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The Extravagant God (Parable of the Seeds and the Sower)

Homily of Fr. Eric Genilo, SJ @Cenacle Retreat House, Sept 22, 2018 In the parable of the sower in our gospel, we notice something curious. The sower seems to scatter seeds indiscriminately. Not only do some of the seeds fall on fertile soil, some fall also on rocky or thorny soil. Normally, a farmer who sows seeds would be careful where he scatters his seeds. Seeds are costly for an ordinary farmer and he would not want to waste his seeds on rocky or thorny soil where they have little chance of growing to maturity. He would choose to scatter his seeds only on fertile soil where the probability of a more bountiful harvest is higher.  But in our parable, the sower is no ordinary farmer. The sower represents God and the seeds represent the word of God proclaimed to all who would hear and listen. The Indiscriminate way the sower in our parable scattered the seeds reflects the extravagance of God’s goodness and kindness. God does not just send his word to those who are already able and ready to respond with generosity. God also sends his word even to those who, because of their circumstances or their formation are unable to respond with their whole heart and whole strength. God’s word is not just for an elite group of perfect disciples. And we should never exclude some people from receiving God’s word simply because of their sinfulness and weakness. It precisely to the sinners and those rejected and marginalised by society that Jesus was sent to proclaim the good news of God. Let us not interpret our parable today as a justification to exclude and judge others as unworthy of receiving God’s word and God’s mercy because of their sinful situation. The extravagance of the sower in scattering the seeds on all kinds of soil reminds us that the word of God is meant for everybody and we should strive to overcome whatever obstacles or temptations that prevent others from receiving and living out the gift of God’s good news. God’s love and God’s grace are unlimited, and could never be exhausted. So we should not be troubled if some of our brothers and sisters are initially unresponsive to the invitation of God to them. Rather than consider God’s word as being wasted by on unresponsive persons, let us look at the bigger picture of God’s great plan of salvation. God’s spirit never ceases to speak in the hearts of every man and woman and through the mysterious ways of God’s grace each one eventually find their way back to God. We can help one another to find God and respond to his word. But ultimately it is God’s grace that will transform rocky and thorny soil to fertile and fruitful soil. Let us encourage and pray for one another as we strive to be more receptive to God’s word to us each day. May we support and encourage those who are weak among us and may we never forget the goodness and faithfulness of God for all his children.      

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Be on guard

Homily of Fr. Joel Liwanag, S.J. on August 30, 2018 at the  Cenacle Retreat House:   My dear brothers and sisters, the message of Jesus in today’s Gospel is loud and clear: Stay awake! Be on guard! Don’t fall into complacency because you do not know when the master is coming. The question, however, is: HOW? How do we stay awake? How do we avoid falling into a spiritual slumber? How do we make sure that when the master comes, we will be ready? To answer this question, I guess we need to go back to our experiences of staying awake. In our ordinary life, how do we stay awake? What is it that keeps us awake? This morning, allow me to call attention to three ways. First, we usually stay awake by taking in caffeine – by drinking coffee or soft drinks or some other energy drink. Those among you who’ve had to stay up late to finish something have probably tried this. If we apply this to our spiritual life, one way to stay awake is to find something that will perk up our faith. Some, for instance, would join charismatic prayer groups and participate in livelier forms of worship. Others would go on a silent retreat and spend days in quiet prayer. Some would try to incorporate music into their prayer routine. The point my dear friends is to find something that will awaken the spirit within us every now and then.   I invite you now to ask yourself: how is my faith life, my spiritual life, my prayer life? If you find yourself in some sort of plateau, if you find your faith life lacking in dynamism, perhaps you can ask yourself: what can I do to perk up the spirit within? What can I do to keep the spirit alive? Aside from taking in caffeine, another way to stay awake is by surrounding ourselves with friends who can keep us company. Those among you who’ve experienced long distance driving know how helpful it is to have a companion who will engage you in a conversation throughout the journey. My dear friends, in our spiritual life, one way through which we can keep ourselves awake is by having friends who are willing to accompany us in our journey of faith. I guess this is really the value of community. If you are part of a community, someone will be there to remind you when you are going astray. Someone will be there to wake you up the moment you are starting to doze off. Ask yourself now: Do I have such friends? Do I have such companions who can help me stay awake?   Finally, the third way through which we usually stay awake is by keeping ourselves busy. If we are occupied, if we are busy doing things, the lesser the chances for us to fall asleep. But if we are idle, if we are doing nothing, then the tendency to doze off is strong. In our spiritual life, we can say that it is similar. When our spiritual life is idle, then we fall into a spiritual slumber. As the saying goes, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” The key therefore is to find something worthwhile to do, something that can keep our faith alive. In the Letter of James, it is written: “Faith without good works is dead.” Thus, one way to keep our faith alive is to engage in good works, for instance, by doing corporal works of mercy – feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, comforting the sick. My dear friends, if we want to keep our faith truly alive, then we cannot but engage in good works. I invite you to ask yourself now: Is my faith kept alive by good works? What good works am I engaged in at the moment? If you find yourself lacking in this area, it’s not too late. Try to find something worthwhile make your faith come to life. And so, my dear friends, as our Lord Jesus invites us to stay awake, let us keep in mind these three ways through which we can do this: first, by  finding something that will perk up our spiritual life. Second, by findinf friends who can accompany us in our faith journey. And third, by engaging in good works that will keep our faith alive. Let us pray that when the Master comes, we will all be awake, ready to meet Him and say: Lord, we have kept our faith alive. Amen.

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The path of faithfulness

As we reflect on Mary’s Assumption, heaven as a promise of our eternal home, we remember how this all began with Mary’s Yes at the Annunciation. Mary’s destiny is also our destiny, we are called to say Yes and to follow the path of faithfulness that Mary took:   Is this the way it was — The ageless salvation gift’s announcing Sculpted in a moment of time? Strangely different, touching, haunting, Earthily commonplace, sublimely graced.   She stands — a humble toiler Strong, queenly, poised. Head turned, still with the surprise At the breath of angel voice. Eyes and mouth resolute Yet mellowed warm and with winsome tenderness. Budding breasts revealing her readiness for birth.   Cloak and girdled-gown, their wind-brushed flowing Clasped in a hand that would let No hindrance to the message, Even here where she toils gathering wheat. Feet firmly resting on God’s good earth Yearning in wait for its savior.   A total, human woman: “How can this be . . . ?” A total, open servant: “Be it done unto me . . . .”   The wait is over And WORD becomes flesh. This Yahweh-woman Stands forever on wheat; Totally His, handmaid and mother, Yet, gift to His people, One of your own.   – The Handmaid by Sr. Maria Corona Crumback, I.H.M. (June 11, 1915 – August 11, 2008)        

Homilies, Soul Food

The Sower and the seeds (Homily)

Homily of Fr. Oliver Dy, S.J. on July 27, 2018 at the  Cenacle Retreat House:   I wish to share three points drawn from the Gospel reading for today, which is an explanation by Jesus and by the early church of the text of the parable of the sower: First, it is in very nature and task of the sower to sow, and this amidst the full knowledge that not all seeds sown will bear fruit, that some seeds, sometimes even many seeds, would be wasted. Yet the sower continues to sow: the Father’s generosity as a sower of blessings and graces does not depend on whether human freedom appreciates or neglects the gifts bestowed by God to each in his own wisdom and love. It is the very nature of God to give Godself. Indeed, to perpetually diffuse goodness is the very act that defines God as God. God remains a sower, a generous giver, regardless of the eventual fate of the seed in its interaction with the conditions related to the mystery of human freedom. Elsewhere in the gospel, Jesus states that the Father makes the sun shine on both the good and the bad; here Jesus makes the same point by describing the Father as a sower who sows in the face of the reality that not all seeds will produce the intended fruit. There is an implicit invitation here for us. If we allow ourselves to become perfected just as the Father is perfect, we too must continue to sow seeds of life to the world, to be life-giving like the Father amidst the likelihood and reality of failure and waste of human energies. After all, the main point of the parable is success and abundance, and this also an irremovable possibility that belongs to the same mystery of human freedom. There is the rich soil that promise a harvest. There is the guarantee and promise of fruitfulness, but this is preconditioned on the fact that there is a Father who sows seeds goodness always and everywhere.   Second, what God bestows comes in form of a seed, not a sapling, much less a fully grown plant. Inscribed into the very character of a seed is the law of growth. It belongs to the very biology of the seed to transform itself in due time into something other than a seed: that is, the seed dies to its being a seed in order to truly become itself. The harvest is thereforeborne of out of this process of transformation and growth where the death of seed leads to its becoming a fruit-bearing plant. The call is therefore never remain a seed, not to let the seed stagnate as seed, but to let it flow with inscribed law of growth of which dying is a fundamental part. (Unless the grain of wheat falls to the earth dies can it only then bear fruit.)   Third, as an agriculturalist may tell us, soil is a transformable material. An infertile ground can be transformed into rich soil, and a plot of rich soil can eventually lose its quality of fertility. A desert can become a forest, and a forest a desert. Things can change. This suggests that we should not despair too easily if we find the soil of our lives to be barren. Likewise, neither should we be too presumptuous when we presently find our life circumstances as rich soil. Situations and contexts can and do shift over time, sometimes for the better, at other times for the worse. The lesson is to live in hope, which is the virtue that runs diametrically opposite depair on the one hand, and overconfident presumption on the other. To live in hope is to respect the changing seasons and landscapes of the pilgrimage of life, to always remain in the identity of being a wayfarer, to keep walking on the journey whatever one’s situation in life is, in whatever season or phase of life one currently finds oneself in (homo viator, status viatoris).   In sum, here then are three takeaways: 1. The law of generous self-giving amidst the reality of waste and failure. 2. The law of growth in the face of the temptation of stagnation and self-preservation. 3. The law of hope amid the vicissitudes of human history, both individual and collective.

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Ikaw, ano ang ipinaglalaban mo?

  SinaFr. Zacarias Agatep at Fr. Roberto Salac ng mga diosesano, sinaFr Nilo Valerio ngmgaSVD, Fr Tulio Favali ng mgaPIME, Fr. Rosaleo Romano ng mgaRedemptorist, at Fr Godofredo Alingal ng mga Heswita, sila noong nakaraang regimen ngMartial Law…tapos, nitong nakaraang 6 na buwan, sinaFr. Mark Ventura naman, Fr. Marcelito Paez, at Fr. Richmond Nilo. What did all these priests have in common? Well, 2 things. Love & hate. First, love; all of them loved the poor, especially farmers & displaced Filipinos. And the poor loved them back very dearly, by the way. The 2ndthing they have in common? Hate. The rich landowners hated them because they organized the farmers in their parishes to clamor for their fair share. The mining entrepreneurs hated them for teaching the people to guard their claim over their land. And worst, the politicians cashing in millions, they hated these priests, too, for being a threat to their cash-flow. I guess there’s a 3rdthat these fathers have in common. They were all killed, from Fr. Agatep to Fr. Nilo. Pero mula po noongMartial Law magpasahanggang-ngayon, wala pa pong nasasakdal na mastermind. Puroscapegoat po ang pinoposasan, para may masabing may nahuli na. But back then as now, no landowner, miner, nor politician has ever had to answer for the priestly murders even when the whole world knows that the real killers are not only those who actually pull the trigger, but also those who pay them & make them. Pero ‘ika nga niGinoong Tito Sotto tungkol sa3 paring namatay sa loob ng6 lamang na buwan, “It’s just a coincidence.” Our man for the day is the Lord’s first cousin, John the Baptist. We all know from the bible & from religion class that John would grow up to be the herald of the Messiah. He “prepared the way of the Lord.” See, for many centuries, the Israelites were waiting for the Messiah to come. When John the Baptist grew up, he got busy getting the people ready for that coming. How? By telling them to turn away from sin, to repent from their sinful ways, & be baptized in the River Jordan. Wala siyang pinalampas. Wala siyang sinanto. Ang mali ay mali.Ang kaslanan ay kasalanan. This is why he called out even the king himself, Herod, & brazenly told him, “Mahal na hari, mali po ‘yang ginagawa ninyong inasawa ninyo sarili niyong hipag.” So, because truth hurt, Herod’s wife-slash-sister-in-law plotted John’s execution—via her dancing daughter, Salome, & took advantage of his husband’s drunken arrogance. Who would’ve known that “preparing the way of Lord” would also turn out to being killed by governance, the very same way by which Jesus would be killed—by governance? These past weeks, I’ve been looking at pictures of the murdered 3 priests. I actually feel hatred for our governance. I feel enraged at law enforcement who cave in to governance that commissions the murders. But that’s not half of what I feel about myself. I see the faces of these 3 murdered priests whom I consider my brothers, & I feel embarrassment about myself, more than hatred for governance, more anger at law enforcement. Because a voice in my head says, “Sige nga, habang nagkakamatayan ang mga kapatid mong pari dahil ipinaglaban nila ang mga dukha, eh, ikaw, Arnel, anong ipinaglalaban mo bilang alagad ng Diyos? O hanggang feelings-feelingska lang?” Maybe this homily would’ve been more appropriate on August 29, the commemoration of the beheading of John the Baptist, rather than today, his birthday. But I was thinking, the power of John’s birth lay in how he lived out his mission in life. And the power of his mission in life lay in his courage to die for his cause. So, yes, we celebrate John’s birth today—but that birth was the birth of a martyr; a martyr who went & lived in the margins. This brought him to the edge; the edge of Herodias’ patience, & finally, the edge of a sword. But, do you notice, dear sisters & brothers, even if governance tries to hide the truth by killing the truth-tellers, the victims’ deaths render the lie only the more glaring. I don’t think John the Baptist, or any of the priests wantedto be killed. Who in his right mind would deliberately put himself in harm’s way & be no good to the people he’s fighting for if he’s dead? Suicide never helps the cause. But see, that’s the difference between dying for the truth & killing for a lie. When you die for the truth, the world raises you as a hero. When you kill for a lie, that’s because you can’t stand the truth. So, this means you’re just one more coward who just happens to have a lot of power. But that’s all you are. Yung dalawang magpinsan, si Juan Bautista at si Hesus—pareho ang kinahinatnan. Pinagpapatay dahil nagsabi ng, at nabuhay sa, katotohanan. Maybe, that’s an answer to my embarrassing self-question. Maybe that’s the lesson I must keep learning as a priest. That even if I don’t have the makings of a prophet, even less a martyr like my brother-priests who died for the truth, that I should at least keep telling the truth, & keep living in the truth…even if it doesn’t kill me…even if it only hurts. Matanong ko nga kayong mga magulang dito. I know that you’re all raising your children to always tell the truth, & always be on the side of the truth. Now what if one day, your child asks you: “Dad, mom, how far do you want me to tell the truth? How far must I take the side of the truth?” What would you say? How far? Because how far we allow ourselves to tell the truth & be on truth’s side might later spell the difference between being someone who will die for the truth or kill for a lie. St. John the Baptist, pray for us.   Homily of Fr. Arnel Aquino, S.J. for Vigil Mass for

Homilies, Soul Food

“By what authority are you doing these things?” Quo warranto?

Jesus is asked: Quo warranto? Have you heard of Catherine of Sienna’s letters? During her time, around the 14th century, if you receive a letter from this feisty nun, you would tremble. Pope Gregory XI did receive such letters. Pope Gregory was the last of the Avignon Popes, when the Papacy was transferred in France. Many Catholics wanted the Pope back in Rome and so Sr Catherine joined in this advocacy. She wrote extensively to Pope Gregory XI. She wrote, for example: “Since Christ has given you authority and you have accepted it, you ought to be using the power and strength that is yours. If you don’t intend to use it, it would be better and more to God’s honor and the good of your soul to resign! If I were in your place, I would be afraid of incurring divine judgment….Cursed be you, for time and power were entrusted to you and you did not use them!” (Can you imagine yourself writing Pope Francis those words?) Gregory relented and yet when he dilly-dallied, Catherine wrote him these scathing words: “Go, manly! It is God who moves you.” If you translate that in Filipino, it would be like, “Hoy, magpakalalaki ka naman!” One thing you can say about Catherine, she had no hang up with authority. More than titles, positions, privileges, she was concerned about what is right, what is truthful, what is proper, and what is moral and ethical. Which brings us to our Gospel for today. In the Gospel today, the Jewish authorities—the whole caboodle of the chief priests, scribes and Pharisees—questioned his authority. Jesus, of course, had just cleansed the Temple of the sellers and buyers that were corrupting it. But rather than reflect on why Jesus did what he did, they were asking by whose authority (QUO WARRANTO!) he did what he did, and thereby missed the point. Certainly they were hang up, enamored, obsessed with authority, which for them was either the traditional Jewish authority or the legal Roman authority. But Jesus was neither one. He was simply a lay person. Does that therefore make his words and deeds not count at all? Jesus would expose them by the question that he asked them in return, about the authority of John. And in their internal discussion, they were exposed. If we say this…but if we say that. They were not concerned at all about the truth or what is right, what is proper, what is moral or ethical. They only wanted to gain political points. We can therefore reflect on the folly of these Jewish authorities. Are we like them, hang up, obsessed, enamored with positions, titles and privileges. Or, like Catherine of Sienna, are we more concerned with the truth, the moral, the ethical?   Homily of Fr. Nono Alfonso, SJ for Saturday of the Eighth Week in Ordinary Time (2 June 2018), Cenacle Retreat House.   Photo source: thegospelcoalition.org

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An Easter Grace

He will leave us soon. As I wash his emaciated body, so worn out by disease, I ask him: Will this be our last goodbye, Daddy? When I feed him his glass of Jevity, the only thing he can now take, I agonize at how his body, once strong and vibrant, has now been reduced to skin and bones that I can close my fist around his upper arm. It is heartbreaking. Dementia, without the complications of other diseases that could mercifully shorten suffering and hasten death, is a cruel monster: sadistic in its infinite patience and merciless in its systematic and progressive conquest. It is nothing but a thief, for not only does it steal the person’s mind — the capacity of the brain to remember, to make sense of the world, to integrate experiences and to make reasoned judgments — but it also, in its terminal stage, steals the brain’s lower functions that control the body. So it was with my father. Dementia began its slow, insidious conquest 23 years ago. My father walked out of our house to check into the hospital for an elective brain microsurgery. After another, emergency brain surgery because of a post-operative stroke, 11 days in the ICU and 40 days in the hospital, he finally came home. Or rather, he never came back to us. The signs were all there, but we were slow to recognize them, out of ignorance and denial. First he misplaced car keys, then he misplaced the car. He forgot appointments, then names, then faces. He grew paranoid, accusing us of hiding his files, his checkbook, his trousers. Then he lost his sense of balance, reducing his once confident stride into a shuffle.  Soon he couldn’t recognize people: first relatives, then one by one, like a death sentence to us, his own children. Finally my mother. He couldn’t walk anymore. Later he lost his speech. Later the ability to chew food. To sit on his own. Each successive minor stroke taking away a vital function from him, and with that, a vital part of who he was to us. It was a gradual, harrowing experience, a dawning horror, of realizing we have inexorably lost our father, even before death could claim him.   That’s true. Your love cannot touch him anymore.  But I can. God.   Holy Week 2012.  My father had his fifth stroke a few months before. In the meantime, I was struggling with the points for the Easter session in our Holy Week Retreat. I told the sisters, and I told God: Good Friday I can handle, because I am familiar with the sorrowful mysteries. But Easter? When it is anything BUT Easter in my own life? So I begged the Lord for help. On Holy Wednesday I went to mass at a church. During the homily, I found myself weeping, not because I was touched by the preaching. On the contrary, I wanted to go up to the altar and strangle the priest. I was furious. He was saying that God desired us to suffer to teach us a lesson. I wanted to go up to him to demand: tell me, what lesson can my father learn if after five minutes he will not remember anything? And if the lesson is meant for us, the family, what kind of God would inflict suffering on someone in order to teach others a lesson? Back in the Cenacle, I poured out all my fury to God in prayer. God simply listened. When my ranting petered out into a painful, keening silence, God gently asked me: But Cecille, what is your deepest pain? What is hurting you the most? I was stunned by that question, and without thinking, I blurted out: We cannot reach Daddy anymore, God. Our love cannot touch him anymore. There, I said it. And the speaking was liberating in itself: I had given voice to a pain that hitherto remained beneath consciousness, acknowledgment and acceptance. God considered my answer for a moment, then quietly, gently said: That’s true. Your love cannot touch him anymore. But I can. When I heard those words I broke down in tears once again, but this time in awe and joy and gratitude. At that moment, I suddenly understood Easter. No, it was more than that. I lived it, for I was given a glimpse of the resurrection. There lies, in those few words of God, the profound paradox of Easter: the Risen Lord still bore his wounds; there was no miraculous cure of dementia that would rescue my father from the mind’s oblivion. And yet the Lord lives, victorious over sin and death. And yet my father is never alone, unreachable to everyone, it’s true, but safe and loved, in God’s everlasting embrace. This is what Easter is all about: that we are irrevocably loved, no matter what, and that nothing can ever separate us from God (as St. Paul says), not the darkness of mental illness, not even death.   It has been six years now, since that singular Easter grace. My father is dying now; he will leave us soon. But still I draw strength and courage from that grace, and I discover new depths of truth from it. I am learning, in the bittersweet moments of caring for my father, that it is not really true, what people say, about dementia. That the person you knew before the disease is gone, and that all you have left is just a physical shell. No. The strong, self-assured man who proudly attended PTA meetings, who gave us a real and lasting love for books, who painstakingly taught us the evils of Martial Law, who simply loved buying dresses, jewelry and perfume for his three daughters, is still the same man who lies in front of me, shriveled and coughing up a death rattle, needing me to change his diapers and to feed him. Past and present held together by grace and love: love which is

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Jesus never gives up on us!

(Second week of Easter /Sunday of Divine Mercy) Among those whom I meet at the treatment center for tuberculosis is ‘Ate’.  Sometimes she sits next to me. During these times, I would hear her sing ‘God will make a way’ while she prepares herself to drink her medicines. And she would tell me ‘Diyos lamang… Siya nagbibigay buhay sa akin…’ before she pops some of her pills into her mouth and takes a gulp of water. Sometimes she would share with me how difficult it was for her when she began her treatment journey because she had to undergo the side effects of the medicines. She feels relieved now that she is so much better. She has been going to the treatment center everyday for the past 16 months to receive her medication. She has only 2 more months left to complete her treatment.   One day, as I arrived at the treatment center, Ate was already seated at the table with her medicines in front of her but her head was resting on her folded hands at the table. I could see she was having one of her difficult days. She turned to me and said, ‘Sis… mahirap…’ She looked forlorn and was not singing her favourite Don Moen’s song that day. All I could muster to say to her was ‘Opo, dahan dahan lang po tayo.’ I sat quietly feeling helpless, drank my medicines and left Ate at the table, head bowed, her medicines untouched. I went home feeling sad. I wondered whether perhaps I could have accompanied Ate a little while longer.   The following day, when I arrived at the treatment center, Ate had already finished her medicines and was looking more cheerful than the previous day! It was almost as if the difficulty she felt the day before had not happened. I felt moved and encouraged by the sight of her. ‘What resilience!’, I marveled and I felt so grateful.   Looking back now, I asked myself, ‘isn’t Ate’s perseverance and resilience an example of the grace and gift of Easter?’ A sense of hopefulness that grace is given and is sufficient for each moment; that we can move on despite the difficulties we encounter, the sufferings we endure, or the failures that we experience?  A trust that we can always begin anew each day, at each moment! For indeed, God’s steadfast love never ceases, His mercies never come to an end. God’s mercies are new every morning, great is God’s faithfulness! (cf. Lam 3:22-23) The question is not “will God will give me another chance?” rather, the question is often , “am I willing to give myself another chance?”   I imagined the disciples gathered in the room after Jesus was crucified feeling a sense of sorrow, guilt, fear or perhaps even disgust at themselves for their own helplessness. Yet, it was in the very midst of fear and confusion that the Risen Christ came and stood among them, without any reprimand, instead assuring them of His love and forgiveness, and giving them the promise of hope and renewal of faith as He said to them, ‘Peace be with you’. He breathed on them and gifted them with the Holy Spirit (cf. Jn 20:19-23). Whether we think that we are in such a dire situation or we want to give up on ourselves, Jesus never gives up on us! Rather, the Risen One stands by us, with us – He loves us, no matter what!   The crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus assure us that God’s offer of friendship will never be withdrawn, no matter what we do. – William Barry, S.J.   Reflection What is God’s invitation for me this Easter? Is there a situation or relationship in my life that I find difficult to accept or I want to seek healing and reconciliation? Can I speak with Jesus about it? Or perhaps it is an invitation to deepen my friendship with Jesus or to renew my faith in Him? How do I want to respond?     A reflection contributed by Sr. Li Xiao Wei, rc

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The True Meaning of Joy

The grace we ask for at this time of Easter season is “To be glad and rejoice intensely because of the great joy and glory of Christ our Lord” (#221 ). Two things should be noted of this grace. First, the focus is on the great joy and glory of Christ. That joy gives us our own joy — not vice versa. Imagine seeing a young child playing, and feeling happy because that child is having fun. Our first experience of the resurrection is like that. That first state of joy carries us out of ourselves; we pray to be happy because we experience Christ’s joy and can enter into that joy. Ignatius also recommends we ask for the grace to be intensely glad and to rejoice intensely. Not only do we need to ask for that grace and expect it, we also need to live as if we have received it. At this time, we avoid all those things that may cause us to lose that grace, and we seek those things that contribute to that state of being.   Joy is often equated with loud celebrations. True joy is not like that. Joy is the felt sense of being rooted in God’s love. It is calm and focused and deep.. Happiness occurs when my desires coincide with the energies around me, and I am affirmed in myself. Joy is acknowledging, in a self-conscious manner, my rootedness in a love and a life that is larger than me and that I know cares for me. In joy, I live out my awareness as the redeemed beloved of the Father; unlike in pleasure and excitement, I experience my selfhood solely in a physical way..     In this season, as we enter more and more deeply into the resurrection, we want to remain recollected so that we do not lose all the gifts we have been moving towards during our retreat (Holy Week). If we did so, we would be like those people who earn a small fortune working long, hard hours in remote areas, only to lose it in a frenzy of mind less self-indulgence when they return to the world they left behind.   (Adapted from the book The Gift of Spiritual Intimacy by Monty Williams S.J.)     Make known to me your ways, LORD; teach me your paths. Guide me by your fidelity and teach me, for you are God my savior, for you I wait all the day long. Psalm 25:4-5       (More information about our upcoming retreats and workshops can be found here.)

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Making ‘heart-sense’ of Suffering

Have you ever had the experience of feeling that you were being prepared for something but did not understand what you were being prepared for? I remember that I was just a year into a major responsibility when I had a powerful yet unusual experience in prayer. In prayer I felt very strongly that God was saying to me, I will be with you through all these. I was puzzled what “all these” meant since there was really nothing earthshaking going on in my life. About four months later, I was diagnosed with the dreaded disease – I had cancer. Initially, whenever I was asked how I was, I would bemusedly answer, “I think I’m shocked. I don’t feel anything.” For the next two days, I went about systematically cancelling my seminars, retreats, appointments, informing my family, our superiors in Rome – as though making arrangements for a stranger. Later, when the reality of the cancer sunk in, I cried out to God in fear asking, “Lord, how do we go through this together? Where will this bring me? Where will this bring us?”   We are once again in the season of Holy Week that we usually associate with the Lord’s intense suffering – that’s why it’s also called the week of the PASSION, a word to mean intense love. We come to times and places like these hoping to find some sense why there is so much pain and suffering in our lives, in the lives of those we love, in the world. We hope that we can find our own personal stories of suffering against the backdrop of the greatest story of love of Jesus. As we reflect on the reality of suffering, maybe we can ask ourselves: What is God’s invitation to me with regards my experience of suffering? How am I to be with it? How do I make ‘heart-sense’ of this? How am I to bring this experience into my relationship with God?   I like to see this experience of suffering as an inner journey that can have “landmarks” to help me go through this passage. I call these the “landmarks in the landscape of suffering”. (1st landmark)   Suffering is a lonely experience This hit me when the reality of what cancer could do to my life began to take hold of me. I felt very alone. Because of this, there were many moments when it was unbearably lonely. Although the whole Congregation, my family, my friends were praying for me and tried to be with me, there was still something about what was happening to me that I could not share with anyone even if I wanted to. There were times when I wanted to cry and no tears came. I wanted to talk about my fears, my inner turmoil, my questions but no words came. There were times when I felt like I was imprisoned within thick glass walls. I could see people, they could see me but I could not reach them. I seemed so isolated in their midst. (2nd landmark) Suffering takes us on an emotional rollercoaster ride Having worked through emotional problems – both my own and others’ – I know that we have a wide variety of feelings like the many colors of the rainbow, feelings that need articulation. I experienced the myriad of feelings and emotions in the short span of time as I agonized and waited for the surgery date, test results, doctors, healing to happen…just waiting. The most difficult part of the waiting was knowing that there was uncertainty ahead and the unknown before me. In the face of suffering there were two options possible – to fight the experience and take control of everything OR to let go of my control of how things should be and surrender to God’s healing process and the ministrations of the healers around me. (3rd landmark) Suffering opens us to experience the silence of God When we don’t understand things that happen to us, we ask questions. If we have tried to be a good person or “God-fearing”, we may ask why suffering visits us, like the title of a book: Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People by a Jewish rabbi. Maybe that’s a good title for the questioning we go through. I hear people ask questions like: Is God punishing me? Is God testing my faith? What did I do to deserve this? In these times, we experience that God is so silent. Life seemed like one endless gloom in the valley of death. And yet, when I had moments of quiet within myself, I felt God’s presence in the silence. Even as I was hurting badly, I felt in some unexplainable way, that God was hurting with me. God understood my pain. God shared it. And that enabled me to move on and work through the pain and suffering. That consolation did not make the suffering less painful. It made it bearable. (4th landmark)   Suffering invites me to locate this experience in my on going love relationship with my God. The song If I Could by Barbara Streisand speaks of what a mother goes through for the sake of her child. I would help you make it through the hungry years but I know I can never cry your tears. But I would, if I could .. I have tried to change the world I brought you to and there’s not much I would not do for you and I would if I could. What parent does not want the best for their child? They would even want to spare their child from pain, but that is not possible. So when the child suffers, the parents suffer with them. When the one I love is in pain, I too am in pain. I share in whatever pain or joy my loved one is experiencing. Sharing the other’s suffering is called compassion. The invitation to receive the grace of compassion is

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