Homily

One cold winter morning, three palm fruit farmers were warming themselves by the fireside. Soon two of them were engaged in a heated debate comparing their religions to decide which one was the true religion. Okoro, the oldest among them, sat quietly listening to the debate. Suddenly the two turned to him and asked, “Decide for us, Okoro. Which religion is the right one?” Okoro rubbed his white beard and said thoughtfully, “Well, you know there are three ways to get to the oil mill from where we are. You can go right over the hill. That is shorter but it is a steep climb. You can go around the hill on the right side. That is not too far, but the road is rough and full of potholes. Or you can go around the hill on the left side. That is the longest way, but it is also the easiest.” He paused and then added, “But you know, when you get there, the mill man doesn’t ask you how you came. All he asks is, ‘Man, how good is your fruit?’” In the stories of Jesus’ birth, two special groups of people came to visit the new-born babe: the shepherds and the magi. The church has no special feast to commemorate the visit of the shepherds, but we have this special feast of Epiphany today to celebrate the visit of the magi. Why is that? It is because the visit of the magi is an eye-opener. The shepherds learnt of the birth of Jesus through a direct revelation from angels appearing in the midnight sky. This is direct and supernatural revelation. Many of us have no problem with that. The magi, on the other hand, learnt of the birth of Jesus by observing a star. The star did not say anything to them. They had to interpret this natural sign of the star to know what it meant and where it led. If we remember that the magi or the three wise men were nature worshippers, people who divined God’s will by reading the movements of the stars and other heavenly bodies, then we can see how the visit of the magi challenges some of our popular beliefs. Like the palm fruit farmers, religious people of all persuasions tend to think that their religious tradition is the only way to God. We hastily conclude that the way of God equals the way of our religious tradition. Yet the word of God cautions us against such a narrow interpretation. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord” (Isaiah 55:8). That is why we are fascinated with the story of the visit of the magi. It is a unique story that opens our eyes to the fact that God is not limited to any one religious tradition. God is open for everyone. Second, notice how people of different religious traditions came to know that the Son of God was born. The shepherds [who were regarded as unclean and could not take part in Temple worship without undergoing purification] came to know through a direct vision of the angels. The magi knew through a reading of the stars. And King Herod’s scribes came to know through searching the scriptures. Visions, stars, scriptures — different ways of arriving at the same truth. Of course, this does not mean that any religious tradition is just as good as the other. Notice how Matthew indicates that when the guiding star got to Jerusalem its light failed, and the magi had to consult the scriptures to direct them to Bethlehem. Over and above the natural light of the star the magi still needed the supernatural light of scripture to finally get to Jesus. Yet the crucial question in the story remains: Who actually got to find Jesus? Herod and his scribes who had the scriptures failed to find Jesus but the magi who followed the natural light of the stars were able to find him. Why? Because the Jewish authorities, even though they possessed the shining truth of revealed scriptures, did not follow it. They did not walk in the light of the scriptures. The magi, on the other hand, who enjoyed only a star light followed its guidance. This fact reminds us that it is not the possession of the truth that matters, it is how prepared we are to walk in the light of the truth that we possess. It is how we make use of the faith that was given us that matters most. It seems better to have the dim light of the stars and follow it than to have the bright light of the Holy Scriptures and neglect it. As Christians we believe that our religion possesses the fullness of truth. But what does that benefit us if we do not walk in the truth? Nature worshippers or non-believers who are sincerely committed to following the dim light of natural reason may also arrive at Jesus before Christians who have the exalted truths revealed by God but who do not walk the walk of faith. This is the challenging truth we celebrate today in the story of these pagan wise men who seek and find the Lord. What leads us to truth is not who we are but what our intentions are. The stars in our life lead us, we make choices on whether to follow them. Thus, it is worth asking ourselves: what are the stars in my life? How and to what is God calling me at this time in my life? Where does he want me to find him, to serve and follow him? This very day, let us stop in our tracks. Obviously, at this stage there are many things which, for better or worse, we cannot change, some decisions, right or wrong, which we cannot now undone. But it is not too late to look for our star and begin following it from where we are now.

To grasp the very gift and meaning of Christmas, I often turn to this story that is really a parable by Soren Kierkegaard. Once upon a time there lived in a great castle a king so powerful and wealthy he was adored and feared by all in his kingdom. Alas, in this kingdom, there lived a beautiful woman, a lowly maiden, with whom he was smitten. Knowing the wide gap between them, the king thought hard about what he would do to win the heart of this woman. At first, he thought of going to her as he was, as king. However, he knew that if he went to her in all his kingly power and glory, with “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men,” she would instantly be his for the taking. She would be dazzled by his wealth and power, or she would be intimidated by the horses and men. She would say “yes” out of enchantment or she would not dare say “no” out of fear. The king knew this and pondered deeply how love would ever work if love were not free or if love were driven by fear. Love that was merely enchanted was not love, and love that was afraid was also not love. And so he thought of another way. He would disguise himself as a beggar. Coming to her as a poor man, with all his kingliness hidden from her, he might be more sure of her love (if she ever came to love him back). If he pretended to be poor like her, he would know better if her love was true. Then again, he thought, if he did just that, he wouldn’t be true to her and to himself. What kind of love would thrive in deception, what love would that be if it were based on a lie? As the king agonized over what he would do, he eventually came upon the one and only way he was ever going to win her heart. And that was for him to remove every manner of pretense and divest himself of all his kingly wealth and power. The only way was to leave the comfort of his castle so he could live and share the life of his beloved. To love her and to live with her happily ever after, he decided to disarm and let go of power. Dear friends, the Christmas story is a love story. But it is more than just a fairytale ala Cinderella or some familiar telenovela. Tonight when we draw close to the Child in a manger, we glimpse our king and our God. We come to realize the radical and irreversible choice God has made to love us. May it awaken our faith to see Emmanuel, God with us, becoming vulnerable as we are, taking on our flesh, our joys and tears, our dreams and pain, even our dying. May it calm our fears to hold this Child’s hand in our hand while we walk the darkness of our world. May it warm our love to feel the heart of God beating in ours. And may it quicken our hope to catch the breath of this infant in a manger, breathing new life into us once more. Out of love, a king chooses to disarm and let go of power. As God has so loved us, so are we to love one another. Homily delivered by Fr. Jose Ramon (Jett) T. Villarin SJ during the Christmas Eve Mass at The Cenacle 24 December 2024

I remember applying to the Society of Jesus about 27 years ago and in one of the interviews, I was asked, so why are you applying? And clumsily, I sputtered out some platitudes but one statement annoyed the Jesuit priest interviewing me. I said something like, I am a sinful person, wounded, fallen, and only God is calling me to the Society to take care of me, to heal me. “What? You think the Society is a hospital, a psychiatric ward?” And I froze. But I’m sure that interviewer would be freezing now what with Pope Francis calling the Church a field hospital. Or maybe, he would have read by now Henry Nouwen writing about all of us being wounded healers. But I remember that interview because in the readings today, we are confronted by this giant of a man that is Elijah, the greatest prophet of Israel. Even John the Baptist in the new testament was just a reiteration of the fearless man of God. As characterized by the Bible, Elijah and John seem to be the standards of the faith against whom we ought to measure up. Certainly they were courageous in proclaiming the word of God; they spoke to power as we say now, Elijah against King Ahab, his powerful queen Jezebel, and the prophets of Baal; John the Baptist against Herod and the Roman empire. Listen to the words with which the Prophet Sirach from the first reading described Elijah: he was like a fire, his words were a flaming furnace, he was awesome in his wondrous deeds and his glory has no equal. Wow! Such high standard indeed. And it is Elijah and his “reincarnation” as it were, John the Baptist, who meet us during the early days of Advent and challenge us to prepare for the coming of the Lord. They can appear to be like fierce lions guarding the opening of the cave where Jesus would be born, snarling at you: “Are you really worthy to see the Lord?” Indeed, these advent figures can be daunting to us. Until we remember that Elijah fled from Queen Jezebel for fear of his life for days on end. And out of exhaustion and fear, he went into depression and even asked God to take his life already. Oh, so, the almighty prophet had feet of clay as well! He had moments of weakness and vulnerability like us. John the Baptist was human too. Languishing in jail, at Herod’s order, John heard of Jesus and began nursing doubts and apprehensions whether Jesus was the messiah or whether he was doing it correctly because rather than hurling fire and brimstones at the Jews, Jesus was wining and dining with them. These accounts of course do not subtract anything from the greatness of these prophets of God. But these make them very human like us. They too needed to be saved. They too did not just proclaim the Word but also needed to hear it and receive it as well. So when we encounter them again one of these days of Advent, before we get scared off by them and their over the top personalities, I hope we remember that they are guides, or co-pilgrims or co-seekers on our way to the crib. They too are wounded and broken and in need of the salvation that comes at Christmas. AMEN. Homily delivered by Fr. Emmanuel “Nono” Alfonso, SJ 14 December 2024 Saturday, Second Week of Advent Cenacle Retreat House

            Have you seen wedding videos of arranged marriages? There was one I saw where a young Indian groom sat alone, unsmiling & uncomfortable. His heavily veiled wife was led in to be seated beside him. Apparently, they’d never seen each other because when the bride was unveiled, the groom saw how exquisitely beautiful she was. With his huge sigh of relief came a blissful smile that erased every trace of anxiety on the groom’s face. Sadly, that was a one-off. In the rest of the videos I saw after that, brides & grooms looked like they’d rather be in Jupiter than in that wedding! In first century Israel, love didn’t have anything to do w/ marriage. For financial security of the bride, yes; peace between families & tribes, yes; keep wealth within the clan, yes. Love, no. Actually, it’s still that way in many, many cultures to this day. But in Israel back in Jesus’ day, the grooms’ families were always the wealthier. So, the privilege to file a bill of divorce was skewed towards the men. True enough, Jewish husbands divorced their wives even for the flimsiest of reasons. David Amram, noted scholar of Jewish marriage & divorce says, “This ancient right of the husband to divorce his wife at his pleasure (was) the central thought in the entire system of Jewish divorce law.” He cites rabbinic teachings that say: “(Husband) may divorce (wife) if she spoiled a dish for him… or if he found another fairer than she… or if she goes out with her hair unbound…or if she talks so loudly in the house that neighbors could hear her.” Weightier reasons were when the wife was suspected of adultery, or when she was unable to produce children. Being baog was always the woman’s fault back then. Upon divorce, women didn’t get their dowry back. Worse, they lost all financial security. This plunged her & her family into debt & poverty. Divorced women were so stigmatized that they actually died social deaths. When the Pharisees asked Jesus whether divorce was lawful or not (after all, the sacred law of Moses allowed it!) Jesus was flatly against it. Marriage involved not just a couple & their two families, but also God. It was bad enough that the Law permitting divorce privileged men but brutally prejudiced women. It was worse that love had nothing to do with marriage. Let me share something with you, sisters & brothers. There was actually a time when I was pretty sure love had nothing to do w/ my own mom & dad staying together. For a particular stretch of my life, they quarreled so much that kuya & I had to step in, esp. when their cold war dragged on for too long. We were still in high school, then, can you imagine? Already playing marriage counselors & arbiters. One time it got really bad. Our parents called for a family meeting. They announced, “We’re going on a trial separation.” Separation was precisely what kuya & I were trying to prevent by helping them reconcile each time. So, the word “trial” didn’t quite make “separation” sound better. I confess, the first thought in my head was, “What if my classmates find out? How would I live w/ the shame of being a child of separated parents, a ‘broken home’ (as it was called back then)?” Then, the even darker scenarios: “Am I losing my dad to someone else? Another family? Don’t they love us anymore?” At dahil nga bahagi na kami ni kuya ng pagsasaayos ng mga bagay-bagay tuwing nag-aaway sila, at that moment, we felt like we failed in our mission. Kuya& I were not used to failure. We were very good students in school, oh my God. But now that mom & dad decided on a “trial separation,” there was no greater failure. But this homily is not about my stand on the question: “Is it lawful for a husband to divorce his wife?” It is, nevertheless, a respectful suggestion, or an encouragement, perhaps. Just as there should be serious, compelling, & selfless reasons for couples to jump out of marriage, there should be even more serious, compelling, & selfless reasons to enter into one. I wish & hope & pray that couples think long & hard, far & wide about how they will be affecting the children in all their decisions not just as parents, but also as husbands & wives. And to do all this not just before having children, but before even getting married. In my opinion, the most serious, compelling, & selfless reason to consider should be the children. Jesuits have been in the education apostolate for a long, long time. We’ve seen it far too often to deny it, sisters & brothers. Problems of students often redound to marital problems of their parents. Not all, thank God. Not all. For there are indeed children who fall into problems even when their parents are in an exemplary marriage. Still, it has happened far too often to be denied, & happens still: there’s that higher risk of academic difficulties, disruptive behavior, & depression in children whose parents cannot & do not want to get along. Even when each parent tries to show the children parental love, the children see & feel & know that their parents no longer respect each other. Totoo pa rin ‘yung kasabihan: one of the best ways parents ever love their kids is to show them how much they love each other. Because kids know. By God’s grace, things got a little better w/ mom & dad as they grew older. It was never perfect. But stay together they did, till death parted them when mom passed. Did love for each other have anything to do with sticking together? I’m not really sure. But I will bet my last bag of Cheetos that if there was one thing that had everything to do with their having stuck it out together, it was love

To Pray on and Ponder: John 12, 24-26 “Hinay-hinay, basta kanunay” is a favorite Visayan-language quotation which I always liken to God’s grace. The dynamic movement is that of a slow, gentle drop of things, slowly, but constantly, like St. Ignatius’ image consoling grace—like water dripping on a sponge, it drips and drops, without noise, almost imperceptibly, slowly but surely. But we know that such water dripping hinay-hinay, basta kanunay would ultimately break the proverbial rock, rather than a one time, big time, noisy splash. I thought of this slow, gentle, relentless drop of things mulling over St. Thérèse, the foundress-saint we honor today. A big part of this slow and gentle drop of things in the spirit of St. Thérèse is her contemplation of the sweet and gentle goodness of God in all things. She saw goodness as though it were a golden stamp from the Creator that sealed goodness in every creature of God, even in the chair or kneeler she was using. But we see how this slow, gentle, relentless drop of things, assumes much depth when we come to know that the constant surrender to grace involved Thérèse’ gracious receiving of suffering from people around her, (some of whom are Jesuits: hmp, sorry po!). With much humility and grace, your foundress received humiliation and suffering and used these with the intention of purifying the world of sin’s hold of it. This is at the very heart of the “law of the cross” as Jesuit theologian, Bernard Lonergan describes it. That in Jesus’ loving self-sacrifice on the cross, he took upon himself the sin and violence around him and transmuted it into obedient loving surrender to his Father’s will and loving self-sacrifice for the people he loved. This cross of Christ, wherever it is lived and embraced always leaves a world closer to redemption and communion with the loving God, hinay-hinay, basta kanunay. I believe St. Thérèse learned this by suffering it and experiencing deep joy for it. She herself testifies: Oh! If people could understand beforehand the sweetness and the peace enjoyed by those who would hold nothing back from the Good God! How he communicates himself to the soul who sincerely seeks him and who knows how to surrender herself. Let them just experience it, and they will see that therein is found the true happiness which they are vainly seeking elsewhere.  (To Surrender Oneself, 1864) St. Ignatius once described the Jesuit of his dreams in similar terms: “men crucified to the world, and to whom the world itself is crucified.” That by our gentle acts in ministry, we join Jesus Christ chipping away at sin and corruption in the world, crucifying it, really; but by sheer counterflow in things, we, ourselves are crucified to the world as well, going countercurrent to the world’s desires will always invite a backlash, but we continue chipping away anyways. And it will bear fruit as the Gospel proclaims—“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. This morning, I kept marveling at how the slowness and gentleness in St. Thérèse learned her surrender to grace in the face of all the humiliation and suffering her commitment entailed, and how she ultimately experienced joy and peace as she gave her all to her Lord. And I guess the key is still the ever-growing love she kept in her heart for Jesus, and the way she ultimately contemplated the face of Jesus’ goodness in everything, hinay-hinay basta kanunay. And you know the grace of the founder sure is the grace of the daughters. I think of the Cenacle sisters close to me, and I see this slow and gentle drop of things reflected well in their lives, and I’m in awe at beholding God’s fidelity and constancy in them, in their friendship and their service. In them we see a God who always provides all of us with the grace we precisely need in our lives time and time again, with great hospitality and thoughtful gentleness and reliable strength, trully, really, hinay-hinay, basta kanunay! Homily delivered by Fr Vic Baltazar, SJ on the Feast of Saint Thèrése Couderc, Founder of the Religious of the Cenacle 26 September 2024 Cenacle Retreat House