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A Lesson in Patient Suffering: Palm Sunday and Covid-19

A reflection on the readings of Palm Sunday 2020 by Sr. Cecille Tuble, rc. Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion came early for all of us. Too early, and now too long. We live it now in the midst of this pandemic. The whole world is brought on its knees: this plague has struck and affected everyone and cut across all boundaries of culture, race, religion, age, gender, socio-economic and political status. According to the latest statistics, Covid-19 has affected 204 out of 235 countries and territories. Truly, it is a global horror that is made more frightening in the fact that it is still happening, right now.  How do we make sense of this ongoing tragedy? How do we keep faith in these appalling times? The readings of Palm Sunday offer us rich insights and deep consolation, as they unfold before us the story of our Lord’s passion. They call us, as the Opening Prayer or Collect tells us, to follow Christ’s example of humility, and to “heed his lesson of patient suffering,” for therein shall we share in his Resurrection too. The first and second readings give us an overview of who Jesus is, the One who did not shield his face from buffets and spitting, but looked upon God as his help. “He emptied himself…. becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” This is not the end of his story, of course: God “greatly exalted him,” so that every tongue will henceforth proclaim him Lord. The Gospel from Matthew recounts several stories in the Passion narrative: the betrayal of Judas, the Last Supper, Gethsemane, the trials before the Sanhedrin and Pilate, the betrayal of Peter, his torture, crucifixion, death and burial. It is a familiar story that, year in and year out, still makes our hearts tremble, for it is the story of our redemption by a God who became one of us, and gave his life in order to save us. He died so that we may live. And yet this year it takes on an even more luminous significance. Death is around us. We see its long shadow in the familiar contours of our homes which have become our confinement. We feel its cold fingers grasp our hearts as every day we hear the statistics rising, as we read of more deaths and infected, of lack of resources to cope with this horrendous suffering, of our doctors and nurses and medical workers falling ill themselves and dying, of the homeless and the poor whose dire circumstances are further exacerbated by this crisis.  Yes, death is in our midst, but so is the Lord. Perhaps the deepest invitation for us is to suffer all of this with the Lord, and in the Lord.  By doing so, we live out this lesson in patient suffering. However, patient suffering is not despairing passivity, or abject resignation. We are called to be brave, generous, responsible and compassionate. We are called to be resilient in our loving. We are called not to run away from this harsh reality, but to live it in faith. Our confined spaces at home is our Gethsemane, where we are invited to enter into the profound anguish but trusting surrender of Jesus, and to pray: “My Father, if it is possible that this cup of suffering pass SOON, but your will be done.” When we unite ourselves with the courageous labors of our medical workers and front-liners, when we do all that we can to support and help them and the most vulnerable of our people, we walk with Jesus on his lonely, arduous road to Calvary. When we pray for all those who have died, when we face our own specter of death with faith and humility in the fidelity of a loving Father, we follow Jesus in his obedience, all the way to his self-emptying on the cross. When we resist all temptations to despair, when we practice prudence and discernment in spreading news and videos, when we give love, hope and encouragement instead of fear and panic, when we do our own small share in containing this virus, we touch the fabric of his garments, until they are stripped on the hill.  But perhaps the greatest act of patient suffering for us is to see all this in faith, and therefore in gratitude. To see God actively working, tirelessly laboring with us and for us to bring an end to this pandemic is a daily act of gratitude. For it is easy to get drowned by the bad news. We must beg for the grace to truly see, to be healed of our jaded, faithless blindness, that there is much to be grateful for. It is in gratitude that we begin to see glimpses of Easter hope: doctors, nurses and medical staff who transcend their own fears and personal interests to give their lives to their patients. Government officials who are dedicated, hardworking and creative, truly beacons of leadership in this darkness. Business corporations and owners, private organizations who do their share to help. Ordinary citizens who volunteer, risking health and lives, to ease the suffering of others. The unpretentious but heroic efforts of ordinary people to contribute and do their share in fighting this pandemic. All this is God’s grace, working in mysterious, hidden but all-powerful ways. Some acts may well be spectacular, attention-getting. But most will be invisible, except to those who look for them, who desire to be grateful, who desire to thank God for his untiring loving, especially in this darkness. God has never left us to suffer alone. In God’s vast providential love, there is no small grace. True, death is around us, but death will not have the last word. And just as in Jesus, we know that our story, this story of Covid-19, will end with Easter, and we will be resurrected in God’s love.

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Heaven

A reflection on the readings of the 5th Sunday of Lent 2020 by Sr. Yna, rc Watch the following video first before you begin to read the reflection: To close A monastery Death surrounds us. It is a sobering reality, to say the least. For most, it is frightening. I suppose because the deaths we witness are almost always riddled with pain and suffering. It surely is mysterious, for we would never know what the experience is actually like until we are there; no one has ever died and lived to tell the tale. At 3.50 into the video you’ll see a bent, wobbling elderly monk leaving his room for the last time, with a suitcase of what seems to be all that he has. And then the interviewer asks: “Where are you going next, what happens to you?” The monk points up and says, “heaven” and lets out a chuckle. The chuckle struck me. It sounds to me like, “I believe, but I am afraid too.” Wisdom of old age. In the gospel today we listen to an interesting exchange between Martha and Jesus. It might help to put a context to the scene: both of them are faced with death, both are grieving. Jesus said to [Martha], “Your brother will rise.” Martha said to him, “I know he will rise, in the resurrection on the last day.” …Jesus said, “Take away the stone.”Martha said to him, “Lord, by now there will be a stench; he has been dead for four days.”Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?” Jn 11:24, 39-40 Martha does not seem to be in the same wavelength as Jesus here. Like us with God, all too often. How many times do we jump to preset spiritual scripts in our head when God invites us to listen and simply be present? How often do we question the future when God wants us to trust his hand in the present? This global crisis caused by the Covid-19 virus has rearranged our lives drastically. Suddenly plans are suspended “until further notice,” and we find ourselves in “quarantine” and practicing “social distancing.” As the virus spreads, so does fear, panic, anxiety, anger and sadnesss. It is natural to feel these feelings, but we hope our vulnerability can help us turn to God more than ever. In this week before Holy Week, let us beg for the grace to turn to God to be in tune with God, to receive that Sensus Christi which Fr. Pedro Arrupe prayed for:  “Above all, give me that sensus Christi – the sensing of Christ about which St Paul speaks: that I may feel with your feelings, with the sentiments of your heart, which basically are love for your Father and love for humanity…. Give me that grace, that sensus Christi, your very heartbeat, that I may live all my life, interiorly and exteriorly, proceeding and discerning with your spirit, exactly as you did during your mortal life.” May we come to know Jesus, who is our peace amidst pain and fear, and our resurrection and life amidst death. May we come to understand and accept the “heaven” that Jesus is offering us, here and now.

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Stranger No More

A Reflection on the readings of the 3rd Sunday of Lent 2020 by Srs. Ria and Rose, nc. Ex 17:3-7 Rom 5:1-2, 5-8 Jn 4:5-42 Would you find it strange receiving a friend request from someone you do not know, without both of you having even a  single mutual friend?  Jesus and the Samaritan woman in today’s Gospel reading were not only strangers to each other, but their own ancestors hated each other and did not relate with each other for ages. While the woman waited until noon time before she could get water from the well so nobody would notice her, Jesus was there by the well, under the scorching heat of the noon sun, waiting for her. Jesus, the stranger, initiated a conversation with the woman by first expressing a basic need: water, for he was thirsty. Give me a drink [John 4:7], perhaps Jesus meant, We can relate to each other. Yes, we can be friends. The conversation deepened, the trust was built, and turned into an encounter of  hearts – from a thirst for water to a deeper thirst for freedom, for love, for God. The encounter speaks of barriers being broken. Jesus destroyed the barriers that divided them – gender, role, status, race. Jesus came not only for the Jews but for all. The love that Jesus offers is an inclusive love. The salvation He offers knows no boundaries. This profound experience of the woman being fully known yet accepted and truly loved by the One she encountered restored her sense of dignity and gave her a new perspective. Jesus was a stranger no more.  He told me everything I have ever done [John 4:29]. The Samaritan Woman went back to the town to tell everyone about Jesus and the encounter that freed her. Her heart was transformed by the encounter and made her transforming as well. She was never the same again. Mindful of what happened in her past, the Samaritan Woman was renewed by the acceptance and the love Jesus she experienced from Jesus. She was not condemned with what she did but loved with who she truly was in the eyes of God. Having met Jesus, she remembered that she was loved through and through; she realized her worth; she celebrated the life she was given; she gave witness to the person and the encounter that changed her and her life forever. We, too, have our past but God waits for us to reveal ourselves to Him and to share with Him our own stories. No matter where we are and what we have done, God will meet us where we are and invite us to return to the journey with Him and begin again.  Let us earnestly seek Him, who seeks us first and perhaps, we can make this prayer of Anselm of Canterbury our own: Let me seek you in desiring you; let me desire you in seeking you. Let me find you in loving you; let me love you in finding you. As we continue our Lenten journey through Easter, let us beg for the grace of trust and openness to approach and to encounter God by our own well, where He has been waiting for us. Take courage in accepting God’s friend request and know that we have a mutual connection and that is love.  Let us listen to this song and allow it to lead us to prayer: Till I Met You – Laura Story (Youtube Link). Till I Met You by Laura Story I’ve known pain and deep regretI’ve known the weight of my mistakes like the back of my handI’ve known deception and all its gamesI’ve known the way it feels to drown in my own shame But I never knew loveI never knew truthI never knew peace, the sweet release that brought me throughI never knew freedom, what grace could doThe broken chains, the hope that saves, a life made newTill I met You I’ve known rejection, I’ve bought the lieThat I could never overcome the hurt insideWith arms of mercyYou reached for meTore the veil away and gave me eyes to seeYou’re all I need And I never knew loveI never knew truthI never knew peace, the sweet release that brought me throughI never knew freedom, what grace could doThe broken chains, the hope that saves, a life made newTill I met You (I was empty, I was hopeless)Till I met You (I was stumbling in the darkness) I never knew loveI never knew truthI never knew peace, the sweet releaseYou’re the one Who brought me throughAnd I never knew freedom, what grace could doThe broken chains, the hope that saves, a life made newTill I met You (till I met You)Till I met You (till I met You)Till I met You

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Harmatia and Redeeming Grace

A Reflection on the Readings of the First Sunday of Lent 2020 by Sr. Cecille Tuble, rc. Genesis 2: 7-9; 3:1-7 Romans 5: 12-19 Matt 4: 1-11 Lent opens with our readings which tell the profound and astounding story of God’s saving love for us. Genesis looks at the mystery of sin straight in the eye and boldly pronounces: all creation is good because it comes from a Good God. God is good, and yet humans, although made in the image and likeness of God and therefore fundamentally good, have nonetheless freely opted for evil. The passage from innocence to sinfulness was freely chosen, and the lot of Adam and Eve, our archetypal representatives, is the condition of all of us. Here is the harsh reality of evil and sin and death, and we human beings—no matter how hard we try— are bound to falter and sin and fall short of responding fully to God’s life-giving love. The story of Adam and Eve is the story of human rebellion, a pretentious striving “to be like God.” Found out, they did not acknowledge their fault but instead pointed fingers at others: Adam blaming Eve, Eve blaming the serpent. This sinfulness courses through our veins and makes our best efforts finite and paltry. The ancient Greeks had a similar term for this: Hamartia, the tragic flaw. As Stephen Duffy describes it: “The flow of fallen history courses through us, not around us, and leaves the ‘death dance in our blood.’”  Who can save us then? St. Paul in his letter to the Romans asserts that our redemption originates in and through Christ, the new Adam. Paul understood that we all experience the war between spirit and flesh, because sin contaminates us all, down through human history. And so it is that God’s grace overflows and redeems us, through Christ. How then, can we look at Christ’s redeeming grace? In our Gospel, Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil. At first glance, this seems odd: the Holy Spirit leading Jesus into a deserted place where he will encounter the devil? However, it is important to remember the event that came before this episode: the Baptism of Jesus. In his baptism, Jesus hears the Father say: This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased (Matt 3:17). Jesus, led by the Spirit, must now pray and fast and discern exactly what being the Beloved Son means. So he goes off into the desert, to make, one might say, a discernment retreat. And the stage is set for the tempter. Twice he taunts Jesus: “If you are the Son of God…” The temptation is closely linked with Jesus’ identity. So it is with us. If we look closely at our temptations, we will notice how they touch and echo our heart’s desires, our self-concepts, our little and great schemes to boost who we think we are and who we want to be. Whatever the myriad ways we go about it, at the heart of it all we just want to be loved. In the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, we are invited to meditate on the ways of the Evil One and the ways of Jesus. The evil one tempts through riches, honor and pride; Jesus invites us to a way marked by poverty, dishonor and humility. We see the echoes of this in the temptation story: Jesus spurns personal fulfillment and satisfaction even of his most basic needs (bread), personal glory and honor and power in the world (kingdoms), and even the absolute certainty about the Father’s love and care for him (throw yourself down to prove that your Father will save you). In the Spiritual Exercises, Jesus instead chooses poverty, dishonor and humility, which express his absolute trust and unshakeable love for the One he calls “Abba.” What about us? Lent is an invitation to look at the sinfulness and selfishness present in our life, straight in the eye. Can we honestly say, yes, that’s my temptation and this is my sin, and not point fingers like Adam and Eve? Can we face our temptations squarely and discern, putting our complete trust that Jesus will show us the way? Can we take consolation in the truth that Jesus, like us, was “tempted in every way but did not sin” (Hebrews 4: 15)? Can we believe in our hearts that we, like Jesus, are God’s beloved children, and that God yearns for us and wants us to come home? Jan Richardson has a beautiful blessing to begin Lent: Beloved is Where We Begin If you would enterinto the wilderness,do not beginwithout a blessing. Do not leavewithout hearingwho you are:Beloved,named by the Onewho has traveled this pathbefore you. Do not gowithout letting it echoin your ears,and if you findit is hardto let it into your heart,do not despair.That is whatthis journey is for. I cannot promisethis blessing will free youfrom danger,from fear,from hungeror thirst,from the scorchingof sunor the fallof the night. But I can tell youthat on this paththere will be help. I can tell youthat on this waythere will be rest. I can tell youthat you will knowthe strange gracesthat come to our aidonly on a roadsuch as this,that fly to meet usbearing comfortand strength,that come alongside usfor no other causethan to lean themselvestoward our earand with theircurious insistencewhisper our name: Beloved.Beloved.Beloved. From ‘Circle of Grace‘ by Jan Richardson

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Courage, Trust & Love of a Religious

Immersion Program @Cenacle, 2020 A testimony from a participant through whatsapp: Gd Morning Sr.!I really wish to visit Manila. My heart is drawn to go there again.. It is hard to share a little of my experience about the Manila Immersion Programme as it is a rich and eye-opening 7 days journey. However, if I am to summarize the grace God has granted me, that would be the courage to trust in the love of our good Lord, in the way He wants to love me, not in my preferred way, because He always know the best than I do. At first, I hesitated to join the programme because there is too many ‘risk’ I have to face, especially in taking leave from full time job, which is normally not so easy. But even before the programme, God has granted me the courage to trust in His providence. He only wants my YES and He takes care of the rest. Praise God for that! Throughout my journey in Manila, He showed me that this grace came alive in the Religious Sisters and Brothers whom we visited. They face different challenges in their respective missions and vocation journey, but they persevere on and amazingly, all of them look so happy. They love until it hurts, but they still carry on to love, until it hurts no more, but only love remains. Thank you Sisters and Brothers for letting me taste the fruits of your courage, trust and love. On top of all, I thank my Lord for this experience. It is too wonderful that I wish to return to Manila and I hope there will be another similar programme so others can receive the experience like I do. 🙂

Homilies, Soul Food

Gravity

Homily by Fr. Arnel Aquino, sj on the feast of the Baptism of the Lord 11 Jan 2020 “I need to be baptized by you and yet you are coming to me?” That’s how I imagine John to have said that. It’s highly unlikely he said it that way, though, with the personal pronouns in italics. But the point is John did not expect Jesus, the Messiah of all people, to descend to the river Jordan and go down to the back of the line of sinners. John knew that baptizing the Messiah was not his place. He also knew well that this queue of sinners wasn’t a Messiah’s place either. “There’s something misplaced here,” John must’ve thought. “A reversal  that’s short of scandalous.” So, when he said, “I need to be baptized by you and yet you are coming to me?” His pronouns were in the right places. John knew what was his place and what wasn’t. We say it better in Tagalog: alam ni Juan kung saan siya lulugar. If it hasn’t happened to us, nevertheless, you and I are familiar with the situation where we or someone loses the sense of place, ‘yun bang nakakalimutan na natin kung saan tayo lulugar.’ This usually happens when we are taken from a place of non-privilege and placed in a situation of privilege. Raised to such a place we’re given unbelievable access to private spaces, both physical and personal spaces. We are given access to sensitive information, access to money, access to property, etc. And then, sadly, it gets to our head. Then, we lose our place. Nakakalimutan natin kung saan tayo lulugar. Classic examples of this are familiar to us. There are no specific faces to these examples, but we know and have seen them happen. Like a boy starts out as a sacristan, then becomes the head of the altar boys, then sacristan-mayor many years thereafter. Then…he loses his place. Whereupon he conducts himself as if he knows better than the priests who privileged him to be sacristan-mayor. Or like a faithful driver or body guard of many years who’s raised to army general as his boss becomes president. Then… he loses his place. He starts using his power to “liquidate” detractors of his master. Or like a group of parishioners who volunteer to help run a baby parish, outlaying their own resources, efforts, connections. Then… they lose their place. They now have control over who gets to see the parish priest and who doesn’t, whose donation can be accepted and whose shouldn’t, which surnames should appear on the benefactors’ wall, etc. I can go on, but I’m sure you’re familiar with the situation. It usually happens when someone is raised to a privileged place and granted access, then the person gets lost. Nalilimutan na niya kung saan siya galing at saan siya lulugar. Italicized pronouns are telltale signs of this: I, me, my, mine. Then they turn into phrase: through me, with me, because of me, should be me. And the saddest thing about it is that it all started out from such spirit of service, gentle kindness, generosity without any hooks, and true selflessness. In other words, it all started from a place of descent. Now, however, it’s all “disordered affections,” to use Ignatius’ words. Ad majorem Dei gloriam is really ad majorem mei gloriam. Mei in italics, please. Sisters and brothers, we forget our rightful place when we lose our sense of gravity. We lose our sense of gravity when we start believing hat the natural way for us to go is up, and higher, in privilege and access; when the natural way to go is really down and lower, in greater service, in more humility. Jesus never lost gravity, in all his privilege and access as Son of the God Most High. Rather, he always descended. He began his ministry by descending to the level of sinners chest-high in sin. He descended to the level of people’s life-stories and told parables off of them. He descended to the impure, never once vaunting himself pure, though he was. He descended to the realm of illnesses, demonic possessions, gender separation and declared that “the Kingdom of God is here.” He just kept doing and doing good things selflessly, “not crying out, not shouting, not making his voice heard in the streets,” never self-referencing, never lording himself over his friends, never italicizing his personal pronouns. “A bruised reed he did not break, a smoldering wick, he did not quench.” No suffocation, no throttling, no emotional blackmail. Even as Messiah of God, Jesus knew his place. From the beginning of his ministry in the Jordan river to his last meal in the upper room, Jesus, Messiah that he was, was servant. That was his place, the place he always believed he should be, a place he loved being in: the place of descent. No wonder the heaves above opened up that day with the Father saying, “This is my beloved son with whom I am well pleased.” God was so proud of him! And that should be no surprise to us because we know what that feels, don’t we, sisters and brothers? People we privilege and grant access into our lives endear themselves to us when they remember their place. All the more we want to make them part of us. They become such joy. But the opposite is also true. When someone loses gravity, our heavens darken and close and become silent. “I need to be baptized by you and yet you are coming to me?” “Allow it now,” Jesus tells John. “For thus it is fitting for us to fulfil all righteousness.” The Messiah always knew his place as God’s Son. His personal pronouns were always rightly placed, modestly subdued. They never sounded like they were in wearisome, attention-seeking italics. Sisters and brothers, as we move back to ordinary time, if we sense that our egos have led us astray after being granted privilege and access

Homilies, Soul Food, Updates and Activities

The Star of Christmas

Homily at Mass on Christmas Eve 2019 by Fr. James Gascon, sj One Wintry Christmas evening in December, in a faraway land in Minnesota, a father and his 5 year-old son decided to take a walk to the park after the family Christmas dinner. As they pass through the snow filled streets of the village, the father noticed his son staring at each house they would pass by, as if absorbed by what he saw in these houses. Finally, in a soft perplexed voice, the son asked his father. “Why are there purple stars hanged outside the doors of the houses in our neighbors?” With very caring voice, the father answered, “Each purple star represents every son who used to live in those homes, went to war, and died defending our country’s freedom.” And the father continues, “That is why, some have one, two, or three. Each star represents a son given away. That is our way of honoring them, and thanking them for giving their lives for our country.” And there was silence between them. As they continued walking until they reached the neighborhood park and had a perfect view of the clear sky, the got more excited.  He looked up and with great awe and excitement pointed to the brightest star in the sky. “How about that star, dad?” Without hesitation the father replied, “That’s the star at the Father’s house. The star of Jesus. Our heavenly father gave us his only begotten son, that we might know how much he loves us and win our war against sin in the world.” And without hesitation the boy replied, “When I grow up, I too will give myself for our country, so that you can hang a purple star on our door, dad.” And the father could not utter a word. I think this is what Christmas is all about. For four Sundays we prepared for this day; for nine simbang gabi we listened to stories; stories that lead to The story, to the manger where Jesus gave of himself as a gift. We must remember that what was given is not a thing, not a material gift but a person, a baby. Helpless, but will grow into a man to save his people. And similar to the gifts we give each other, it is precious. Jesus is he who was sent, offered, and given up. But what kind of a gift does Jesus represent? Jesus is a gift for all. When the son of man became man, he was given to all. Not because everyone deserves him, but because all of us needs him. He was given 2000 years ago, he is given yesterday, today, and continues to be given every day, even beyond our generation. In our present consumerist culture, we always long for what we want, for what we like, which many times are not also what we really need. We truly need Jesus, thus, the father gifted us with Jesus. Thus, we need to know him, love him, and follow him, as the second week of the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius summons us to do. Jesus is a gift that is priceless. What was offered in Jesus is not only his person, but more than his person, he offered a relationship. Through him we become sons and daughters of God. In him, we can call God “Abba,” our father. Because we have been connected and related with the Father, through Jesus, we can pray and ask for our needs. Priceless gifts and graces are showered upon us, and we cannot but respond in gratitude. Jesus is a gift of challenge. The gift should not stay with us alone. We need to re-gift Jesus. Perhaps in a new wrapper. “Parang recycled gift… uso na yan ngayon.” The more we recycle the gift, the better. And come to think of it, it is the best gift, because it is never consumed. Rather it consumes, and brings out the best in us as well as in others. So, Jesus is a gift for all, a priceless gift and a gift that challenges. So where does this bring us? To the real disposition of being a Christian. As a gift for all, we are called to interreligious and ecumenical dialogue. Jesus is not only for Christians. Incidentally, this year is year of interreligious and ecumenical dialogue, a recognition that Jesus is for all. We don’t own Jesus, He is for everyone. And if we really have received Jesus the priceless, we must give gifts that are priceless: forgiveness, love, time, listening, visiting the sick, caring for those who need us. These are the priceless gifts we can share having experienced the priceless gift who is Jesus. And finally, this is our challenge. Can we live the life we are called to live as Jesus lived? Our life is an eternal challenge. We should never give up. It is not easy, but through God’s grace, we can. We can accept the challenge. And perhaps, this is the reason why Filipino houses hang not purple stars but colorful parols on their windows and doors. Kumukutikutitap, bumubusibusilak, ganyan ang indak ng mga bombilya ng parol. Because we can offer of ourselves in many unique ways, through many means, not only with our lives, not only with what we have, for our love ones, for our neighbors, for our country, for the world. This is the reason why we have many kinds of parols, with many shapes and colors. If you hang a parol this Christmas in your home, now you know what it really, really means: Are you a gift for all that is priceless and a constant challenge? Otherwise, your parol will remain a decoration, a piece of paper or kapis that hangs there for nothing. And how would you explain it to a 5-year old boy? Maligayang Pasko sa inyong lahat.

Soul Food, Updates and Activities

A Call To Share

“A little kindness goes a long way.” When you’re on the receiving end of kindness you would know how true this statement is. But this is also what a Singaporean volunteer in Cambodia realised—she gave and she received more. It was a privilege to journey with the 38 volunteers from ACTS Singapore, for one week, in Kampong Thom, Cambodia. They were diverse in age and experience, some of them were doctors and medical students, a few in Secondary school, but basically generous and willing people. ACTS offered free check-up, basic medical care and medicines, health education to public school kids, and manual labor in the parish (they put up a children’s playground and posts for the new church!) At sundown, the end of each work-day, they would gather for prayer, reflection and sharing. Even when they were exhausted and longed for a shower! It was a tough challenge for me, not all of them were Catholics, not even believers, and on top of that, we had to grapple with the question: “Why does God allow suffering?” I capitalised on the common desire that brought them together— A call to share (A.C.T.S.) And most importantly, I trusted that in spite of, and even sometimes through, my limitations the Holy Spirit would work.  A turning point in the sharing, I think, was when someone shared that “there’s no KPI (key performance index) in volunteer work.” It was what led the group to reflect on their motivations for doing what they do. It’s true, that in a performance-driven society, kindness can simply be utilitarian. What can turn kindness into compassion is our faith. Jesus’ teachings, in words and example, and his Spirit in each one of us, enable us to listen and to suffer with the other, to give wholeheartedly and not because we will be evaluated, to heal even when we ourselves are hurting. I almost forgot to mention, the group also did the dishes, pots and pans included, after our every meal. On our last session, when I asked the group who was the God they encountered in Kampong Thom, they said God is a God who is “awesome,” “in control,” “unconditional love,” and “can be found even in the most unlikely places.” One even said that he saw God in the person of a volunteer who was a self-professed non-believer. One volunteer, named Ignatius, shared “God is in everything.” Talk about living up to his name!  I say Amen to all of the above. During the day, since our session was not until 5:00 PM, some days I went with the group to the areas to join the Education team, and some days I helped out in the kitchen. The children in the school were lavish in their hugs and attention. When we were playing “London Bridge” they would deliberately slow down so they’d end up being caught in our arms. While we were at rest from play, they snuggled up to us and chatted in Khmer, as if we were locals. The same with the cook in the parish, whom I was very fond of. She laughed at my slowness in cutting vegetables and my inability to start the fire on the wood stove, but all with affection, so I knew she wasn’t cursing me. She would show me some food to taste, explain something in Khmer, and if I hesitated she shoved it into my mouth. So full of tough love, ain’t she? I witnessed God in the church staff, too, who aside from overseeing the activities in all five parishes, had to do translation work for the Medical team.  I am utterly grateful to God for the opportunities he has given me through this ministry of spiritual accompaniment. God has brought me to places I never thought I’d reach, and led me to know many faces of selfless service and compassion, the many faces of Jesus. This is perhaps what Jesus said about a “hundredfold” of “brothers, sisters, father, mother, children or land” in Matthew 19. But what I am grateful most is being able to witness to the encounter between God and human, that beautiful moment when the love God communicates is perceived and received by God’s beloved. Priceless. Truly, when we share, even of whatever little that we have, it is we who receive more. ~ Sr. Yna Oñate, rc More photos of the ACTS mission: https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipNOVVpj1zu4-EbHFXLn-BtToVBtmhlaxdNZP2MZQN6Kkt-71oWKwvtnNOQqJWCdKQ?key=SzZvemlfcjdaOFZYekliajJrd2tTWFZscTVpQl9n

Homilies, Soul Food, Updates and Activities

Gazing on the Cross

Homily of Fr. Peter Pojol, S.J. at Cenacle Retreat House on September 14th, 2019 (Saturday) I think it may be safe to say that everyone has had an experience of recoiling at something horrible, of being so distressed by something that it makes us turn away in order to, momentarily at least, block out whatever evil confronts us. It could be the replay of that crucial helmet-and-glove catch by David Tyree, if you’re a New England Patriots fan. It could be a scene of extreme violence, or of a loved one suffering in sickness. It could be a reminder of anything depressing, or anything frightening, anything that threatens life, anything that seems to assert the victory of death, of the anti-life. Have you ever, in such an instance, fought against your instinct to turn away and to forget, and instead steeled your resolve to face that evil squarely and not let it determine your choices or your life, not let it have the last word? If you have, you may have experienced the power of paradoxically drawing life from death, of gaining strength from fear. The story of Moses and the Israelites in our first reading from the book of Numbers illustrates how God saved them from their deaths precisely by having them confront the cause of their death. I must admit that it is a mysterious account written with many of the mythical elements of story-telling and faith proclaiming that was standard practice at that time. But what we can glean from the story is that the Israelites were dying in the desert, whether literally or figuratively from snake bites, and recognizing their fault for turning against God in their distress, they sought the forgiveness and help of God. What is interesting in this account is the way God saved them.  Rather than introducing something different to counter the serpents, God instructed Moses to make an image of the serpent, and to tell the people to look at this image, a stark reminder of their ills. Rather than giving them something to take their attention away from the source of their death and destruction, God as it were made them stare death in the eye and in this way enabled them to defeat death and to have life. There is something to be said about gazing on evil that threatens to envelope and overwhelm us. The wisdom of staring death in the eye is not simply to desensitize us or to make us numb, which is what seems to drive some trends in popular media and culture. For even when we have become desensitized and numb, we can still die, just as we can die running away from death. Rather, the wisdom of gazing right at death is to see what we had not seen before: that is, the power of God that surpasses death and evil—not just death and evil in the abstract, but this death and this evil that taunts me; and not just the power of God in general, but the unrelenting power of this God who loves me persistently no matter how many times I have foresaken him. We may have become desensitized to the paradox of bannering the very cause of death as the promise of deliverance, from the sheer repeated exposure to the image. In fact, one of the universal symbols of medicine derives, I think, from the Old Testament story we just heard: the image of a serpent on a pole, especially as it is being carried by the figure of the greek god Mercury symbolizing the speedy delivery of cure. The other ubiquitous paradoxical symbol of cure and life, whose power to jolt us into recognizing the profound truth of “life through death” is easy to lose, is the cross of Jesus Christ, the exaltation of which we celebrate today. It is easy to forget the impact of raising high the symbol of the standard instrument of torture and death that was the very same one used to kill the one we proclaim as Messiah and Savior. If Jesus had been executed by an electric chair, we would be adorning all our Churches and altars with it. By exalting the cross, whether by the crucifixes we place prominently in our homes and places of worship, or by the habit of the sign of the cross with which we call upon God to bless us in prayer, we not only remind ourselves of our death and of the death of the one who came to save us, but more importantly, we recommit ourselves to the truth that Jesus exemplified and willingly gave up his life to tell: that God is love and love is the final word, not death, not failure, not evil. By exalting the cross we humbly beg the Lord to help us make our own the saving mystery that plays out from death to life. By living by the sign of the cross, we hope to embrace whatever makes us cringe and cower in fear and in so doing to find God embracing us and leading us from darkness into light. As the evangelist John set down in those immortal words we heard in our gospel today: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”

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