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General, Homilies, Soul Food

THE BANALITY OF EVIL AND THE EXTRAORDINARINESS OF LOVE

Fr Paolo Consonni, MCCJ After more than a month into the war in Ukraine, we have already gotten used to images of houses destroyed, long lines of refugees, columns of smoke after bombardments, burned-out tanks and, sadly, hundreds of wounded people and dead bodies. We are so overexposed to this kind of news that we risk becoming immune to horror. For young people it is even worse – war is a virtual reality that can be treated like a videogame. The banality of evil causes us to become inured to it. Famous author Hannah Arendt, in a controversial book about the motivations of prominent Nazi leader Adolf Eichmann, responsible for the killing of millions of Jews during the Second World War, used the term “the banality of evil”. She realized that many of those who committed those crimes were neither perverted nor sadistic monsters, but “terrifyingly normal” people, acting out of a sense of duty, to advance their career, make money or even simply to blindly carry out orders as diligent bureaucrats. History shows that an accumulation of small choices made for banal motivations, without thoroughly thinking of their consequences, can provoke tragedies of unimaginable proportions. This Sunday, which marks the beginning of Holy Week, we will listen once again to the narration of the Lord’s Passion (Lk 22:14—23:56). Will we pay attention, or we will hear it as the same sad story of violence and death, similar to many others in the news? Will we view the evil in the events leading to Jesus’ death dispassionately because of their banality? There is nothing demonstrably alarming about Jesus’ Passion. It is a story of jealousy, greed, fear of someone upsetting the status quo, powerful people getting rid of a troublemaker through a corrupted justice system, zealous people trying to defend the purity of their traditions… we see these things happening every day all over the world. Besides, the narration of the Passion in each of the four Gospels is very sober. While Jesus’ sufferings are well described, there is no emphasis on the tortures, blood and all the gore that makes a horror movie or a videogame morbidly exciting. The point of the description of the Passion in the Gospels is not to make the death of Jesus, the Son of God, appear more painful than others (pain cannot be compared!), but to show its significance as the conclusion of Jesus’ extraordinary life. The life of Jesus was one of total self-giving, a gift given to the world by the Father who sent Him. A life in which He “went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him” (Acts 10:38). A life in which He carried upon His body all the darkness and tragedy of human experience, especially the ones coming from evil and death, only to return compassion, mercy and forgiveness. A life of unconditional love. We might become indifferent toward evil owing to its banality, but our hearts long to find something, or better still, someone, to save us from the cynical routine in which our lives become stuck. Something – or someone – that can embrace our struggles, our failures and our limitations. Something or someone to whom we can entrust our last breath, saying: “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” In other words, we long for the unconditional love Jesus’ revealed throughout His whole life and death. The early Christians understood that the narration of Christ’s Passion and death was important not only because it was expiation for our sins, but also because they understood that it was worth living and dying like Him. They also realized that only by inserting their own lives and deaths into His life and death, their existence might also become meaningful, worth living, worth the pain. Christ’s death saves us not only from the eschatological Hell, but also from a hellish, dull existence and relational life. Jesus’ disciples of every time and place, no matter whether married or not, all the young people who left everything to follow in the footsteps of St. Francis of Assisi, St. Ignatius of Loyola or Mother Teresa of Calcutta (among many), all made this choice in their ordinary lives with an extraordinary sense of gratitude for having found what matched their hearts’ desire to live a meaningful life. They answered the unconditional love they received from Christ with the gift of their lives. Only this love can overcome the inexorable passing of time, the cruelty of the world, the banality of evil, the weariness caused by sickness and the inevitability of the tomb. Jesus’ Passion and Death is not simply another story of pain and death. It is the only one which can bring light and meaning to all the others, including yours. Listen to it, once again, like the first Christians did, with an overwhelmed and grateful heart. (Original article appeared on https://www.oclarim.com.mo/en/2022/04/08/the-banality-of-evil-and-the-extraordinariness-of-love/)

Homilies, Soul Food

Third Sunday of Lent: “The God of Extravagant Tenderness”

Fr Greg Boyle, an American Jesuit, is the founding director of Homeboy Industries in LA, the world’s largest gang-intervention and rehab center for inmates and gangsters.  He started working with them in the mid-1980s.  His latest book titled, “The Whole Language: the Power of Extravagant Tenderness” has an insightful reflection about who God is.  Greg writes:  A homie says to me: “I see now that I never made it easy for my parents to love me, and yet, they never stopped loving me.”  The God who never stops.  So, God, in this same way, has a limited vocabulary.  God never knows what we’re talking about when we judge our own worthiness or let ourselves get fixated on God’s ‘deep disappointment.’  Often when we think God is silent, this Tender One is just nearly speechless. God is monosyllabic. Love. I’m afraid that’s it.  Never stopping.  Many a time in our lives we are so focused on what appears to be God’s “deep disappointment,” disappointment perhaps of a failed marriage, an unsuccessful career, a dysfunctional family.  Disappointment in bad decisions we made, stupidities we did, lack of compassion, failures, fears, inadequacies, unworthiness, sinfulness, name it.  One priest told me that he could never forgive himself for what he did in the past – again an indication of our perception that God is so deeply disappointed with us. Our readings today turn this “deep disappointment” narrative upside down.  The call of Moses is a great revelation of who God is, one who rescues God’s suffering people.  In the burning bush, God says “I am who am.”  This does not have a philosophical or existential meaning.  It means: “I am actively involved.  I am acting. I am liberating my people.”  Even if God’s people would turn away from him, worship other gods; yes, even they are so stubborn and sinful, God’s fidelity is constant, never quick to give up.  This is very different from the prevailing idea of God as somebody who rewards the good and punishes the evil. We hear a similar tone in the Gospel. The suffering of the Galileans was not because they were more sinful than others, nor was the death of 18 people when the tower at Siloam fell on them an indication that they were more guilty than others in Jerusalem. Rather we see an image of God who gives us time to yield and produce a good fruit.  Jesus is like the gardener in the parable, always ready to push the boundaries of possibilities rather than making judgements or assessing our worthiness.  Our God does not get tired of expanding his patience threshold: “Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future.”  God does not easily give up on us!  We may easily give up on ourselves, but this is not our God.  The subtitle of Fr Greg Boyle’s book says it all: God has “the power of extravagant tenderness.”   In his TED talk in 2017, Pope Francis called for a “revolution of tenderness” amid so much violence and intolerance we find in our world. He says: “Tenderness is not weakness; it is fortitude.  It is the path of solidarity, the path of humility.  Please, allow me to say it loud and clear: The more powerful you are, the more your actions will have an impact on people, the more responsible you are to act humbly.  If you don’t your power will ruin you, and you will ruin the other.”  In this season of Lent, we can never go wrong if we stay and relish in God’s extravagant tenderness, if we simply allow God to be God who is all-loving, never judgmental, never impatient with us.  If we can’t change our lives, however much we try and try, let us turn to the God of mercy and allow the Lord’s power of tenderness to take possession of our lives. Tony Moreno SJ 19 March 2022

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Transforming Gentleness: the Grace of St. Thérèse Couderc

Homily of Fr. Daniel Patrick Huang, SJ on 26 September 2020, Feast of St. Thérèse Couderc in Rome. I hope you don’t mind, but this afternoon, I would like to reflect a little on your Mother, St. Thérèse Couderc, as a water purifier or filter. I realize that it’s not a very dignified or poetic image, but I hope that it helps explain what has struck me most these days about St. Thérèse: what I would call her transforming gentleness or her fruitful non-violence. A water purifier. This is not an original image, but one I learned from the spiritual writer Ron Rolheiser when he describes how the suffering of Jesus on the cross takes away the sins of the world. How does Jesus, the grain of wheat who dies, bring forth new life? Rolheiser suggests he does what a water purifier or a water filter does. “It takes in the water that contains impurities, dirt, toxins and occasional poisons.” The filter “does not simply let the water flow through it.” It “holds the dirt and toxins inside of itself and gives back only the pure water.” (1) This is what Jesus does on the cross: he holds in himself, bears in himself, the hatred, envy, anger, and violence of humanity, and instead of simply passing it on, somehow purifies all this in his own person, so that what flows out of him instead is love, graciousness, blessing, forgiveness, peace. Doesn’t this describe too what Thérèse Couderc lived in her sufferings? Reading various accounts of her life, I couldn’t help but be struck by the suffering and humiliation she went through, at the hands of a Jesuit Provincial and her own sisters. Looking back, one can see that Fr. Renault’s decision to replace Thérèse as superior general and foundress with a rich widow who had barely begun novitiate was not only ill advised but actually idiotic! What was he thinking? Till today, the writers I consulted struggle to explain Mother Charlotte Contenet’s inexplicable animosity towards Thérèse. I found myself asking: Why didn’t Thérèse fight back? She certainly would have had reason and justice on her side. Or why didn’t she just leave? Why didn’t she just start again, with a group of more congenial companions? Earlier accounts of Thérèse explain her response as humility: Thérèse as “une grande humble.” This seems to have been what was emphasized in her canonization process 50 years ago. But, as some of your sisters have pointed out (2), these accounts tend to speak of the humility of Thérèse in terms of uncomplaining submission, self-abasement, blind obedience to ecclesiastical authority, usually male. Although there is no doubt that Thérèse was deeply humble, this version of humility sounds suspiciously ideological. The more I reflected, the more I realized that Thérèse’s silent suffering was, in fact, less self-abasement, and more like the Gospel beatitude of meekness, what I have called transforming gentleness or fruitful nonviolence. Like her Lord, her dying was akin to the work of the water purifier. Instead of responding to stupidity, prejudice, pettiness, injustice in an aggressive, violent way, which would have continued the cycle of violence, Thérèse takes in all this and holds it in herself, and through the workings of grace in her deepest person, gives back instead kindness, reconciliation, peace, new life. By somehow absorbing in her person all this negativity, at great personal cost to herself, she kept the fragile congregation she so loved alive and united, for the sake of the work she so believed in, the revolutionary, till-that-time-unheard-of work of women religious giving the Spiritual Exercises. Even towards the end of her life, when she went through her “dark night” and could be seen weeping while she prayed for hours in the chapel in Lyons, she brought into her person all the pain and suffering of the Church, her beloved France, humanity estranged from its Creator. Somehow, mysteriously, like a water filter, what emerged from her was light and peace. There is that lovely story of the troubled novice who saw Thérèse in the novitiate in Versailles in 1880, not knowing who the elderly religious was, only seeing somehow light emanating from her, and feeling a deep sense of peace when that older sister looked into her eyes. (3) That this process involved crucifying pain for Thérèse seems clear. How did she do it? Where did she get the inner strength to respond with transforming gentleness to what would have provoked many of us to retaliation or escape? One of the favorite words of our former Superior General, Fr. Adolfo Nicolas, was the word depth, depth in the midst of a world of distraction and superficiality. I believe too that depth is the only word to describe Thérèse Couderc. Although her vision of goodness and her Se Livrer came decades later, those two documents capture the depth of her vision and her love throughout her life. Unlike many of us who can only see the surface of things and events, Thérèse was blessed with a vision that pierced beneath the surface to perceive the infinite goodness of God, like “letters of gold,” (4) gleaming and beautiful, present and active in the depths of all reality. And unlike those of us whose attention and desire are distracted and captured by so many lesser things, Thérèse was a profoundly centered woman, whose loving act of total surrender meant being so spiritually free that she held nothing back from God and lived completely from and for God. Because of the depth of her vision and the depth of her love, Thérèse was able to respond with depth to the events, even the most painful and difficult, of her life. Perhaps that is the reason why she so valued the ministry of the Exercises that her sisters were engaged in. It is precisely a ministry of depth that invites people to delve deeply into themselves to see the good God at work in their lives and in their world, and to respond with loving surrender to this

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Your Light Must Shine

Today we have a beautiful set of readings beginning from the Book of Kings, describing how the brook near where Elijah was hiding ran dry, and how he was instructed by God to move to a certain place where a widow will provide for him. Listen to the dialogue of the widow and Elijah; read between the lines: “Please bring me a cup of water” Elijah asked. That was easy to do and doable, so the widow went. Then Elijah asked for more “please bring me some bread”.  From this untimely request, what can we sense within the heart of the widow?  Stay with her in her suffering and struggle as she contemplated her plight, as when she had to explain that “when we (she and son) have eaten, we shall die” – this meal was to be their last: she was hanging on to her last thread of hope, awaiting and even preparing for the full blow of the crisis ahead. “Do not be afraid” says Elijah,  giving us a clue to what was going on inside of her at this time. Then, “Go…” Contemplating this widow’s situation, are we reminded of times when we, too, were hanging on to our last thread of hope and life? Literally it could be food that would be our last meal; or maybe an overseas student’s allowance running out; or a struggle with a relationship, a coping with sickness, or hurting from a broken heart or a failed endeavour; or being reminded of a disappointing past, etc.  Contemplating the widow’s plight, we see how she struggles now to share her last meal with a stranger. Observe how she does what Elijah proposed; spend some time with her in the kitchen: what was happening in her heart? Did she really believe in this stranger? Would you? You might wish to have a conversation with her. In this story, let us once again hear the affirming words of God through this text “Do not be afraid”.  Like the widow in whose heart the presence of a stranger ignited trust, can we trust that the unexpected can bring hope and life?  And because she trusted, she gave generously, and her generosity saved them all! Relating this to the call of the Gospel today: “your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father,” consider what risks you struggle with, as you respond to these reflection questions:  What is your greatest fear these days? How have you responded to stranger(s) visiting you? What miracles have you seen so far? Trust, which allows us to respond to the call to be light that shines, is always rooted in a lived experience. It comes from having a storehouse of memories where this trust is learned.  #goodness #gratitude #miracles #share

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Creating a space for the other: an Easter gift of covid-19

“Give us the grace in this trying times to work for the good of all and to help others  in need.” (from “Oratio Imperata”) This line has moved the hearts of many individuals, groups, organizations, congregations do what they can to help the neediest of our brothers and sisters. The Cebu Cenacle’s small contribution to this is coordinating ‘free kitchens.’ This idea came from a directee, Mary T.A. who asked if there’s a place to set up a free kitchen. Two places readily came to mind, the Inayawan dumpsite and Kalubihan, Banawa where our helper, Alice, lives.   The Cenacle receives the donations of rice, veggies, eggs, cooking oil, canned goods, spices, and other ingredients which are then passed on to the volunteers in the two areas. The volunteers take pictures and post these on Facebook so the donors see that the cooked food are given to the target individuals, the senior citizens and children. Reflection of Sr. Perry Inso, from Cenacle Cebu community: Holding a ‘free kitchen’ is not an easy task especially in a place like the Inayawan dumpsite. The volunteers had to set up a makeshift dirty kitchen since there was no available kitchen. They use big stones as the stove for cooking and made three of these ‘stoves’. They gather firewood which is fortunately available in a nearby lot. They have to set up some tables to prepare the ingredients for cooking. The reusable containers are then laid out for efficient apportioning of the cooked food.  Once I helped the volunteers. I experienced all the challenges they went through the past 14 days. One challenge is the smoke from the firewood which makes one’s eyes teary. Enduring the smoke, the heat and the sweat were not much of a problem.  What I found difficult and heartbreaking was the experience of bringing the cooked food to the houses of the senior citizens and being confronted with the stark poverty of their homes. I’ve been to this area a number of times, but not to the houses of the senior citizens. Inayawan is a dumpsite — so mounds of garbage were everywhere. Garbage littered the footpaths and covered the muddy places where pigs were raised and the residents did their laundry. I had to mind my steps so as not to accidentally step on something unwanted even as the volunteer ahead of me would warn me from time to time to watch my step. The stench of the place was something to contend with, something that has become a normal for the residents. Fortunata, one of the original scavengers in the place, owned the first house we went to. She lives alone even if her children live nearby. Her one-room house is used for everything — kitchen, dining room, and sleeping area. Scattered around were piles of soiled clothes on the floor and stacks of unwashed plates. The walls of the one-room house were made of flimsy material. One wall was a used shower curtain and the other side was a used tarpaulin. The roof was made of galvanized iron with a lot of empty sacks on top of it which were supposed to cover the leaking roof when it rains. When we gave Fortunata the cooked food, a big smile covered her face. She told us that she’s been waiting for us and repeatedly said “thank you” and “God bless you” in Cebuano. Then she asked for water but we did not have any bottled water this day. Helen, the social worker, we work with closely, immediately gave her 100 pesos. Fortunata became teary eyed and was truly grateful. Though it was a difficult to witness, she was still smiling. Fortunata was just one of the numerous senior citizens in the area whose living situation was miserable.  After the food distribution, my blouse was very wet with sweat and my feet heavy from walking. But my heart felt heavier. Seeing the reality of our poorer brothers and sisters living in that kind of environment breaks my heart. Yet, they were very grateful. Another source of consolation was the fact that the other needy neighbors did not question why they were not given food packs. Instead from their windows they greeted us and smiled at us as we passed. They understood that our priorities were the senior citizens and babies/children. Despite the heaviness of heart brought about by helplessness, I am still very grateful for the gift of the encounter with them. I may not be able to build houses for each of them, but they have found a home in my heart. I am forever grateful for their humility and simplicity. My heart too is full of gratitude for the generosity of the donors and most especially for the volunteers. I am confident that God blesses all!! 

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Faint Glows and Sparkly Somethings

A reflection for Easter 2020 by Sr. Yna Oñate, rc For K-drama fans, these images from a scene in the recent hit “Crash Landing On You” would be familiar. A blackout envelops the entire village and Yoon Se-ri, a South Korean who accidentally landed in North Korea, was left by herself in the market, lost among a crowd of strangers in a potentially dangerous place. The darkness pulls her back into a painful memory of being abandoned as a child. She starts to count, just like she did back then, while waiting for someone to rescue her. Perhaps resigned to the thought that no one would come, she takes a deep sigh, as if mustering all her courage, to face her present darkness, and just as she did she saw a dot of faint glow from a distance. She walks toward it, one timid step at a time, eyes fixed on the source. It got brighter and brighter as she drew nearer. She soon realizes it is Captain Ri who’s holding a candle high for her to see. Tears well up in her eyes; this is the same man who had come to her rescue several times before.  Faith in God does not guarantee we will never be in darkness. Darkness is part of our human experience. Even Jesus, the Son of God, was not spared of darkness; we were reminded of this these past three days, but the promise of Easter is that the darkness of death will never triumph. When we look around us we still see the darkness of disease, greed, hatred, hunger, corruption, injustice, inequality, etc. These days in quarantine must have heightened our sensitivity toward the darkness that surrounds us, and yet, in spite of the gloom, glimmers of goodness and generosity give us hope. Amidst the rising death toll, you may have heard of the nurse who, after her shift, buys groceries and distributes to the homeless, or of the street vendor who gave free taho to the checkpoint personnel at a border, and of many acts of selflessness and compassion from ordinary people. Or maybe you didn’t have to look very far, you may have observed lovely things in your own home—the laughter of your child or spouse, the chirping birds, the plants outside your house, the filling goodness of the humble kamote… things you failed to notice before. God’s love for us is like Captain Ri with his candle, God’s help always comes at the right time. We do not know how long this Covid-19 crisis will last, and what else will come, but we trust that God always gives us enough light to enable us to take a step, one at a time, toward the right direction. Jesus Christ is our Light! Light shines in the dark, “a light that darkness could not overpower. (John 1:5)” This is what our Christian faith asserts, but how do we keep trusting God in the “blackout” of our lives? St. Ignatius de Loyola has an advice: In moments of desolation, recall moments of consolation. A wise omma from one of my favorite K-dramas (iBecause This Is My First Life) puts it in a lyrical way when she talked about “star pockets”: “Even in an ordinary life there are times when something sparkly floats by. At those times you must not miss it, and keep it carefully in your star pocket. So when you are having a tough time and when you are exhausted, you can take out your stars and look at them, and endure the hard times.” We only see stars when the sky is dark, don’t we?” So, this Easter, let us pray for the grace that we may recognise the stars and the Captain Ri’s that God sends our way. And may we never fail to respond to God’s call to be light for others. Happy Easter, friends! P.S. Captain Ri is played by actor Hyun Bin, an oppa with bewitching handsomeness! Well, while God’s help always comes, it does not always come in this package. We pray that we may not pass up God’s offers just because we expect them to come in certain ways. 

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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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