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Ikaw, ano ang ipinaglalaban mo?

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

Homilies, Soul Food

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

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

Features, General, Soul Food

An Easter Grace

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

Features, Soul Food

Jesus never gives up on us!

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

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The True Meaning of Joy

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

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Making ‘heart-sense’ of Suffering

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

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Nuggets for the Season

Monday of the Second Week in Lent (February 26, 2018) Jesus said to his disciples: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.. For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.”     – Luke 6:36-38 ‘Less of Me’ – Glen Campbell. Let me be a little kinder Let me be a little blinder To the faults of those about me Let me praise a little more Let me be when I am weary  Just a little bit more cheery  Think a little more of others  And a little less of me  Let me be a little braver When temptation bids me waver  Let me strive a little harder  To be all that I should be Let me be a little meeker  With the brother that is weaker  Let me think more of my neighbor  And a little less of me Let me be when I am weary  Just a little bit more cheery  Let me serve a little better Those that I am strivin’ for  Let me be a little meeker  With the brother that is weaker  Think a little more of others  And a little less of me  

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Lent – a story of love

 Today is Valentine’s day, and, also, Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Can we really celebrate both together? This is Lent. Lent was the dog of the Filipino sisters who run the Vila Sao Jose Center in Coloane, Macau, where I had my retreat. The sisters adored Lent. He followed them around the four-storey building, accompanied them in their daily chores. Lent’s mother was a stray dog who came to the center everyday because the kind sisters feed her. After a few days of absence she appeared again at their doorstep, this time carrying her newborn, as if entrusting her baby to the sisters’ care. That puppy was Lent, named so because he came to them during Lent. During the Christmas break all the sisters went home to the Philippines leaving Lent with Kuya Dong, their gardener/handyman. One day the sisters got a call from Kuya Dong saying Lent has weakened because he has refused to eat since they left, and that he tried everything to make him eat, but Lent would not budge. After three weeks the sisters went back to Macau, but Lent was no longer there to meet them. They were one day too late. The vet said Lent must have gone into depression thinking that his masters have abandoned him, and then eventually succumbed to cardiac arrest. Lent’s story is a love story. He was loved from the beginning till the end of his life. But, like many great love stories, his met a tragic end. The seemingly somber atmosphere of the season of Lent, however, is not about tragedy. In fact, we know that at the end of this season we celebrate the Feast of all feasts— the victory of Christ over death on Easter Sunday. Then why do we need to go through Lent? This is where Lent’s story has reminded me of these two important things: 1) the need to face and embrace our pain and 2) God is faithful to his promises. Lent loved his masters intensely that he was not able to bear the pain of loneliness of their absence, even when Kuya Dong was there to care for him, he could not be appeased. Had Lent known that his masters never intended to abandon him, and that they would be back soon because they loved him too, had he understood their promise, he would have patiently waited and endured his suffering knowing that the great joy of reuniting with his masters would be his at the end of it. We do not have the mind and heart of a dog. Even when some dogs act more human than many human beings we know, only the human has the Spirit of God been breathed into. If dogs are capable of exhibiting what seems to us as love, how much more are we humans capable of loving— God created us from love, in love and for love. The season of Lent is about trusting this love.  Do we find ourselves trusting God’s love for us?   How often have we doubted our own worth, convinced that we have been abandoned, forgotten , rejected and unloved?  How is it that despite hearing the comforting and affirming words of others, we still could not see beyond our own convictions?   Trusting this love will mean that we beg to hear God’s promise repeated to us: Death is not the end of our story, though we must die first in order for new life to begin. We are able to embrace and endure our pain because we have been loved and we are loved, and that God promised us joy will be ours in the end.   When we persevere in faith amidst our suffering, we allow God to purify us from false loves, so that we may know what real love is. This is also the belief behind sacrifices and self-denial during Lent. May our Lenten observances lead us to deeper faith and trust in God, and an even greater love and solidarity for those who are suffering. May our belief in the Resurrection help us to open our hearts to God’s love for us and to hope in the fulfillment of God’s promises. Jesus, our Master, will never abandon us.     Sr. Yna, Oñate rc Cenacle-Macau

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A permanent & unshakable character of God – Santo Niño

Homily from Fr. Arnel Aquino S.J. on January 20, 2018, Feast of Sto. Niño, Holy Child Jesus, at the Cenacle Retreat House. On the 1st week of the new year, I went home to Davao to visit with my dad for a week. One day, I decided to walk from the Jesuit Residence to San Pedro Cathedral. My mom used to love hearing mass there. The church is a good walk, around 2.5, 3 km from the JesRes. So walk I did, one Sunday afternoon, to catch the 5:30 Cebuano mass. Just 5 minutes into my walk, a little girl, about 1/3 of my height, broke into my direction, walking a few paces in front of me. From the way the little girl walked—which was really more of an “advanced toddle”—she must’ve been around 4 years old. She was in rags, too, so easily a street urchin, but cute as button like all kids her age—curly hair, fat cheeks, feet like little pandesals! And, my God, she was going at a good clip, because as I kept my pace, I wasn’t gaining on her. Ten minutes in, the little girl was still walking, no sign of stopping or turning back; no sign of anyone coming to meet her. So it struck me silly to realize this child was really alone! And she & I were the only ones going my direction at the time. Or maybe I didn’t notice the others because I was busy being roped in to watch over the little girl. Ten minutes in, she was still walking. For a 4-yr-old, that’s a pretty long time & a pretty long way. I very strongly felt the urge to catch up with her & assume full responsibility, but I didn’t, because I was so curious to find out (a) where she was headed all by her lonesome, & (b) why there wasn’t a hint of “lost-ness” or fear or panic in her at all. On the contrary, she looked like she knew exactly what she was doing & where she was headed. “Still,” said my superego, “she’s just a 4-year-old kid, are you blind?” Before I knew it, she had gone off the sidewalk, crossed the street, & disappeared into a crowd on the other side. Minutes later, I couldn’t concentrate on the mass. I swore I’d probably have never lived it down if news the next day said “4-year-old girl found dead on C.M. Recto St.” When you see a child—especially one who “looks” alone, or “seems” alone—the first question in your head is: “Sinong magulang ng batang ito?” Why? Because if we think “sea” & immediately think water, if we think desert & immediately think dry, if we think “breathe” & immediately think air—when we think & see a child, we immediately think relationship, relatedness. That’s why there’s nothing sadder than an orphaned child, or a foundling. Deep in all human hearts, a child must never be alone. A child immeidately calls forth relationship, relatedness, connection. This is the first reason why I think the feast of the Santo Niño is important in our faith, sisters & brothers. The Santo Niño is the “infant-God,” the “child-God” who reminds us of a permanent & unshakable character of God which we often forget or take for granted: that immediately & once & for all, God is related to us, immediately & once & for all, connected to us, in a relationship with us, as his free choice, out of his free love. I wish to emphasize this, dear sisters & brothers, because many of us do not often think of God as immediately & once & for all related to us, in a relationship with us, loving us. Our default is often an image of God “above” us, isolated in all his power, like a benevolent overlord, a patient  prefect of discipline, a quiet moral policeman—all of which are “official” terms but hardly relational terms. That’s why we need the feast of the Santo Niño, & quite desperately so. It’s the infant-God’s way of reminding us who he is in his very essence: a God who is freely, immediately, & once & for all related to us, connected to us, in a relationship with us. If we take that seriously, it should make many of us turn a corner in our faith & religiosity. And just like it’s unnerving to see a 4-year-old child walking alone, it should unnerve us if we’ve always believed that God, to be God, should be asunder from us. Because, you & I know that he never is. No, not even when we sin. God never disconnects even if we do. You’ve also heard it said many times that the Christ-child reminds us of how deeply, vulnerably human Jesus was. Allow me to add a little something to that. When I saw the vulnerable little girl that Sunday afternoon, she made me feel vulnerable. Even if she & I were related in no way, shape, or form—her being just a child on a sidewalk straightaway roped me in, to assume some way, shape, or form of responsibility over her. Unbeknownst to her, she committed me to a very basic connection, a fundamental responsibility. Suddenly, I was disturbed by the challenge to care, to go beyond my comfort zone, to change direction; all of which I did not do that afternoon, because, shame on me, I was “running late”,  headed on a straight path to, of all places, church. That’s the 2nd reason I realized why the feast of the Santo Niño is important to us, dear sisters & brothers. Not only is an “infant-God” immediately & once & for all related to us—that relationship must make us feel vulnerable enough so that we do our part in it: to assume responsibility over it, to care for even the most fundamental connection, to push beyond our comfort zones or even change direction if needed…& in my case, vulnerable enough to feel deeply terrible if we don’t,

General, Homilies, Soul Food, Updates and Activities

What is your wish this season?

Homily from Fr. Mario Francisco, S.J. on January 1, 2018, Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, at the Cenacle Retreat House.   I pose what may seem an unlikely question to each of you, from the youngest in body to the young at heart: What is your wish this season? I ask this because this season makes sense only for those who wish. It could be anything from the priced/ prized—like a housedress with a euro pricetag (no names) to what an old Mastercard ad calls that which is priceless . Our usual measure of joy this season is the match between what we wish for and what we receive, between promise and fulfilment. Thus we count our blessings – heartfelt laughter with family and friends, health in body and spirit, broken hearts mended and hurts forgiven, fruitful ministries, generosity for those in need. We have indeed much to be joyful about . But what gives if wish and gift, promise and fulfilment do not match? I suppose you remember one gift you wished for but did not get. That unfulfilled wish could sow seeds of disappointment and blame at those we call “walang isang salita” —first at Santa Claus and then when we’ re older, parents. This broken promise could multiply hidden in our selves, and grow from tampo or mahay into resentment and anger, hitting at close targets, like those around us or at long-range, at life in general. Thus the world becomes a garden overgrown with broken vows, painful secrets , campaign promises , bullying posts and fake news weeded backyard where words betray and stifle. Does this season’ s meaning vanish into thin air for those of us left with empty words in this earth—patch outside Eden? We know that God comes to us at this season , not as Santa Claus, not as the All-Powerfu1 and the All-Wealthy but as Word, the Word spoken by the Father. He spoke before through others – prophets, holy women and men of Israel – but now, he gives us his Word—the only Word more solid than anything in the universe, because it is not thin air but made visible, made flesh and this Word’s promise never broken. As we say, “Ang kanyang pangako’y hindi kailanman mapapako [His promise will not be nailed and remain just a promise] ” although we know too that this Word would be nailed on the cross as fulfilment of his promise . My dear friends, with this singular gift to us of God’s only-begotten Word made solid in the flesh in Jesus, human words, our very words, though flimsy and fragile , gain weight, because Jesus spoke with these same words to family and followers, to the suffering and the powerful, to little children and to his heavenly Father. Let us then echo his voice and speak to each other, face to face or in digital space, with words of truthfulness and fidelity of generosity and compassion . This season we have great reason to be joyful. We express thanks for countless gifts and fulfilled wishes . But more than wish fulfilment and most of all, we sing our gratitude for the unbroken promise of God’ s Word made flesh and for the worth and weight that it gives our own fumbling words to each other .

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