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Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Performative

Performative Homily delivered by Fr. Dom Joseph Bulan, SJ 17 June 2026; Wednesday of the 11th Sunday of Ordinary Time Year C (2 Kgs 2:1, 6-4 | Ps 31: 20, 21, 24 | Mt 6:1-6, 16-18)Cenacle Retreat House Have you heard of the term “performative”? For the Baby Boomers and the Gen X here today, chances are this might be your first time to hear this word. But for the millennials, Gen Z, and Gen Alpha, you have probably heard this word, “performative” used at least once, if not several times. Ano nga ba ang kahulugan ng salitang “performative”? Back then, something was considered “performative” when it involves or relates to artistic or theatric performance. So usually, stage actors and actresses, as well as movie stars, would be involved in something performative. But in contemporary times, sa panahon ngayon, the word “performative” has taken on a negative meaning. To be labeled as “performative” means to say or do something to make oneself look good, righteous, or virtuous to an audience. Sa Filipino, may salita rin tayo para rito – “pakitang-tao”. (Mas masakit yatang pakinggan kapag nasa wikang atin). Ang pagpapakitang-tao at ang pagiging “performative” ang nais tumbukin ni Hesus sa ating Ebanghelyo ngayon. In our Gospel today, Jesus warns his disciples about being hypocrites, of doing things merely for show. He says, “When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do.” He likewise tells them, “When you pray, do not stand on street corners so that others may see you.” And regarding fasting, he warns them not to put on gloomy faces just to broadcast their sacrifice. In all these, Jesus is pointing to the same temptation: to turn acts that should be directed towards God into performances directed towards an audience. Instead of worshipping God, one begins to worship the approval and admiration of others. Dear sisters and brothers, within each of us is a temptation to be a “performer” or to be “performative”. We see this in school, whenever a student studies or volunteers for a project, not because it is the right thing to do, but because it will look good on a résumé or impress a teacher. We also see it in the workplace, when someone takes credit for a team’s accomplishment, meticulously crafting an image of competence and success while hiding mistakes and weaknesses. The temptation is not simply to do good, but to be seen doing good.  And yes, this temptation also happens to us priests and religious. Kahit kaming mga pari at mga relihiyoso, natutukso ring magsalita at kumilos upang magmkuhang mabait, katanggap-tanggap, at kapuri-puri sa iba – ika nga ng mga mas nakababata, maging mga cloutchasers. And if I daresay, this temptation is stronger for men and women of the Church. After all, our ministry is public. Here, it becomes very easy to confuse serving God with managing our image before others. Minsan, mas nagiging mahalaga pa ang papuri ng tao kaysa sa katapatan sa Diyos. Minsan, mas nagiging abala pa sa kung ano ang sasabihin ng iba kaysa sa kung ano ang hinihingi ng Panginoon. At minsan, maaari ring mangyari na ginagawa ang tama, ngunit para sa maling dahilan. There may be many reasons why we fall into the trap of being “performative”, but I believe one of them is a deep insecurity about one’s own sense of goodness and self-worth. ‘Yung tipong dahil sa palagay mo, hindi ka mabuting tao, o hindi ka kamahal-mahal, o hindi ka worth it, kaya sinisikap mong gawin ang lahat para magmukhang ganoon. But if there’s anything our Lord reminds us time and again, it is this – we do not have to “perform” in front of him; we do not always have to prove that we are worth his love, his affection, his mercy. We do not say good things or do good things to chase clout from the heavens. Hindi tayo nagsasabi at gumagawa ng mabuti para makapuntos sa Diyos. No. As the recent solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus has reminded us, our God is a God of love, and this love has been freely offered to all of us – independent of our worth, of our past, of what we have said and done. Instead, we intentionally choose to do what is right and just as a participation in the goodness and righteousness of God who first loved us.  So, the next time you are tempted to be “performative”, sa susunod na pagkakataong matutuksong “magpakitang-tao”, ask yourself: “If no one were watching me right now, would I still choose to do this?” And perhaps a second question: “Am I doing this because I love God and neighbor, or because I love the praise and approval that may come from them?”  As we continue with our Eucharist, we beg for the grace of sincerity and integrity of heart. May the Lord free us from the need to constantly perform before himself and others. And may he teach us to do what is good, not for recognition or reward, but simply because we have first experienced the goodness of the God who sees in secret and loves us all the same. Amen.

General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Freedom in Surrender

Freedom in Surrender Homily delivered by Fr. Bien Emmanuel C. Cruz, SJ 15 June 2026; Monday of the 11th Sunday of Ordinary Time (1 Kings 21:1-16 and Matthew 5:38-42)Cenacle Retreat House My dear brothers and sisters, the Word of God today presents two sharply contrasting visions of the human heart. In the first reading, we encounter King Ahab, who sees Naboth’s vineyard and desires it for himself. He is not in need, yet what belongs to another awakens a desire that quickly becomes entitlement. When Naboth refuses—faithful to his inheritance and to the law of God—Ahab does not accept limitation. His desire turns into resentment, and resentment opens the door to injustice. What begins as wanting ends in the violent taking of what was never his to claim. This is more than an ancient political story. It is a revelation of the human heart when it forgets God. It is what happens when desire is no longer shaped by gratitude, when power is no longer guided by responsibility, and when possession is no longer restrained by moral limits. It is the logic of grasping: if I want it, I should have it; if I can take it, it is mine. In the Gospel, Jesus presents a radically different horizon. “Turn the other cheek.” “Give to the one who asks of you.” These are not calls to passivity or weakness. They reveal a deeper strength—the freedom of one who is no longer ruled by the need to dominate, retaliate, or control outcomes. The disciple of Christ is not powerless, but free: free from revenge, free from the anxiety of possession, free from the need to settle every wrong by force or repayment. Both readings place before us a fundamental question: what kind of person are we becoming in the face of desire and injury? Do we become like Ahab—consumed by what we lack and willing to overstep moral boundaries to obtain it? Or do we become like the disciple Jesus envisions—rooted in trust, capable of generosity, and free enough to step outside the cycle of grasping and retaliation? The world teaches a different grammar. It tells us that life is secured through accumulation: more possessions, more achievements, more control over the future. It tells us that relationships are governed by exchange: I give so that I may receive, I help so that I may be helped, I forgive if it is deserved. It is a world of balance sheets and measured reciprocity. But the Gospel quietly disrupts this entire logic. Jesus reveals a life where love is not calculated, forgiveness is not conditional, and generosity is not measured. This is not irresponsibility. It is a deeper freedom grounded in trust in God. Here we meet one of the deepest paradoxes of the spiritual life: to be full, we must first be emptied. We often think fulfillment comes from holding more tightly, securing more guarantees, and controlling more of life. Yet the Gospel—and the experience of faith—reveals the opposite. God fills not what is full, but what is open. This emptiness is not nothingness. It is not despair or loss of identity. It is surrender. It is the interior act of releasing our grip on what we thought we needed so that God may give what we truly need. We surrender our plans, not because planning is wrong, but because our plans are often too small for what God is doing. We surrender our expectations, not because hope is futile, but because God’s generosity exceeds imagination. We surrender control, not because life is chaotic, but because providence is deeper than our calculations. As long as our hands are clenched around our own desires, there is little space for grace. But when we open them—even in uncertainty—we discover that what felt like loss becomes the very place of receiving. This is not only a theological idea; it is also a lived experience. Recently, I received my first pastoral assignment as a priest. I was assigned as Assistant Parish Priest in a small mission parish in the mountains of Bukidnon under the Jesuit missions. It came unexpectedly, without warning or preparation. None of the plans I had quietly formed seemed to apply anymore. At first, there was disorientation. What I thought would be my path suddenly shifted. It felt like something had been taken away. But in time, what seemed like interruption revealed itself as invitation. What felt like loss became the beginning of something deeper. I can now only see it with gratitude: God did not follow my plans; He led me beyond them. There, I began to understand more clearly that God is not competing with our control. He is not waiting for us to get everything right before He acts. Rather, He draws us into His wisdom, often by loosening our grip on our own. What feels like uncertainty can become the beginning of true freedom. It became an opportunity to surrender. And in that surrender, I learned something essential: God does not fill what is already full. He fills what is empty. He does not work on the logic of exchange or “quid pro quo.” His generosity is not transactional. It is overflowing, excessive, and beyond calculation. God is never outdone in generosity. Every gift we offer has already been preceded by His gift. Every act of love is a response to a love that came first. Every surrender is met not with deprivation, but with deeper life. God does not simply return what we give; He transforms it and multiplies it. Seen in this light, Ahab’s tragedy becomes clearer. He cannot accept limits because he does not trust abundance. He believes what he lacks must be taken, because he does not believe it will be given. His grasping becomes his prison. Jesus, on the other hand, reveals the path to true freedom: not the freedom to take what we want, but the freedom to release what we cannot control; not the freedom of possession, but the freedom of

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

“You are my witnesses.”

“You are my witnesses.” Homily delivered by Fr. Edilberto Cepe, CSsR on the: Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle, Local Bicentenary Celebration and 35 Years of Cenacle Presence in Cebu@Saint Francis Xavier Chapel, Sacred Heart Parish, Cebu City23 May 2026 Let me begin by saying to you: “The Resurrection is real.” Well, among the Cenacle Sisters here in Cebu, that has become our running joke. I have not been seen in their community for my SD for many months, and whenever I send a message, they reply: “Hala, “Nabanhaw siya!” (He is risen!)             Sisters, I am now standing before you. Tinuod gyud ang Resurrection. (The Resurrection is real). But joking aside, I mean it when I say: the power of the Risen Lord is real. That is the reason for our gathering today. The Risen Lord, who ascended to heaven, did not leave us alone. Together with the Father, He sent us the Spirit of Love, the Holy Spirit, who enables us to be witnesses of His love in our world.             Today, as we celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle, we also offer our thanksgiving and praise to God as we commemorate the bicentenary of the founding of the Congregation of Our Lady of the Retreat in the Cenacle, the Cenacle Sisters, and their 35th year of presence here in Cebu. For two hundred years and for 35 years here in Cebu, God has blessed the Church through your presence and mission.             The Congregation exists to continue the beautiful mystery of the Cenacle: the disciples gathered with Mary in prayerful waiting, expecting the promised outpouring of the Holy Spirit, who would send them forth as witnesses to the ends of the earth.              Yes, the power that raised the Lord Jesus from the dead is the same power given to the disciples and to Mother Mary in the Cenacle. It is the same Spirit who gave birth to the Church and who is given to us today. And it is this same Spirit that called the Cenacle Sisters to continue the mystery of the Cenacle through their life of prayer, community, and apostolic service.             And the readings for this feast remind us that God’s power is always at work among His people.             In the first reading from the prophet Ezekiel (36:23–28), God promises to gather His scattered people, bring them back from exile, and give them a new heart and a new spirit. God restores them so that the nations may know that Israel’s God is faithful, loving, and powerful. As Ezekiel 37 tells us, this power is so great that it can bring forth human life from a valley of dry bones.             This is the same God who raised Jesus from the dead and sent the Holy Spirit upon the disciples, as we hear in the second reading from the Acts of the Apostles. There we find the disciples gathered in prayer with Mary, waiting in hope.             And in the Gospel of Luke (24:44–53), Jesus gives them their mission: “You are my witnesses.” The disciples are not merely to remember Jesus. They are to continue His mission and show the world the Lord’s love, mercy, and compassion.             Those words remind us of the Church’s mission and that of every baptized Christian. They also remind our Cenacle Sisters of the very reason for their existence and charism in the Church. For two centuries, the gift of the Cenacle Congregation has been precious to the world. Ours is a world that is busy, noisy, distracted, divided, and often tired. Many people live without silence, without prayer, without interior peace. Yet the Cenacle charism reminds the Church that before mission, there must be prayer; before speaking, there must be listening; before going out, there must first be entering the Cenacle.             The Sisters teach us that the Church is not only active but also contemplative. The Church does not only work; it also prays. The Church does not only organize; it also waits upon the Spirit. Yes, the Church is active because it is contemplative.             Through retreats, accompaniment, spiritual formation, prayer ministries, and quiet fidelity, the Cenacle Sisters continue to create spaces where people can encounter God, rediscover themselves, and once again listen to the Spirit. In a world hungry for meaning, they become witnesses that God still speaks.             And this celebration naturally leads us to tomorrow’s feast: Pentecost. The Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle prepares us for Pentecost because the Cenacle is where fearful disciples became courageous witnesses.             And that is also the call for every baptized Christian, for each of us.              We, too, are invited to enter the Cenacle, not only as a place but as an experience. We are called to pray, to listen, and to wait upon the Spirit. And then, like the disciples, we are sent out: “You are my witnesses.” Not only priests. Not only religious. Not only missionaries. All of us.              As parents, teachers, youth, workers, and consecrated persons – wherever we are – we are called to witness to Christ through our words, kindness, service, compassion, and faith. We can only become active and courageous witnesses if we remain rooted in the Cenacle.             My brothers and sisters, today’s feast of the Cenacle and tomorrow’s feast of Pentecost remind us to always return to the roots of our Christian life and mission.                To close, let me return to where I began: The Resurrection is real. Yes, the power of the Risen Lord is real, not simply because I am standing here before you today after many months, but because the Church, born at Pentecost, continues Christ’s mission. Because the same Spirit that descended upon the disciples still animates the Church today. And because the same Spirit that called the first Cenacle Sisters two hundred years ago continues to enrich and renew the Church in our time.             Dear Cenacle Sisters, thank you for being witnesses and for keeping alive the spirit of the Cenacle.   May Our Lady of the Cenacle continue to guide you. May the Holy Spirit strengthen you. And may your lives continue to proclaim to the world: The

Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

Homily | Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle @ Quezon City

Homily | Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle @ Quezon City Homily delivered by Fr. John Chong, SJ on the Feast of Our Lady of the CenacleCenacle Retreat House23 May 2026 Today is the spiritual birthday of the Sisters of the Cenacle. It is said that Sr. Thérèse Couderc came to a profound realization of the mystery of self-emptying in the contemplation of the Cenacle, the Upper room in Jerusalem. The self-emptying and humility she discovered / meant making space for the Holy Spirit to work, and “believing that God is already at work.” Since the pandemic, we too have experienced once again a sense of God’s absence. After the Ascension of Jesus, the disciples had no choice but to accept His absence. At that moment, they gathered in the upper room, Cenacle and prayed for God’s next activities among them. Like St. Thérèse Couderc, who understood the humility and self-emptying of the Apostles, let us also make room for the Holy Spirit and trust that God is already at work. Through today’s Mass, let us pray earnestly that the grace of humility and self-emptying may be given to all of us. There are moments in our lives when God seems absent. We pray, but heaven feels silent. We search, but cannot find clear answers. We believe, yet still feel as if something—or Someone—is missing. And yet, the mystery of faith tells us something surprising: what we call “absence” may in fact be a different kind of presence. Today’s celebration of the prayers in the Upper room, the Cenacle, and the coming of the Holy Spirit leads us into this mystery. It brings us into the Upper Room, a place where silence becomes prayer, and waiting becomes hope. 1. The Ascension: not absence, but a new and fuller presence. The Ascension of Jesus is not simply His departure into the sky. It is not a disappearance. Rather, it is a transformation of presence. Christ is no longer limited by time or space. He becomes present in all places, in all moments, in all human history. We might imagine it this way: like entering a glass elevator that rises higher and higher. The higher we go, the wider our vision becomes. What once seemed separate now appears connected; what once seemed distant now becomes visible in a single horizon. So too with the risen Christ. From the perspective of heaven, nothing is lost. Everything is held. Everything is seen. Everything is present. The disciples, however, experienced this differently at first. They saw His “absence.” But instead of falling into despair, they gathered in the Upper Room —the Cenacle— and prayed. Their waiting was not empty. It was the beginning of a deeper communion. 2. The Holy Spirit: the One who reveals the hidden traces of God We are people who search for God. But often, God seems hidden. It feels like a divine “hide-and-seek.” We seek, but do not immediately find. We long, but do not always see. And yet, God never abandons us in hiddenness. He leaves traces. He leaves signs. He leaves whispers of His presence in creation, in history, and in the depth of our conscience. But these traces are not always easy to recognize. This is why Jesus sends the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of Truth (cf. Jn 16:13). He teaches, He reminds, and He bears witness to Christ (cf. Jn 16:14). He does not speak on His own, but leads us into the truth that we cannot see by ourselves. Without the Holy Spirit, God can remain near—but unnoticed. With the Holy Spirit, even the smallest trace becomes a sign of love. In this sense, the Holy Spirit is not distant or abstract. He is the quiet interior presence who allows us to recognize that we are not orphans, but children of the Father. 3. The Church: renewed in the Upper Room of prayer and waiting The Cenacle—the Upper Room—is not only a place in history. It is a spiritual identity of the Church. It is the place where fear becomes prayer. Where waiting becomes hope. Where absence becomes preparation for new life. After the Ascension, Mary and the apostles did not scatter. They gathered. They prayed. They waited. And in that waiting, the Church was born. Today, we find ourselves in a similar moment. After the pandemic, many communities feel weakened. Church participation has declined. Structures have been shaken. And there is, at times, a sense of loss or even forgetting. But this is not the end of the story. It may be a return to the Upper Room. Because the Church is not renewed first by strategies or numbers. It is renewed by the Holy Spirit. The Spirit of God is the Spirit of power, love, and self-discipline. He strengthens us in our weakness. He speaks in our conscience.He gives courage where there is fear.He gives hope where there is discouragement.And He makes us witnesses again. So today, we stand in the mystery of the Upper Room. We are invited to see differently: what seems like absence is not abandonment. What feels like silence is not emptiness. God is already at work. And the Holy Spirit is given so that we may recognize this hidden work of God. Like Mary and the apostles, we are called to wait—not in fear, but in hope. Not in confusion, but in trust. And like St. Thérèse Couderc, we are invited to humility, to self-emptying, and to the simple faith that God is already present and already acting. So let us return, in our hearts, to the Upper Room. And let us ask once again for the Holy Spirit— to open our eyes, to strengthen our faith, and to renew the Church with His life. Amen.

Features, General, Homilies, Homily, Soul Food

“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

Features, General, Homilies

Primerea

Do you miss Pope Francis? What do you remember most about his teachings or words of wisdom? I recently read his autobiography titled Hope: An Autobiography, and there found an interesting lesson from Pope Francis. Dios nos primerea. God is always ahead of us. It is actually part of the deep Argentinian or Latino Catholic Christian faith. It is based on a vision from Ezekiel. As the winter season begins, the prophet sees the almond tree and observes that among the trees in the forest, it is the first to bloom and bear fruit. It symbolizes God, writes Pope Francis, who is always ahead of us, always first, always leading us. Even when we sin, God is already waiting for us; like the Prodigal father, he is ahead in waiting for our return. Dios nos primerea. I remember this principle because today the beautiful and very touching story of Joseph the dreamer ends. We have been following this very human story for a week now. The drama ends today. With the death of Jacob, the patriarch, the brothers who envied Joseph and maltreated him, panicked. They thought finally Joseph would exact vengeance upon them. But Joseph had really forgiven them and told them that everything that happened was God’s will. God, he said, meant it for good, to achieve his present end which is the survival of many people. Indeed, as economic minister of the whole of Egypt, Joseph saved the kingdom from famine. Dios nos primerea. God was ahead of Israel; and even the crime that the brothers committed against Joseph was mysteriously part of God’s plan for the chosen people. The Gospel puts it in another way: divine providence. Jesus teaches that there is nothing to fear because God provides for everything that we need. “Even all the hairs of your head are counted,” he says. “So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Like a mother or a father, God already knows what we need and provides for them. Dios nos primerea. He is always ahead of us. The legendary Ateneo High school teacher, Mr Onofreo Pagsanghan or Pagsi for short, shared that when he and his wife was newly married, they would spend days planning for the future of their family. Once, they brought up where to build a home. At that time, this was still wilderness but it was the closest to the Ateneo. They thought it would be very convenient for them, since Pagsi was teaching at the school . all he had to do was cross the street and Ateneo would be there. And if they had children, the boys would also conveniently just cross the road as well and attend school; and for the girls, they would just cross the street then walk left to go to Maryknoll. Good thinking, they said, and settled down at Esteban Abada. He was so impressed by how the plan worked out well. And then it dawned on him how we humans are so good at planning our future: we buy life insurance plan, health insurance, educational plan, etcetera. Despite our limitations—we cannot see the future—we rely so much on our capacity to prepare for the future. And yet, he says, we deny the same faith from God. When crisis happens in our lives—wars, natural calamities, grave illness or death—our faith in God waivers. Surely, he says, God who is omnipotent, omniscient and all loving has prepared a future better than we can ever imagine. As the prophet Jeremiah says, “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Or indeed as the Latinos would simply say, “Dios nos primerea.” God is always ahead of us! Homily delivered by Fr. Emmanuel (Nono) Alfonso, SJSaturday, 12 July 202514th Week in Ordinary TimeCenacle Retreat House

Features, Homilies, Soul Food

Story

The story of Christmas opens with history, an actual census ordered by Caesar Augustus, during the time when Quirinius was governor of Syria. It closes with a tale of an angel telling shepherds of the nightwatch to go see for themselves “an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” The story of tonight is bookended by the truth of history and the truth of heaven. It starts with people moving to be enrolled because of a political decision and ends with the heavenly host rejoicing over God’s decision to enroll himself into our history. Quirinius we will not dispute. But when we hear of heavenlies talking at night, proclaiming, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests”, we wonder if Christmas is just some made up story we tell each other to distract or numb ourselves from the heartbreak of this world. And yet, the evangelist Luke, the story teller, takes pains to bookend the Christmas story with accounts from history and from something that is more than just fantasy. The wood of the manger foreshadows the wood of the cross. The birth in a stable at the margins of the city anticipates the death on a hill outside the walls. The swaddling cloths that wrap the infant prefigure the strips of burial linen in the empty tomb. The light of the Nativity is not without the darkness of the Passion. Mary’s tears are of happiness and sorrow. The Child has her eyes. Her tears are his as well. On this night, the stain of her blood on the earth is the same stain from the blood of the Lamb of God, the very stain which marks us for deliverance. Soon after, this family will be on the run, living as refugees in fear, fleeing to Egypt to escape the murderous wrath of a delusional king. So much for fantasy, this story. We are here tonight not just because of the inertia of tradition. We gather not out of obligation. We are here because we believe the story. We are here because this Child is true. And we believe his light to be the one light that shines in this “land of gloom”, the only light that outlasts the darkness outside. We do not deny that the darkness disheartens us. We confess how lost and afraid we are. We’ve had our share of delusional kings and their murderous greed in this country. We have witnessed how hatred and bigotry continue to shed the blood of the innocent. We have been distressed by the brazen distortion of truth and justice by those in power. The callousness terrifies us. Despite all this however, we will not let fear and desolation take hold. We will still celebrate this night of Christmas because we know it is amid terrifying darkness that God comes to us. And so before the wood of the manger and cross, we will dare to believe again in him who stays with us in the dark. We will dare to believe in him who is true. We will love again because only love can endure the night. Like the Christmas story, our own life stories are bookended by the truth of history and the truth of heaven. All throughout our lives, there will be enrollments to keep us moving from place to place. And angels as well, telling us not to be afraid, urging us to please go see for ourselves this infant wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. There will be tears of happiness and sorrow, swaddling cloths of tenderness and loss, moments of gladness and silence. At the close of our stories, perhaps we will be caroled too by some heavenlies proclaiming glory to God in the highest, and peace to all on whom his love rests. Wishful thinking and fantasy? Not really. We know the story. And we believe God’s story.   Homily delivered by Fr.  Jose Ramon (Jett) T. Villarin SJ Christmas Eve Mass Cenacle Retreat House 24 December 2023

General, Homilies, Soul Food

Narcissists | Matthew 23:1-12

Psychologists can now distinguish 8 different kinds of narcissists, can you imagine? Eight! Let’s talk about 4 that are most familiar to us. First, the grandiose narcissists. Grandiose narcissists are your garden variety blow-hard, mayabang, mahangin. Their self-references are tireless & tiresome. They constantly trumpet their accomplishments & namedrop a lot. “CEO this, rich man that, socialite couple this invited me, sought me for advice, asked me for help,” all that. They brag about trips abroad, showcase their latest designer purchases. And if you talk about yours, you find yourself “politely” one-upped. Grandiose narcissists, the imeldifics, are arrogant, flamboyant, & hopelessly competitive. Second, malignant narcissists. One time, a student begrudged me the grade I gave him in theology. He was best in Philosophy daw back in college seminary in the province, & getting a B in my theology course was insulting. For the next 3 years, he became legendary for rarely missing a chance to bad-mouth me to fellow seminarians. He’d even dissuade them from enrolling in the courses I teach, can you imagine? Malignant narcissists are everything that grandiose narcissists are, but with value-added: venom. They vilify whoever they perceive undervalues them. So, they hatch rumors, lie, manipulate information; anything to defame the enemy & quash the competition. To help their cause, they cozy up to the authorities with favors & flattery. Third, covert narcissists. A little harder to detect because they self-report as victims. They bemoan that their bosses/superiors don’t trust them, peers undervalue them. They’re always sidelined, passed over, ignored. But listen a bit further & the real sound byte comes along: “I would’ve been the better choice. I’m the best one who could’ve done the job. I’m smarter & more experienced than anyone here. May favoritism kasi dito, so, I’m grossly unappreciated. But don’t ever come asking me for help when things go bad.” Very strangely, covert narcissists play lament & persecution as the musical score for their self-aggrandizement. Fourth, communal narcissists: the altruistic, charitable type. They support orphanages, feeding programs, relief work. They raise funds for seminaries & churches. If you really think about it, they’re not any more helpful or more compassionate than the next person. But they want to be seen & heard that way. Communal narcissists project an image of kindness, self-sacrifice, & love for the poor. But at their core, it’s really about attention-seeking, impression management. At their worst, they push their weight around & manipulate decision makers to achieve their own aims. But since their clarion call is service, no one blows the whistle on their vanity. In today’s Gospel, Jesus calls out the Pharisees & scribes for their narcissism. “They perform all their works to be seen (pakitang tao lang daw). They widen their phylacteries & lengthen their tassels (para mapansin na tapat sila sa batas ng Diyos). They love places of honor at banquets (mga senyoritong pinagsisilbihan), seats of honor in synagogues, greetings in marketplaces, & being called ‘Rabbi’” (donor, celebrity, titulado). There’s also a certain malignancy to them because “they preach but not practice (and) tie up heavy burdens & lay them on people’s shoulders, but they will not lift a finger to help them.” ‘Yun talaga ang delikado: religious narcissism; because we can hide behind a good & holy cause: God! But it feels exhilarating because we have a captive audience: the community. We have a stage: the altar. We have a theater: the church. We have shoulder-to-shoulder friends: kura paroko, bishop, cardinal. And look! Look at the people we’ve helped, people who thank us & need us & pray for us: the poor, the scholars, the ill, the priests, nuns, seminarians! Don’t get me wrong, religious narcissists are highly accomplished. We cannot diminish their contributions. They’re pretty apparent, beneficial, & we keep turning to them in our hour of need. But the self-importance, the backdoor manipulation, the self-imposition & self-promotion. It all comes down to me, myself, & I, “but all for God & the salvation of my soul.” Which brings us to the probably reason why narcissists are the way they are. Unless there are minions, they feel terribly alone. Unless there are spectators, they feel invisible. Unless there’s an audience, they feel unheard; worse, unheard of. Unless they prove themselves, they feel worthless. In other words, their locus of self-esteem is entirely external. Be visible & loud. Let it all be public & larger than life. Otherwise, their innermost self, gapes with unbearable, unbelievable emptiness. You know, sisters & brothers, Jesus might’ve been able to reform the hierarchs much sooner & more efficiently were he born to a priestly family & became a Temple authority, or if he became a rabbi, Sadducee, Pharisee himself. ‘Yun bang taong may sinasabi sa lipunan at simbahan. But Jesus was born an ordinary Jew, to a poor family who schooled & raised him to goodness & love of God. Artisan like his dad, he built & fixed things for more than half his life. In his final 3 years, he built & fixed people. He was more credible than all the rabbis, wiser than all the prophets, mightier than all the kings put together. But never once do we hear him self-refer as rabbi, prophet, or even son of God. Instead, what did Jesus call himself, sisters & brothers? Son of man. In bible-speak, what’s that mean: son of man? A person. A regular, typical, ordinary, simple person. A guy. Guy from Nazareth. A guy whose simplicity, humility, & poverty, & whose enormous power & great love put the narcissists to shame. Homily delivered by Fr. Arnel Aquino, SJ 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time Cenacle Retreat House 4 November 2023 (Anticipated Sunday Mass)

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