin BicĆŖtre (KB for short). These are some highlights that stay with me. Living interculturally ā€“ challenges and joys Just when I thought that I was already living in a multicultural community in Cebu, the Sisters in KB community also come from diverse cultural backgrounds ā€“ different parts of France, Togo and Madagascar. I was certainly challenged to understand French better (and with different accents too!). Thankfully, the Sisters adapted to my lack of the language and would often check on my understanding and translate or speak English with me.  I was happy to have also been included in the community meetings and to participate in the common life of the community. Knowing that I would need Asian ingredients, I was introduced to the Asian food stores in Paris. All the Sisters in KB cooked really well (and really fast)! It was challenging for me to learn to keep up, but I enjoyed myself sharing some Asian dishes and tasting cuisines of different origins too. One aspect of life in the community that struck me was the way in which the community expressed hospitality. I experienced several times in which the community had welcomed their collaborators, friends, parish dormers and neighbours for a meal. I also find such grace and joy to witness not just the creativity among the Sisters, but also the support that the Sisters show to each other and adapt to one another. Despite my poor language skills, I felt at home and deeply grateful to have experienced the Cenacle in KB.  Accompaniment I am thankful that I also had the opportunities to share time and meals with the other communities in and around Paris, and Lyon! Something which moved me very much was the various moments when the Sisters would offer to accompany me to the train stations (for fear that I might get lost) or to visit various places. For someone who had been so used to being independent and going alone, such experiences stand out for me. I felt thankful for these gracious and sincere gestures – they not only assured me that I do not have to walk alone, they also showed me that they are one with me.  Celebrations It was providential that my time in France coincided with various celebrations and occasions for gatherings. A few days after I arrived, the community had an outing to La Ferme de Gally to mark Sister Yoannaā€™s 40th birthday. We welcomed a Togolese postulant soon after. We then joined the Montmartre community for the celebration of the Feast of Mother ThĆ©rĆØse with the Sisters from Versailles community. I was also happy to get to meet 2 Sisters from the UK at the celebration.  I was able to attend the 10th anniversary mass of the CrĆ©teil diocese Cathedral, Notre Dame de CrĆ©teil. The diocese had existed since 1966 but the new Cathedral building was erected in 2015. It was an architectural and engineering marvel that there are absolutely no columns inside the cathedral! (Click here to see/know more.) Beyond just a celebration of the construction of a building, the event had also highlighted how alive the faith of the diocese was with an outreach exhibition showcasing the various movements, organizations and groups in the diocese. Encounters I also had various opportunities to go with and observe the KB Sisters for some of their apostolic services which included spiritual accompaniment/ formation and youth ministries in the CrĆ©teil Diocesan Center and in the Jesuit-run Magis Network, catechism to children and other involvements at the Holy Family Parish and at St. Ignatius Church, and with various lay groups (eg. Faith and Light, Fidei), etc.  Among those encounters, some of the young adults had left an impression on me – it was a joy to witness their openness and to hear their faith experiences, their passions and questions about faith and life. I was happy to hear that there is a growing number of catechumens in Paris and a number of them are young people! My time in Paris also coincided with the end of the summer holiday which also marked the beginning of the apostolic and school year.  There was such a burst of activities for young people in Paris! The mass for students at the biggest Church in Paris (St. Sulpice) was packed with 3000 students! There was also a 3-day evangelical Mission Congress that was organized by lay missionaries and Catholic/Christian communities (eg. Emmanuel, Chemin Neuf) in Paris. I was able to attend the youth gathering at the Accor Arena on its final evening with Sister Nathalie. The stadium was filled and the young people (ahem, as well as the young at heart) spent an evening of praise, of listening to testimonies through various forms and an input. The program also included a time of adoration and they even had a round of ā€˜holy gameā€™ of judo between 2 Christian judokas before they came up on stage to be part of a panel of sportsmen and women for an interview. Apparently, the theme of the evening was ā€˜Fight the good fightā€™. (Click here to watch on youtube.). Despite not being able to understand most of what was said, the energy and excitement of faith among the participants were certainly palpable! I was also rather struck by how eager the various institutions and movements were to organize outreach exhibitions and open house during that time. These were opportunities to share about their ministries and to attract participants.  I was also happy to hear that some parishes in Paris are able to provide lodging and pastoral care to students/workers from outside Paris. I

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Courtesy Visit with Archbishop Albert Uy

Courtesy Visit with Cebu Archbishop Albert Uy Sr Linda Lizada, rc and Sr Malen Java, rc had a courtesy visit with our 5-month old archbishop, Abet Uy. It was a very friendly exchange, recalling his Cenacle connection when he was a student-priest in Loyola School of Theology and he would say Mass in Barangka and the retreat house in Quezon City. He fondly remembers Sr. Lily Quintos, rc who was his mentor.Ā 

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Cenacle Bicentenary Launching Ritual

š‚š„ššš² ššš§š š†šØš„š: šŠš¢š§š­š¬š®š š¢ š‘š¢š­š®ššš„ (This ritual was held right after the Launching Mass on 1 February 2026.) In this ritual, as we offered our prayers for the shattered parts of our world, we did not simply repair the broken jar. We reassembled it, piece by piece, as a visible sign of our prayer. Each prayer became a petition for God’s healing graceā€”the sacred goldā€”to mend a specific rupture in our human family. As one Cenacle Sister read a prayer, another placed a broken piece onto the jar. Each action represented a particular form of brokenness in our world: ā€¢ā  ā For War-Torn Areas ā€¢ā  ā For Refugees and Migrants workers ā€¢ā  ā For Our Common Home ā€¢ā  ā For the Displaced ā€¢ā  ā Against Structural Injustices and Abuse of Power We continue to pray for our ruptured world, trusting that our fractures can become vessels of grace, resilience, and beauty. We are invited not to turn away from brokenness, but to face it with hope and to see in every fracture a potential vein of gold, and in every wound an invitation to healing.

General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Memorial of Saint Paul Miki and Companions, Martyrs

Memorial of Saint Paul Miki and Companions, Martyrs Homily delivered by Fr. John Chong, SJ Today we commemorate the Twenty-Six Martyrs of Japan. When persecution began in January 1597, twenty-four people six foreigners, fifteen Japanese Franciscans, and three Jesuits-were forced to march from Kyoto through various regions all the way to Nagasaki (850 km). The intention was to warn the people that this would be the fate of anyone who believed in Catholicism. Along the way, there were two companions. When officials asked them whether they were Catholics and they answered that they were, they too were added to the procession, bringing the total to twenty-six. On February 5, 1597, they were crucified on a hill overlooking the city of Nagasaki, where Catholicism had been most flourishing. In Japan, February 5 is observed as the feast of the martyrs. However, in the General Roman Calendar, since it coincides with the memorial of Saint Agatha, their feast is celebrated on February 6. As we offer this Mass, let us honor the faith of the martyrs who gave their lives for their belief. With gratitude for our own faith, let us renew our commitment to live it more faithfully. In Shusaku Endo’s novel “Silence”, various methods of torture are described. Victims were branded with hot irons, their limbs were cut off with saws, and boiling water from sulfur springs was poured over their bodies. Some were put to death by crucifixion, as the Twenty-Six Martyrs were, while others were tied to crosses set up along the seashore, where they drowned when the tide came in. One particularly brutal method of torture, known as ana-tsurushi, involved binding the entire body with ropes and suspending the person upside down in a pit. A small hole was made in the forehead or temple so that blood would drip out slowly, causing death over time. During this period of persecution, many believers fled to the Philippines or Macao, while others went into hiding in various parts of Japan, concealing their faith as they struggled to survive. The Christians who lived in hiding were called Hidden Christians, or Kakure Kirishitan. For nearly two hundred years, they preserved the faith handed down from their parents, holding on to it in hope and waiting for the day when freedom would be restored. About three hours by ferry from Nagasaki lie the Goto Islands. They are breathtakingly beautiful. To think that such a tragic history unfolded in a place of such beauty reminds us of the deep irony of human life. On the Goto Islands, there are fifty mission stations. From just one of these parishes, it is said that two bishops and an entire busload of priests and sisters have emerged. At last, in 1865, the Japanese government permitted religious freedom in order to engage in trade with Western nations. When Missionaries with white beards appeared in Nagasaki, the people recognized them. Just as they had been told by their ancestors, they asked three questions: Do you honor the Blessed Virgin Mary? Do you marry? Do you follow the liturgical calendar? When the answer to all three questions was “Yes,” they declared, “Our hears are the same as yours, Father.” They then asked where the statue of the Blessed Virgin was. When they were led to her statue, they knelt down and prayed, it was the moment when the chains of two hundred years were finally broken. Now it is our turn. We are living in a world very different from theirs. What, then, can we learn from the martyrs? I have reflected on three points. First, the martyrs make it unmistakably clear that our faith is not a hobby or a mere decoration of life. They testify that faith can be a value so serious that it is worth one’s very life. Do you agree with this? Giving a testimony for justice and right, it means death as shown in today’s Gospel. Let us ask ourselves honestly. Second, the martyrs died not only to defend their faith, but also to uphold human dignity and the value of conscience. Human conscience is an inviolable domain. By laying down their lives, the martyrs bore witness to the truth that every human person possesses the freedom of conscience. Again, we find a good example in St. John, the Baptist. Third, The martyrs bore witness to their love for God and neighbor even in the face of persecution. They were in a situation where there was no other choice. Their fundamental motivation was not a hatred of the world or of life, but a profound love for God, for others, for life itself, for conscience, and for human dignity. Likewise, if we love God, our neighbors, and life, and respect conscience and human dignity in our daily lives, we live in unity with the martyrs. Let us, today. give thanks to the martyrs and strive to put love into practice in our own lives.

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