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“Jesus wept.”

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

General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Making Love For God Visible

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

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Insane

Insane 7 March 2026 | Homily delivered by Fr. Arnel Aquino, SJ on the Third Sunday of Lent (Anticipated Mass) I don’t know if you also did this back when you were a kid. But I remember, I would go and repeatedly open the refrigerator 3, 4 times in one afternoon, on the off chance that there was something new in there I could eat, even when I knew there wasn’t. I was already a priest when I read that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results was a classic definition of insanity. From how Jesus described the woman of Samaria at the well, it looked like she was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a result, different from her 5 failed marriages. But she wasn’t insane. Like Jesus pointed it out to her, this poor woman kept carrying an “empty jar,” a thirst that seemed unquenchable, an emptiness.  As you probably know, sisters and brothers, the village well also served as a casual gathering place at the time (like today’s sari-sari store, barberya, basketball court beside the barangay). Incidentally, it was also typical that great people met their future spouses there; like Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel, Moses and Zipporah. Meeting at the village well eventually became a literary type, a poetic genre, for marriage in the Bible. If today, “once upon a time” marks the beginning of a fairy tale, back then, “boy-meets-girl-at-the-well” marked the beginning of a love story. But alas, no matter how repeatedly the Samaritan woman drew from the village well for another love story, she wasn’t any less thirsty than last time around. Five husbands. Maybe she was widowed. Or maybe her husband divorced her (women could not file for divorce). Maybe her dead husband’s brother married her (like the Law required), but maybe, he died, too, or, well, divorced her. Whatever the reason, for a woman to go from husband to husband didn’t necessarily mean she was a libertine, a loose woman. She was, after all, betrothed 5 times! Rather, this was a woman who must’ve suffered hard blows from life. She must’ve asked herself constantly what was wrong w/ her, why this curse. Because unless a woman was wedded to a man, she was incomplete, she felt worthless. So, there was nothing wrong w/ the woman at the well. Even if she repeatedly did the same thing but ended up “manless” anyway, her head was in the right place. She was not covetous and insatiable. But her heart was restless. The chauvinistic dictate of culture made her believe that unless a husband filled her life, she was just an empty jar. I’m sorry, sisters and brothers. I need to be honest w/ you. When I prayed over this beautiful story this year, I couldn’t help contrasting the woman to our thieving politicians. I know. This sounds like a curve ball. But unlike the woman at the well, the thirst in our “representa-thieves” seems unquenchable. Unlike the woman, they’re not victims. They’re just deep-down greedy and shameless about being greedy. Their wells are already brimming over! But because they’re morally bankrupt, they want more. And they will get at that more regardless if it takes away from people who have next to nothing in life, whose jars are never full. The heart of the woman at the well felt empty. I can’t say the same thing for thieving politicians. Because they’re heartless. Jesus’ kindest words set the woman free and rejoicing. She told everyone, “Come see the man who told me everything that I have done. Could he be the Christ?” To me, that sounds like, “Come and see the Savior who told me that I am complete in God’s eyes. I am enough as I am.” Jesus made her realize she didn’t need yet another husband to complete her. Funny that Jesus asked for a drink but it was the woman who ended up quenched and refreshed and sparkling! She was enough in the Father’s eyes. Being enough is already grace. Enough is already a blessing. Sisters and brothers, our hearts are always restless. I’m afraid they’ll remain that way until, well, until God fills us w/ glory when our time comes. Meanwhile, it is very human that our hearts desire for more in this life: more comfort, more healing, more harmony and warmth and peace. But sometimes, greed and shamelessness poison our well. Then, we hallucinate that our well is almost empty, even when it’s still darn full. So, we want more: more self-gratification, more excitement, more novelty, more power and control, more likes, follows, subscribes, and all for the self. All for the ego. “I don’t care how I get at that more, or whom I steal it from. If I can’t have more, life is empty.” So: must… have… more. I mean, the sheer insanity of it all, sisters and brothers. We often think of the season of Lent as a time of subtraction of our extras, a time of reduction of our excesses, don’t we? Maybe, Lent isn’t just about giving something up, but also waking up; like that splash of cold water on our faces, God making us realize that enough is already a blessing. In fact, we have more than enough. But when we share our “enough” w/ people who barely have any, then, we feel even fuller; overflowing w/ life-giving water, overflowing w/ Christ! Really, sisters and brothers, even before we toss the bucket into the well, God has already filled us to the brim, and many times over. So, in a world that shouts that it is never enough, never enough, may we rest in Jesus who assures us and says, enough is already a blessing. Enough is already grace. Finally, did you ever read that meme that says, “If you have food in your fridge, clothes on your back, a roof above you, a bed to sleep in, you are richer than 75% of the world.” I found out, 75% is exaggerated. More accurately put: if

General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Memorial of Saint Paul Miki and Companions, Martyrs

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

Features, General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food, Updates

Cracks of Beauty

Cracks of Beauty Homily delivered by Fr Arnel Aquino, SJ on the Launching Mass for the Cenacle Bicentenary Celebration Our dear Cenacle sisters have carefully chosen the theme of earthen vessels for their 200th anniversary. When we think of earthen vessels, we straightaway think of Jeremiah & his very comforting metaphor of God as a potter, and we, the vessels that emerge from ugly, formless lumps of clay in God’s masterful hands. But as it happens, clay pots that we are, we get knocked over & fall & break. This is where Kintsugi comes in as an accompanying theme the sisters have chosen for their anniversary: the Japanese art of repairing broken vessels, but in a very distinct way. Once upon a time, a Japanese shogun accidentally broke his favorite ceramic tea bowl from China. He sent it back to China to be restored. But the bowl came back like Frankenstein; the shards hideously stapled together by crude metal braces. Disgusted, the shogun asked his craftsmen to do something, anything, and bring his poor mangkok back to its native perfection. So, they unstapled the broken pieces & stuck them back together w/ lacquer blended w/ powdered gold. Gold gave the lacquer durability for hold and a glimmer beautiful to behold. The shogun’s craftsmen did not even try to hide the cracks, no. They still very well ran up, down, & around the restored mangkok. But how the cracks shimmered now in gentle magnificence! By the way, the first sight of a kinstsugied vessel can be quite jarring. The gold just jumps right at you. But stay with it for a while and you realize, “Ah, the breaks are actually beautiful.” Stay a little bit more & you realize, “Ah, the cracks recite the poetry.” Stay a little bit longer still and you realize, “Ah, brokenness is not hidden. It is humbly honored.” A precious blessing we’ve received from God is the faithful accompaniment of our Cenacle sisters. As the Divine Potter shapes & reshapes our awkward, lumpy selves in his firm, gentle hands, a Cenacle sister has been there to help keep the potter’s wheel turning. And every time life knocks us over & we fall & we break, a Cenacle sister has helped us pick up the broken pieces of ourselves, so we can together offer them back for the Divine Craftsman to do kintsugi on us.  For when we needed someone to get us to somewhere we can pull our life together, a Cenacle sister was there to walk us through a spirituality. When we were beside ourselves w/ joy & wanted to celebrate how life was turning out, a Cenacle sister was there for a quiet gratitude recollection. When we kept waking up from nightmares after a breakup, a separation, an abuse, a Cenacle sister was there to paramedic us through deep, long, existential breaths of prayer. When we felt ganged up on & pushed against the wall at work, or in our community, or by our very own family, a Cenacle sister was there to open up a space for our tears & our pain, then, to remind us that in God’s eyes, we have always been enough. And when we were the ones who were desperate to control others, when we were the ones hurtful in our dominance, when we did unto others what we precisely suffered through ourselves, a Cenacle sister was also there for the gentle scolding. Our Cenacle sisters tirelessly teach that we need to cooperate with God in shaping & reshaping us into vessels of grace. But they never want us to forget that God was only too happy to create someone other to Godself, different from Godself, fragile, yes, but lovely, intricate, beautiful. The Cenacle sisters taught us to say, “Maganda ako! Magaling ako!” But when we’re knocked over, and we fall, & we break, the sisters help us admit our own carelessness, our mindlessness, our refusal to be still, and to let God be the God, ‘yun bang mga ambag natin sa sarili nating pagkabasag. But they’re there to pick up the shards w/ us & offer them to God, so God can do what God does best to broken humanity, divine kintsugi. Why are our dear Cenacle sisters able to do all this, sisters & brothers? Because like us, they are vessels themselves, far from flawless. May mga galos din sila. Nasugatan, nagpasa sa mga kalmot at suntok ng buhay. Sure, they’ve seen through much filling with God’s grace. Pero nauubos din sila. Hindi lang natin nalalaman. Tahimik lang. Because even if God lines their brokenness in gold, sisters & brothers, our sisters know they should never wear their tragedies like medals & play the victim. Rather, they integrate their brokenness into their wholeness precisely by helping us do the very same. But not crying out, not shouting, not making their voices heard in the streets. That’s kintsugi right there. Brokenness accepted & restored, but unhidden & part of the overall design. In that first ever cenacle where Jesus ate his last ever meal w/ his friends, he must’ve felt utterly broken-hearted. He knew his enemies would soon splinter him & take him down. Sa lahat ng kabutihang ginawa niya, siya pa rin ang masama. Sa lahat pagbubuo niya sa mga nabiyak at nabasag, siya pa rin ang bibiyakin at babasagin ng mga nagkukunwaring matuwid, buo, at walang kalamat-lamat. So, what did Jesus do? He broke the bread that was his body & poured out the wine that was his blood. The heart of kintsugi. To be life-giving to others by being broken into many pieces. To forgive & be forgiven by being emptied out. Whenever we celebrate the Last Supper in the upper room at every mass, sisters & brothers, we are to ever remember: Jesus binds our brokenness with his own. Yaman din lamang at bungi-bungi na tayo, ang gamit niyang pambuo ay ang pira-piraso na rin niyang katauhan. At ang kanyang panghinang? His never-fading, never-failing, intricate, luminous love. Dear Cenacle Sisters, congratulations on your 200th anniversary of existence in the world. Thank you again &

Features, General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food, Updates

Hush

Hush Homily delivered by Fr. Jose Ramon (Jett) Villarin, SJ Christmas Eve Mass 2025 There is no noise in space. The light of a star is quiet. The quiet belies the immense power of atoms firing of in a nuclear furnace. We tend to link light with sound, as with lightning and thunder, or even a firecracker. But the light of a star, like sunlight, is silent. The sound of Christmas is like that of starlight, streaming through the dark, steadfast yet silent, laden with power. Of course there are other sounds that accompany Christmas. We know these all too well. These are the sounds of gifts being opened, carols being sung, the laughter of children, the table chitchat of grownups. And yes there is the sound of Jose Mari Chan as early as September, singing Christmas in our hearts. But the real sound of Christmas is like the silent light of a star. We can catch it in the dark. We only need to hush all the hurry to listen to it “truly in our hearts”. And so tonight, for a few moments here at our vigil, we will be quiet. We will set the other sounds aside to listen to the sound of Christmas, the sound of God coming into our world. The sound of Christmas is the sound of Jesus, the Word of God. His is the sound of God who “will not wrangle or cry aloud, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets. He will not break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick until he brings justice to victory.” (Mt 12:19-20) And so we shall befriend silence to listen to the sound of Christmas. That means dialing down the chatter and turning away from the noisy lights of our little screens. Those little screens are the shining lights of the attention economy. Money competes for our attention. And so our attention is fractured by relentless noise, images, words, and never ending scrolls of sensory delights that assault us from all over. To listen to the sound of Christmas, we need to welcome silence into our lives. That means cutting down on our quarrelsome ways and refraining from having the last word. There are no words when we are before mystery, before something truly wondrous and ineffable. In the presence of the deeply joyful or sorrowful or glorious, we fumble with words because words are not enough or words are just too much. When we mourn those who are no longer with us this Christmas, when we are going through unspeakable pain, we are quiet; to those we have loved and lost, we over a moment of silence.  Silence can be a fearful thing. We equate silence with nothing, and sound with something. We connect silence with death; and sound with things that are alive. We can be as afraid of silence as we are of nothing. But silence is not nothing. The quiet light of a star is not nothing. Silence is not the absence of life but the fullness of presence. It is the space we hollow out inside us to let the holy come in. True silence is presence, the quiet of hope, the stillness of faithful waiting. It is silence that settles us down. When we unplug, when we let go of the headphones and microphones, we are met with silence. When we go to a chapel and learn to pray again, silence. Even when we are quiet, we can saturate silence with white noise, i.e. with a lot of background hissing and rewinding and regretting. Let silence just help us relish and rest and breathe. We need silence to know the value of words. Words are plentiful. You don’t need to be an economist to know that when something is plentiful, it becomes cheap. Salitang mura. Words can be weapons sharp enough to cut people down. There is a di8erence between being talked at and talked to. We cannot understand each other when there is a lot of talking at, not much talking to, much less listening to and listening for one another. If words can hurt, words can also heal and rebuild and reconnect us to each other. Simple words really. Words like “thank you, forgive me, sorry, I love you, I forgive you”. The writer Pico Iyer has this to say about words: “We all know how treacherous are words, and how often we use them to paper over embarrassment, or emptiness, or fear of the larger spaces that silence brings. “Words, words, words” commit us to positions we do not really hold, the imperatives of chatter; words are what we use for lies, false promises and gossip. We babble with strangers; with intimates we can be silent…. In love, we are speechless; in awe, we say, words fail us.” This Christmas, amid the merriment, let us listen to the quiet light of Bethlehem’s star, streaming into our night, laden with power. This is the sound of Christmas, the sound of God fulfilling his promise. It is the sound of Jesus, the Word of God, breaking the silence, speaking to our worry and fear, telling us we will never be alone, assuring us how much we are loved. Jose Ramon T Villarin SJChristmas Eve Mass at the Cenacle 24 December 2025

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

The Rich Man and Lazarus

The Rich Man and Lazarus Brothers and sisters, tonight we celebrate the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time. The Church also dedicates this Sunday to seafarers and migrants. Today, this Saturday, is also the birthday of Saint Alphonsus, the founder of the Redemptorists, and the anniversary of the Province of Cebu, which in the future will become the Province of the Philippines. Maybe tonight is also our last Mass together, as a batch, for tomorrow we will be dispersed to our respective ministry. We are so grateful for the past two weeks, especially to our facilitators, because we have learned so much- from the elements of faith, to religious experience, and from religious experience to discernment. And from discernment to being aware of AI, and from AI to the need of supervision. All of these are very important and must be considered in spiritual direction. Through these, I have come to appreciate even more the art of listening, not only the importance of listening to someone, but also of listening to oneself, and of discovering together what God is telling us, to see what God is doing in our lives, self-awareness as sometimes call it, because all of these come from our desire to be with God and to follow his will. For me, this is a daunting task. In the ministry of spiritual direction, as we have already heard, we cannot separate our very selves from the ministry. As much as we ask the person to see God in their life, so much more are we called to see God in our own personal life. We are supposed to see God first, before we can help others see Him in theirs. We cannot split our being from what we are doing. We cannot pan for gold unless we know what gold is. Only then can we truly journey with the person that we accompany. This is our calling: to journey with others. In today’s Gospel, we hear the story of Lazarus. Jesus tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich man lived in comfort, eating and drinking every day. Just outside his gate lay poor Lazarus, hungry and covered with sores. Dogs even came to lick his wounds. But the rich man never cared and was never bothered. He was indifferent. He never had the intention, or even the willingness, to help, to touch the wounds of Lazarus, much less to listen to Lazarus. In other words, for him it was none of his business. But for us, especially us religious and priest, it is our business: to feel what others feel and to see what others see. If we truly love one another, we cannot remain indifferent. We are called to be neighbors to everyone especially the poor. I hope we can also offer spiritual direction to poor people. This means taking responsibility for the needs of others and being able to listen to the silent plea of their hearts, to their deep desire to connect with God. I remember an experience from my childhood. There was a little girl in our neighborhood left alone by her parents. My aunt noticed that it was already lunchtime and the parents had not returned. The child simply stayed in their house, in their veranda, waiting. It was getting late, maybe around 2PM, and my aunt was sure she was hungry. So my aunt called the child into our home and offered her food. I will never forget that girl, on how she devoured her food. Though shy, as obviously as she was, she ate it all the food my aunt offered to her.  She was able to escape hunger that day because of my aunt’s simple act of care and kindness. My aunt didn’t preach, she didn’t explain anything to me, but her actions pointed me towards God. And that is what Jesus is asking of us: to see, to feel, and to act. Even small gestures of concern can save someone from pain, hunger or loneliness. So, it is good to reflect on these brothers and sisters. How are we as neighbors to our fellow human beings? Do we help them? Are we always available to them? Do we share our precious time with them? Human as we are, we know that we cannot perfectly give ourselves to others. But God continues to challenge us: it is by giving that we receive; it is by offering ourselves that we experience perfect love just like the song we sang yesterday. I was a little sentimental yesterday when we sang that song. It was my aunt’s favorite song. She often sang it when I was a child, which is why I’m so familiar with it. As we continue this Holy Eucharist, let us pray for hearts that listen, hearts that hear the quiet cries of those around us and the gentle voice of God within us. As mentioned in our morning prayer, spiritual direction doesn’t end here. It is a continual process of learning, listening, and discernment as we seek God in the algorithm of our soul. Amen. Homily delivered by Fr Ritchie Cuaton, CSrRAnticipated 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time27 September 2025Holy Family Retreat House, Busay, Cebu

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

To Die To Self

TO DIE TO SELF Homily delivered by Fr. Miguel Gaspe, CSsr on the Feast of Saint Thérèse Couderc, co-founder of Cenacle SistersHoly Family Redemptorist Retreat House, Busay, Cebu City26 September 2025 A common thread in the stories of most religious founders in the history of the Church is their shared religious experience.   It can be experienced through immense joy and gladness. Yet, we also know that even in times of trial and challenge, God’s presence can still be felt. When Therese Couderc was forced to resign from various positions in the Congregation due to false accusations against her, she saw this as an opportunity to hold to her faith and trust in God. It is in these encounters of “deaths” that she was raised to “life”. From this experience, she made the most of it as an opportunity for personal growth and in the mission she was called to serve. “A grain of wheat that falls to the earth must die to bear fruit.” This is a profound example that Jesus uses to help his disciples understand what it means to follow him. One has to die to self. What does it mean to die to oneself? To die to self is the ability to delve deeper into one’s being, confronting one’s own strengths and weaknesses, while allowing God to penetrate the heart and mind. From this movement, a renewed self emerges, putting behind perspectives that are no longer helpful in our journey. A renewed self that nourishes life around him. In the past few days in the workshop, we have been taught about the skills required in conducting spiritual direction (SD). However, as we progressed, what we were taught was not only the “hows” of doing SD, but also the “being” of becoming a spiritual director. Later, we realize that to grow in the spiritual life is an experience of a never-ending cycle of discovery, reflection, and surrender. One has to surrender, has to encounter death if one desires to live life to the fullest.  May the spirit of our holy founders and confreres continue to inspire us in the work of bringing all people closer to God. Amen.

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Me Save

Me Save My friend JM is the only person I know whose full name is “JM.” His dad named him Joseph Marlow. But when he abandoned the family, JM’s maternal lolo had his name legally changed to just “JM.” JM works as a janitor in a McDonald’s. He hits the road at 5am every day, rain or shine, baha or more baha. He moves frozen stuff from the freezer, first thing, & sets them down near the stoves. Then, all day long, he mops the floor, clears tables, & washes & washes & washes dishes. The other janitor is slack, he says. He leaves a heap of dirty dishes by the sink before break-time, but never helps JM wash them after the break. But my friend takes it all in silence every day. All in silence. JM has 2 dreams, his “tower,” let’s say. First, he wants to buy a small house where his wife & his 12-year-old son can live. But because that’s not going to happen anytime soon, his 2nd dream is to buy a small, portable keyboard for his son. The kid sings in church & has shown increasing interest in the piano. Every Saturday night, JM walks him to choir rehearsals at the nearby chapel. JM is proudest, though, when the kid sings solo at the responsorial psalm on some Sundays. He always takes a picture & sends it to me. JM has told me many times: “Me save. Me buy piano for son.” Yes, he says it like that. “Me save. Me buy piano for son.” He says it w/ his hands. JM was born deaf. He doesn’t know what a song or a piano sounds like. But one day, “me buy piano for son.” JM’s tower, sisters & brothers: a small house & a portable keyboard.  Our Gospel today continues the story where a Pharisee invited Jesus for a meal. Jesus saw how guests picked places of honor at the table, the upper crusters. So, he finally said, “Which of you wishing to construct a tower doesn’t first calculate how much it’ll cost to complete it? Otherwise, after laying the foundation, but running out of money to finish the work, onlookers should laugh at you & say, ‘This one began to build but didn’t have the resources to finish.’” Maybe, the shorthand in Tagalog could be: “’Yan. Ang tayog kasi ng lipad.” Whenever I think of JM, of course I compare his life to that of the contractors & so-called public “servants” who infuriate us these days. All these years, imagine how they’ve been living off of the tired & sweaty backs of honest, hard-working people like JM; their all-expense-paid life. “How much higher do you want those towers to go?” I really want to ask them. “Kulang pa ba? How many more cars, mansions, ‘Jet-2 getaways’ will you steal for? How many more bags, shoes, clothes, jewelry do your children need to show off before they begin to feel important? Kulang pa ba?!” And where & how do these people think all this will end? Saan ang katapusan? If there are some of you here, sisters & brothers, who are friends or relatives w/ the people I’m talking about, can you ask? Tell them you’re asking for a friend. How do they think all this will end? Because there is an end. From what Jesus taught us, we either spend this life giving back, or spend the next life paying back, until we’ve “paid the last penny.” For 300 years from the first Pentecost, Christianity was forbidden under pain of death by crucifixion, burning, or feeding to wild animals. Following Jesus was virtually a death wish; suicidal, if you want. So, imagine how someone deciding to follow Jesus would run afoul even of his own family. That line: “If anyone comes to me without hating his father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters, & even his own life, cannot be my disciple”? That line reminds me of an unico hijo friend. When he finally broke it to his rich parents that he wanted to be a priest, his father said, “You might as well kill me if you’re just going to be a priest.” How families must’ve pleaded w/ their children back in the day, dissuading them from joining this underground movement that Jesus started. I could hear the parents say, “Why are you doing this to us? Do you hate us? You love this Jesus more?” Today, though, we hear scheming contractors & “public servants” even utter Jesus’ name & lovingly. But discipleship doesn’t have anything to do with it at all. Haven’t they noticed, even from history alone: not all the money in the world will ever finish monuments of avarice & deception. Like termites through the toughest wood, fate & retribution will eat away, slowly & patiently, at every foundation laid in greed & fraud. Just when they think they’ve topped the tower, the flawed foundation will have begun to fissure. JM’s “tower” is modest enough. I hope he sees it through, sa awa ng Diyos. The little dream house might not come anytime soon, not on a McDonald’s salary. That portable keyboard, though, that one’s doable. “Me save,” he says. “Buy keyboard for son.” Imagine the day when JM sees his son play the keyboard he brings home w/ great love, & sees him play a psalm & sing it. Sweet, sweet music only a deaf father’s heart can hear. Loud & clear. Homily delivered by Fr. Arnel Aquino, SJ23rd Sunday in Ordinary TimeCenacle Retreat House6 September 2025

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Where does Easter begin?

Where does Easter begin? I remember a video I once saw on Facebook of an Easter Vigil Mass. There was this impressive setup— there was a cave in the sanctuary, and at the climactic moment during the Gloria, the cardboard stone split open. The Risen Christ emerged, surrounded by flashing, fireworks, smoke, and roaring applause. It was joyful, creative, dramatic. But I found myself wondering: Is that really how Easter begins? If we pay close attention to tonight’s liturgy, we’re invited to experience something very different. We started in stillness and shadow. No lights. Then a small flame. And from that flame, light moved—quietly, steadily—until this space was filled with light. This is not just a ritual. It tells us something essential—not only about Easter, but about how God usually works. God begins in the dark. Luke tells us the women went to the tomb “at early dawn.” John’s version is even more specific: “While it was still dark…” They weren’t going in hope—they were going in grief. They were not expecting resurrection; they were expecting to tend to death. And yet, in that darkness, something new had already begun. The creation account in Genesis starts with, “In the beginning, when God created…darkness covered the abyss.” Barbara Brown Taylor writes: “New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.” This is not just poetic—it’s a promise. God’s work often begins when nothing seems to be happening. As we heard in tonight’s retelling of the salvation history, time and again God moves at first in hidden ways – during the slavery in Egypt, during the dark days of exile in Babylon. We need to be reminded because it is very easy to forget. We know what that is like to be in the dark. Maybe we are in it now. We may be waiting for answers slow in coming, holding quiet grief, worn down by unappreciated work, wondering if our hopes and prayers matter. We look at the world—its violence, injustice, noise—and feel numb or overwhelmed. So much of life feels unresolved, like we’re eternally stuck between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. And in that in-between, we might think God is absent, because nothing feels dramatic or clear. But again, Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us: “While I am looking for something large, bright, and unmistakably holy, God slips something small, dark, and apparently negligible in my pocket How many other treasures have I walked right by because they did not meet my standards? At least one of the day’s lessons is about learning to let go of my bright ideas about God so that my eyes are open to the God who is.” Dear friends, this is the invitation of this night: To look again. To look more closely. To peer into the dark. To trust that the darkness is not empty. To believe resurrection is already underway. God doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. He doesn’t need spectacle. He starts in the silence. In the soil. In the tomb. In the quiet decision to keep going. In the gentle strength of people who love, forgive, and serve without limelight, or fireworks, or applause. So when we ask: Where does Easter begin? It begins here. In this way. When we least expect or see it coming. Goodness is already at work. New life is already forming. Because God always begins in the dark. And He never leaves us there. Homily delivered by Fr. Jordan Orbe, SJ Easter Vigil  (19 April 2025) Cenacle Retreat House

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