Spiritual Pruning (5th Sunday Easter B)

The previous Sunday’s Good Shepherd theme has allowed us to see Christ as our caring leader and companion who is ever ready to sacrifice all for our sake. But today’s image of the vine and branches brings us to an awareness of an even more profound level of relationship between us and the Lord. Christ is not just a leader or a companion, He is our very life.  He is the vine and we, his disciples, are the branches.  This reveals the intimate union we have with Christ and, through him, with the Father.  We share the one and the same Spirit-life with the Risen Lord.  We are so united with him that we cannot live, we cannot do anything fruitful apart from him much as a branch withers and unable to bear fruits when cut off from the vine.

Hence, today’s gospel (Jn 15: 1-8) invites us to remain with the Lord: “Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me” (v. 4).

Remaining in the Lord means cultivating our intimate relationship with him and nurturing the very life we have with him.  One aspect of the imagery of the vine that suggests the necessity of nurturing this intimacy is the art of pruning. The vine grower, that is, the Father, takes away every branch that does not bear fruit, and “everyone that does, he prunes so that it bears more fruit” (v. 2).

Let us then look into this aspect of pruning as an art of spiritual nurturance.  May I suggest, as an insight, three ways of appraising our experiences of being pruned.  We may understand this spiritual pruning as a process of purification, a process of discernment, and a process toward surrendering.

Pruning as a process of purification. We are always in need of purification. The more intimate we become with the Lord, the more we need to be purified from the habits of sin. Sin and divine life cannot co-exist.  When we allow our habits of sin to persist in us, these habits undermine our intimacy with the Lord. Our capacity to bear much fruit is diminished. Hence, we need to submit ourselves to pruning.  We need to be constantly purified from our sins so that we are always disposed to the life-giving grace of God.  When we are freed from sin, God remains in us and we remain in Him. This strengthens our intimacy with the Lord.

“You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you” (v. 3).  This reminds us that Jesus’ word purifies us.  As an art of pruning, then, we are invited to immerse ourselves always in the word of Jesus by reading the scriptures, reflecting on it, praying with it, and acting upon it. His word reflected and prayed upon purifies our day-to-day intentions and conforms our being and doing with that of God.

What are the habits of sin that hamper my intimacy with the Lord? Can I allow the word of God to purify me every day and hence nurture my intimacy with Him?

Pruning as process of discernment.  Oftentimes we are not bearing much fruit because we are not primarily concerned with what is essential.  We are distracted by too much worldly cares. We are bombarded with many choices each day from the most trivial things to the profoundest options. Most of the time we don’t discern; we just embrace uncritically just anything that is attractively presented to us and hence spend our time, talent, treasure, energy, and life pursuing concerns of this world aimlessly.  The result of this disoriented pursuit is emptiness.  No fruits. 

We need to trim down our concerns and discern what is essential from the passing fancies of this secular society.  Pruning may be seen as discerning our purpose as Christ’s disciples.  Amid this growing secularized or “Godless” society, Christ’s disciples are called to remain in him. In the language of the second reading (1 Jn 3: 18-24), to remain in the Lord is to believe in him and to keep his commandment: “We should believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and love one another just as he commanded us” (v. 23). For us disciples of the Lord, what is essential is that which brings growth in faith and in our love for one another.  And this is particularly what’s dying in our communities with the onslaught of secularism. Hence, we need to be pruned by our discernment of our essential purpose.  Is the Lord with me in what I do now in life? Or Am I in the Lord as I do what I do in life?

Pruning as a process toward surrendering to God.  When we live in our habits of sin compounded by the Godless culture around us, it is not surprising that this Godlessness may characterize our lifestyle. Meaning, sin and worldly cares become our way of being. They become so much a part of us that we begin to resist any invitation to change. Or sometimes we are still aware of God’s presence in our life but we have grown satisfied and complacent in our comfort zones.  We definitely need pruning to shake off these attachments.  Sometimes, what awakens us is a tremendous experience of pain, like the experience of failure, of great loss, of serious health problem, etc. 

God allows these painful experiences to happen not as punishment but as a powerful intervention to bring us back to him. When we are confronted with the fact of losing everything we believed to be important to us, we either wallow in despair and anger or, with the last ounce of faith, we cling to God and humbly submit.  I believe our experiences of loss are graced moments meant to enable us see clearly that apart from God we are nothing. Our experiences of loss are invitation to move on with hope for a new beginning of a much fruitful life with God. We need to surrender and remain in God.

May our experiences of being pruned nurture our intimacy with God and our fruits give glory to his name: “By this is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples” (v. 8).

The Good Shepherd's Foolishness (4th Sunday Easter B)

Come to think of it, it’s quite absurd for our self-preserving and calculating natural orientation to go by the Good Shepherd’s sacrificial laying down of one’s life for one’s sheep.  It does not make sense for us to sacrifice our life, our highest value, for the sheep.  Something deep inside tells us “it’s not worth it!”  Our primary concern is to preserve our life; everything else is secondary.  Hence, we see the absurdity of Gods’ love for us. By human reckoning, to die for a sinful people is not worth it. The Good Shepherd laying down his life for us is beyond human logical calculation. But God’s love again is beyond human logic. God does not calculate when it comes to loving us. Even when we were sinners, the Good Shepherd did not hesitate to die for our sakes.

Today is the Good Shepherd Sunday.  Let’s open our minds and hearts to learn from our Good Shepherd. Three things for our reflection:

On Total Self-giving. The Good Shepherd’s total self-giving reminds us to overcome our minimalist stance in life. Jesus said: “I am the Good Shepherd; the Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” Jesus does not calculate how much to give of himself.  He gives up everything. It’s total self-giving, the mark of real love. This invites us to examine and correct our very calculating and minimalist attitude in life.  We tend to give what is only expected of us—the minimum.  We measure what we give and what we do for others; and we have a keen sense of how far we ought to give.  Oftentimes we base our calculation on what the law or any social norm requires.  To give beyond that seems to be unwise, unpractical, or “lugi” in our business parlance.  To give more than what is expected sometimes leaves us a sense of loss or “panghihinayang.”  So we settle with our minimal self-giving.

We need to love like the Good Shepherd does in order to be able to give more of ourselves. We are his sheep. We follow our Good Shepherd. To the world, He is absurd; but we are not of this world.  Jesus’ absurdity is the wisdom of God.  We follow our Good Shepherd, not the standard of this world. Like what our psalm proclaims: “It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes” (Ps 118: 8-9).

On Serving with Care. The Good Shepherd’s way of ministering reminds us to overcome our tendency towards “economism.” We tend to view a lot of our life in terms of economic value.  Our work, for instance, has been reduced to an economic component.  We are reduced to becoming hired workers--with the emphasis on the “hired.”  We gradually lost touch of the deep vocational and ministerial aspect of our professions and jobs.  We are killing ourselves working hard for our pay. Nothing more.

The Good Shepherd’s commitment to take care of his sheep is especially contrasted with that of the hired shepherd. The former gives himself to service and to care for his sheep; the latter has no concern for his sheep for he works only for pay. Again, we follow the Good Shepherd.  While we give due value to compensation and the necessity of justice in wages, foremost to our concern is the dignity of our work.  Our work is a vocation to serve, to minister, and to care for those who are entrusted upon us.

On Proactive Living. The Good Shepherd’s free initiative in giving his life reminds us to overcome our tendency to react to life by complaining. Jesus said: “I lay down my life to take it up again. No one takes it from me; I lay it down freely.” Jesus was not a victim of circumstances. His sacrificial act is his free decision. He willed to die as a response to the utter need for salvation of his sheep. Oftentimes, we find ourselves reacting to what life gives us. And we complain a lot. We play victim. So we serve begrudgingly. Truly unhappy. And we persist in the unhappiness of doing things half-heartedly.

The Good Shepherd reminds us to stop playing victim.  Stop complaining. Be proactive. Act from conviction and free initiative. Only then will we truly be happy with what we do.

A taxi driver used to complain a lot until a passenger, apparently a successful businessman, pointed out to him how futile it was to complain in life. If he wanted to change his life, he must stop complaining and start to serve whole-heartedly.  So the driver began to take care of his taxi, cleaning it and polishing it well. He became friendly to his passengers and assured them of his honesty.  People began to be happy with his way of serving. They asked for his calling card and gave him generous tips. Now, while other taxi-drivers complain and spend a lot of time queuing, this driver is busy receiving calls and reservation from those whom he had served.  His life is changed.

The Good Shepherd wants us to follow his way and change the quality of our self-giving, our serving, and our living for the better—far better than we can imagine.

Recognizing the Risen Lord (3rd Sunday Easter B)

Master:  When do you know that it is the end of the night and the beginning of the day?

Disciple: When I can see the trees and distinguish one kind from the others.

Master:  No quite.

Disciple: When I can see the animals and distinguish a goat from a sheep.

Master:  No.

Disciple:  Sorry, my Master. I don’t seem to have the answer. Would you tell me please, when is the end of the night and the beginning of the day?

Master:  It is when you can recognize in every person you meet a brother or a sister.

* * *

We may ask a similar question: When is the end of the darkness of Good Friday and the beginning of the light of Easter? Our readings today point us to this answer:  It is when we recognize the presence of the risen Lord in every “breaking of the bread” and in every experience of the forgiveness of sins.

The Risen Lord in the Breaking of the Bread.  The gospel reading today (Lk 24:35-48) starts with the report of the two disciples who hurried back from Emmaus and recounted what transpired on their way there and how they recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread.  Their recognition of the risen Lord through the act of breaking bread may be seen as a fulfilment of Jesus’ last supper wish: Do this in remembrance of me.

This reminds us that the celebration of the Eucharist, the present form of the breaking of the bread, has a memorial dimension.  But this does not mean a simple recalling of the past event as history.  The mass, as memorial, means it makes present here and now the event of Christ’s paschal mystery. In other words, for every time we participate in the Eucharistic celebration, we experience again and again the same salvific sacrifice of Christ offered by him once and for all on that night of his Passover (see CCC 1364).

The breaking of the bread is obviously a meal. No doubt, the most evident dimension of the Eucharist is that it is a meal.  This involves partaking in the banquet of the body and blood of Christ.  As such, it is an invitation to fellowship with God and with one another.

The Eucharist as a memorial meal, then, is a privilege moment for us to “remember” our Lord.  It is in this fellowship that we experience the real presence of Christ—a fulfilment of his promise to remain with us until the end of the world.

So, it is the end of the darkness of Good Friday and the beginning of the light of Easter, when we recognize the risen Lord in every ‘breaking of the bread’ that we participate in.  Do I allow my mind to be opened and my heart to be enkindled, as the two disciples in the road to Emmaus did, whenever I participate in the fellowship of the Eucharist? Do I experience the presence of the risen Lord in this memorial celebration?

The Risen Lord in the Ministry of Forgiveness.  The suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ brought him, as the Messiah, to his victory over the power of sin. The risen Lord thus instructs his disciples towards the end of today’s gospel reading: “Thus it is likewise written that the Messiah must suffer and rise from the dead on the third day. In his name, penance for the remission of sins is to be preached to all the nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are witnesses of this” (vv. 46-48).

Hence, in the first reading (Acts 3:13-15, 17-19), Peter confronts the people in Jerusalem who handed over Jesus to his death: “You disowned the Holy and Just One and preferred instead to be granted the release of a murderer. You put to death the Author of life. But God raised him from the dead, and we are his witnesses” (14-16).  But Peter’s message is not of condemnation but of understanding and invitation to repentance:  “I know, brothers, that you acted out of ignorance, just as your leaders did. ...Repent, therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be wiped away” (17-19).

We experience the presence of the risen Lord whenever forgiveness is preached and celebrated.  As a minister of God’s mercy, for instance, I recognize with clarity the presence of the risen Lord in the celebration of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I recognize his presence in the experience of those who come for forgiveness.  They approach trembling, ashamed, insecure, and searching for words to describe the ugliness of sin. But they emerge later from the confessional with peace, with the dignity of the children of God, with security, and with the words of thanksgiving and praises to the merciful God. Such is for me the undeniable power of the risen Lord over sin.

Whenever forgiveness is preached, celebrated, and experienced, it is indeed the end of the darkness of Good Friday and the beginning of the light of Easter because forgiveness testifies to the power of the risen Lord over sin. Jesus Christ is risen.

Let us then witness to the resurrection of Christ as we recognize his presence in our Eucharistic fellowship and in our experience of forgiveness.

Ocean of Mercy (Divine Mercy Sunday ABC)

I was walking leisurely along the beautiful stretch of the shore of Boracay, when my attention was caught by a jolly teenage boy masterfully working on the fine white sand building his awesome castle.  As he completed it, he allowed tourists to pose and take pictures with it as background.  Some were so pleased that they even tipped him.  I walked farther along the shore as the red sun was retiring hesitatingly behind the horizon; something within me nudged me to make my own castle.  Yes, I fumbled at first but built my sand castle anyhow. But no sooner had I completed my masterpiece than the ocean mockingly wiped it out!  Just like that. No pictures. No tourist tips for me.

But I experienced consolation.  As I looked at the great ocean reflecting the beautiful colors of the setting sun, it reminded me of the vast mercy of God capable of wiping out my ambitious but feeble castle of sins.

On Good Friday, the sinful world mocked Jesus who died on the cross; but on Easter morning, Jesus victoriously rose from the dead conquering the destructive power of sin. Henceforth, sin has fallen and remained as such—a pretentious castle made of sand. As often as it is built and rebuilt, the ocean of God’s mercy is there to wipe it out. Alleluia!

Today, the second Sunday of Easter is the Divine Mercy Sunday, a special day to rejoice because of the assurance of the infinite mercy of God for us who are sinners but who long for salvation. Pope John Paul II pronounced the second Sunday of Easter as the Divine Mercy Sunday on April 30, 2000 during the ceremony of the canonization of St. Mary Faustina Kowalska, the Polish nun who had received from Christ the revelations of the Divine Mercy in the early years of the twentieth century. One of Christ’s requests through these revelations was the reservation of the second Sunday of Easter for the entire Church to honor and commemorate God's infinite mercy.  Pope John Paul II fulfilled the request.

Hence, today, we discern in the gospel reading (Jn 20: 19-31) the revelation of the mercy of God as the Risen Lord confronted his fearful disciples.  Jesus appeared to his disciples who were hiding in a locked room out of fear. He appeared to them not to reproach them of their cowardly act of denying and abandoning him as He suffered in Calvary.  No. He passed through the locked doors and through their fears and guilt in order to bring peace into their troubled hearts. “Peace be with you!” And indeed their fears turned into rejoicing.

More significantly, the Risen Lord appeared to them to give them the power to bring into this sinful world the mercy of God: “’Peace be with you.  As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’  And when he has said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained’” (v.21-23).

This is the explicit institution of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. In this sacrament we experience the mercy of God.  By this sacrament, the Church fulfills the mission for which she is sent—to proclaim to the world that the limitless ocean of God's mercy overcomes the pretentious sand castles of our sins. 

Hence, today we rejoice because of this assurance. But how can we partake of this tremendous gift of God’s mercy? Let us explore three things we can do to make the Divine Mercy truly integral to our Christian living:

Acknowledging our utter need for God’s mercy.  We have to be humble to accept that we are sinners. And we should be horrified that we are in sin and that we cannot save ourselves from its slavery.  We need God’s mercy to set us free. Our greatest tragedy, and this is already a plague in our contemporary society, is when we live in sin and are no longer disturbed by it. It is then very helpful that we examine our conscience regularly so that we may not be blind to the persistent influence of sin in our lives and that we may humbly acknowledge our utter need for God’s forgiveness.

Trusting in the mercy of God. The ocean of God’s mercy has been made available by the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. The Risen Lord has entrusted to the Church the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation through which we experience the joy of being forgiven.  Here is what Jesus told St. Faustina about confession: When you approach the confessional, know this, that I Myself am waiting there for you. I am only hidden by the priest, but I Myself act in your soul. Here the misery of the soul meets the God of mercy (Diary, 1602). As sinners, let us surrender to the merciful arms of our Lord as we pray in our hearts: “Jesus, I trust in you.”

Becoming merciful.  One of the many things Jesus demanded from St. Faustina is this: "I demand from you deeds of mercy... You are to show deeds of mercy to your neighbors always and everywhere." As we experience the mercy of God in our lives, we are invited to share to others that same mercy. Let us allow the ocean of God’s mercy to be channeled through us.  Mercy is Christianity’s distinctive virtue. To be a Christian is to be merciful. This means to be forgiving to those who are indebted to us in whatever way and to be kind and loving especially to those who cannot return the favor because of misery and poverty.

Through the death and resurrection of our Lord, the ocean of God’s mercy opened up for the whole world. This Sunday invites us to celebrate with joy the gift of God’s infinite mercy. Let us surrender to the Lord our sinfulness and that of the whole world and completely trust in his mercy as we pray: “Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” Amen.

Empty Tomb (Easter Sunday ABC)

On the 26th of February, year 2010, the last Jesuit missionary who left the Prelature of Ipil (in the Province of Zamboanga Sibugay) after serving for 43 years in building up the Christian communities, passed away. Fr. Angel Antonio, SJ, was well loved by the people he had served because of his simplicity, self-giving, and his gentle and loving manner of shepherding the flock. He died in his new assignment as spiritual director and confessor at St. John Vianney Theological Seminary in Cagayan de Oro City. On his death, the people of the Prelature of Ipil expressed their ardent desire to have the remains of Fr. Angel buried in Ipil as he had been their pastor practically the whole of his life... 43 years! However, to their dismay, the decision to have his burial in Cagayan de Oro City prevailed.

At the funeral mass, the words of Archbishop Ledesma moved many of the people from Ipil almost to tears. He said something to this effect: “The people of the Prelature of Ipil loved Fr. Angel so much that they wanted him to be buried there. Since it is not going to happen, it will not be a surprise if the people of the Prelature of Ipil put up an empty tomb for their beloved pastor.”

An empty tomb for a beloved pastor! The idea moved me to tears of joy having in the back of my mind its hopeful Easter connotations. The empty tomb, once created, will be a powerful reminder to the people that their pastor lives. He continues to live in their hearts; he lives in the love of God.

In the eyes of Easter faith, the empty tomb brings home the message that death has not the last word. Life triumphs! The eyes of Easter faith see so much meaning in the emptiness of a grave because of two kinds of vision: The vision of love and the vision of hope.

The Vision of Love. The gospel reading (Jn 20:1-9) this Easter Sunday recounts how the disciples discovered the empty tomb. Mary Magdalene first sees the stone already removed from the tomb. Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved come next to witness after having been informed by her. While they share the same experience, the gospel writer highlights the fact that it is the beloved disciple who comes to believe: “He saw and believed” (v. 8). While the others do not understand as yet the meaning of the empty tomb, the beloved disciple, who has had a strong bond of love with the Lord, sees through the emptiness the truth that the beloved Master is alive. His heart is sensitized by the experience of Jesus’ love to grasp quite easily through the sign of the empty tomb the Easter truth that the beloved Master lives.

Love begets faith. Hence, I would like to believe that the depth of the joy of our Easter celebration depends so much on the quality of love we have shared with the Lord and with one another. A heart that has grown fonder to the Lord each day is one that will certainly rejoice in the proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection. The flock who shared among themselves and with their pastor so many years of loving will certainly see through the sign of the empty tomb that their pastor, Fr. Angel, lives.

The Vision of Hope. There is more to the empty tomb than just an historical or archaeological import. The empty tomb is a theological illumination of the anxious groping in the darkness of Good Friday which is disturbingly expressed by the dying Messiah himself: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” Good Friday, with its impenetrable darkness, easily leads to despair. The empty tomb of Easter, however, opens up the eyes of hope and dispels the defeatist summon to despair. The empty tomb reveals that God does not abandon whom he loves even at times when he is frighteningly silent. It turns Easter into a season of hope, a season that heightens our awareness of God’s presence in spite of the evidence of his absence.

How many terrible stories of suffering and brokenness I’ve heard in my ministry! Oftentimes, I wonder how people manage to move on given the miserable and hapless situations they are in. But they do move on even if their unsettling questions remained unanswered, their burdens not lifted. It is in these people that I actually encounter existential hope. They are the Easter people who, while struggling in life, have seen the empty tomb as a guarantee that suffering and death have been vanquished; everlasting joy and life triumph. The Messiah lives and is victorious!

This season of Easter then is an invitation to cultivate love, to make our hearts sensitive to the presence of the Risen Lord among us. It is a summons too to see beyond our suffering and move on in life with hope.

Do This in Remembrance of Me (Lord's Supper)

When a person is dying, he gains clarity of understanding about what is essential. About what matters most. About what is important in life. And before he dies, he sees to it that what he has grasped so clearly be communicated to the people he cares about. He tells them what matters most even as a farewell message.

One way to see the great significance of what we are celebrating now in this liturgy is to contemplate it as the last wishes of Jesus who was about to face his death. On the night before he died, he left his disciples with farewell words. Farewell words and gestures. On this night he revealed to them what matters to him. The desires of his heart.

On the same night he was betrayed, Scripture says, Jesus took bread and cup, gave them to his disciples as his body and blood. He said to them, “Do this in remembrance of me.” The Last Supper, the eucharist, is important for our Lord. He wants all of us to gather in this meal; and in this celebration, to remember him.

Notice that there is a significant parallelism between this and the account of the first reading on the jewish Passover meal. In the Jewish Passover meal, a lamb is slain. The lamb’s blood is smeared on the doorpost of the houses of the people of God to save them from death. The lamb’s flesh became their food that night. And the people of God were to commemorate this meal year after year… so that they would not forget… so that they will always remember for ages to come that Yahweh their God loves them and have saved them.

On the night before Jesus died, he offered himself as the Lamb of God. His body and blood was to be the supreme sacrifice so that death, the ultimate result of our sins, will never, ever, touch us his beloved.

My dear friends, whenever we gather to celebrate the eucharist just as we do now, the Lord is inviting us to remember the essential truth that God loves us dearly and continues to save us from the clutches of our sins. “Do this in remembrance of me.” Jesus says to us. Perhaps in a very personal way, he is saying to you and me just before he dies, “I want you to know and to always remember…always… how much I love you.”

Another desire of our Lord could have not been communicated more clearly. By the washing of the feet, He shows his ardent desire that just as he loves us so much, we also have to love one another by serving and caring for one another.

While they were at supper, Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. Peter was kind of uneasy with Jesus’ gesture. Yes, he was uneasy because washing feet is a lowly task of a servant. Jesus is his Master. How could he let him stoop down and wash his dirty feet! It was indeed an awkward scenario for the disciples. But Jesus did not feel awkward doing this. Why? Because he had been doing that all his life. All through out his ministry, he had shown his deep concern and love for the people. He was always with the poor, the sinners, the outcast, the oppressed. He served them with compassion. He was always in the business of washing feet. No. Not the well-pedicured… but the dirty feet.

So that just before he died, he made sure that his disciples would see this with clarity. After washing their feet, he addressed them saying, “I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do.”

To love is to serve. This evening, the Lord wants us to remember that.

My dear friends, as we continue this celebration, I invite you to approach this event with a contemplative heart. A heart that sees in the rituals and symbolic gestures the presence of our Lord. When we continue with the act of washing the feet, let Jesus, who is about to die, be present in our hearts and let us feel and experience his intensity, his urgent desire to tell us about what is important. Love, in its most active mode, is serving one another. This is essential.

When we break bread and drink from the cup, let us experience once again, that same self-sacrifice he did at last supper. Let us remember him, the Lord… him who loves us dearly so as to lay down everything. This is his request before he died… “Do this in remembrance of me.”

Wounds that Truly Hurt (Passion Sunday B)

We have to live with the fact that it is people we love that we hurt and that can hurt us the most. Wounds inflicted by enemies make of us a warrior, even fiercer than we ever had been before.  But wounds caused by a loved one send us sobbing in real pain and helplessness to a corner. And it is the inner wound in our being that truly hurts more than the physical wound that we endure momentarily. Physical wounds heal naturally leaving only some scars for reminder.

But often, we readily take notice of the external wounds oblivious of the greater pain that cuts deep inside.  Once I facilitated a Lenten retreat among lay leaders and Eucharistic ministers.  To help them begin with a proper disposition, I let them watch Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ. The film was in Aramaic but people understood it just the same and they were moved because of the graphic presentation of the passion of Jesus Christ. Many sobbed while watching Jesus receiving the blows and lashes.  Their hearts went with him as they saw the gaping wounds all over his body. Some could not stand watching the horrible manner with which Jesus’ torturers crucified him. The torture was too much. Perhaps, it was intentionally portrayed so by the film-makers to highlight the suffering of Christ and to evoke remorse from the viewers. In this aspect, the film is a tremendous success.

However, the film may put us into the risk of not noticing the real pain that Jesus endured the most as we can be transfixed by the gaping wounds, horrible bruises, and trembling hands nailed onto the wood. The gospel of Mark in today’s readings (Mk. 14:1—15:47) narrates the passion of Christ in a rather plain-spoken manner, characteristically devoid of descriptive details. Mark is contented for instance in reporting quite plainly that “they crucified him and divided up his garments by rolling dice for them to see what each should take. It was about nine in the morning when they crucified him.” That simple. No mention of blood spurting.

The simplicity of Mark’s narration however allows us to notice the wounds inflicted not by Jesus’ enemies but by his loved ones.  Let me point out four wounds that must have truly and deeply hurt him:

The wound inflicted by a kiss. A kiss is the sweetest greeting between friends. Judas turned this gesture into an act of betrayal.  Jesus had to endure being betrayed by one of his closest friends, a member of his most intimate circle of followers. Jesus was sold by a friend.  The kiss left no physical mark of wound; but it certainly cut deep inside the heart of the betrayed.

The wound inflicted by words of denial. “I don’t even know the man you are talking about!” Mark reports Peter saying this at the third instance of his denial.  Peter was the most trusted and depended on by Jesus among the apostles. Jesus even gave him the name, Peter, which means rock, because Jesus believed in his strength of character and his leadership.  With Peter’s denial, Jesus again must have experienced deep wounds that truly hurt him. There were no marks of lashes left by the words of denial; but certainly the pain of rejection reverberates deep inside.

The wound inflicted by false accusation and conviction.  The very people who chanted the Hosannas as Jesus entered Jerusalem are the same people who later demanded his crucifixion.  From the words of blessing—“Hosanna! Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord!”—to the words of curse and unfair conviction—“Crucify him! Crucify him!” How painful it is to see people who once believed in you now hand you over to death like a criminal!

The wound inflicted by the silence of the dearest of all. The Father was everything to Jesus. He was Jesus’ source of meaning and being. It was to Him that Jesus had complete trust and obedience. During this horrible moment of Jesus’ passion, however, the Father, the dearest of all, was silent. Distant. Tolerant of all the evil deeds inflicted upon his beloved Son. When Jesus was about to die, he cried out what must have been the most excruciating pain he had to endure as a man and as a Son: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The wound of total abandonment by the beloved Father was perhaps the greatest suffering Jesus had to bear.

Such is the suffering of Jesus Christ. His physical wounds were nothing compared to what lashed and cut him at the core of his being.

We have the capacity to hurt the Lord because he loves us. We hurt him with our betrayal. We hurt him with our denial. We hurt him with our false accusation and conviction. We hurt him when we give him a cold shoulder when he calls us.

We hurt each other too with these same wounds. We have to remember that the wounds inflicted by people dear to us are the most painful. On this Passion Sunday, we are invited to a humble examination of our way of loving.  We may have been inflicting wounds on one another. We are invited too towards the only way of healing these deep wounds—the way of forgiveness and reconciliation.

“I love you Lord... and I hurt you... I hurt too people I love. Please... forgive me!”

Unless We Die (5th Sunday Lent B)

Our natural instinct is self-preservation.  We protect ourselves from harm and, as much as possible, from death.  Dying is something we avoid thinking about. We dread it because it is destructive.  But much as we want to deny it, death is a process we will certainly all go through. The death of Jesus Christ on the cross, when we give it a serious look, transforms our attitude and the meaning we give to death. 

The story of Richie Fernando, a young Filipino Jesuit missionary in Cambodia, can help us gain an insight into this Christ-transformed understanding of death.  Before ordination to the priesthood, Richie was sent to Cambodia and worked as a teacher in a technical school for the handicapped.  He loved his students and allowed them to share with him their stories. He would write to a friend in the Philippines and express his joy in giving his life in the service of the handicapped:  “I know where my heart is, It is with Jesus Christ, who gave his all for the poor, the sick, the orphan ...I am confident that God never forgets his people: our disabled brothers and sisters. And I am glad that God has been using me to make sure that our brothers and sisters know this fact. I am convinced that this is my vocation.”

On October 17, 1996, one of Richie’s students, Sarom, a landmine victim who had been feared because of his disruptive behaviour and had been asked to leave by the school authorities, came to the school for a meeting.  Out of anger, he pulled out a grenade from his bag and moved towards a classroom full of students. Richie came up behind Sarom and restrained him. While struggling, Sarom dropped the grenade behind Richie and that instance spelled the death of the young missionary.  In trying to save the lives of others, Richie gave up his own.  

Richie’s life, I believe, was characterized by self-giving.  Before his untimely death, he had been dying every day to self with his decision to give his life in the service of the poor and the handicapped of Cambodia.  His death was a culmination of a life totally given to others and to Jesus.

Today’s gospel reading (Jn 12:20-33) offers us the clearest illustration of the relationship between dying and attaining new life: “Unless the grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat. But if it dies, it produces much fruit.” Dying and rising to new life is central to our Lenten celebration which allows us to reflect on the paschal mystery of Christ. Jesus Christ is the grain of wheat.  He has to submit himself to death that he may conquer it by his resurrection. This is at the heart of Lent.

A disciple of Christ has to be like him, a grain of wheat ready to give up everything in dying in order to usher in the fullness of life.  The true following of Christ is not easy.  Real discipleship is not cheap. The way is costly. Discipleship requires our dying to oneself every day. Following Christ does not right away mean offering one’s life big time on the cross. The magnanimity and courage of the heart to give up everything in death do not come to us automatically as part of our nature.  What is natural to us is self-preservation. Self-sacrifice is transcending what is natural with the aid of grace. It has to be nurtured by our decisions to die a little each day by way of our acts of self-denial.  When we forget ourselves because our concern is the welfare of those who need our service and love, we have died to our selfishness.

Death for a believer, therefore, is already a consummation of a life spent in daily self-offering.  The destructive nature of death then, as in the destructiveness of the cross of Christ, is overcome by freely embracing death in self-giving just as Jesus Christ embraced his death in total surrender to the will of the Father. 

Our Lenten journey to Easter reminds us that there is no escaping the process of dying in our way to everlasting life.  We cannot eliminate the cross on our way to glory. There is no such thing as Christianity without the cross.  In fact, the way of the cross is the only way Christ has chosen to take in order to bring new life to all. The way of the cross is the Christian way of life and the way to life.

Richie Fernando gave up his life that all those whom he loved, his handicapped students, may have life.  His death culminated his earthly life characterized by daily self-giving.  He has lived the fullness of life that a faithful disciple could wish for.  Like Richie, we are invited to go beyond our self-preserving instinct.  We are called to transcend our self-love.  Dying each day to our selfishness and egoism liberates us to care for and serve others.  This is, perhaps, the greatest paradox in life: When we die each day in self-giving, it is when we gain the freedom to live our lives to the full. And when in death, we surrender humbly and trustingly everything to God, death loses its sting and eternal life shines brightly.

“The man who loves his life loses it, while the man who hates his life in this world preserves it to life eternal.”

Gratuitous Love (4th Sunday Lent B)

Gratuity is an uncommon word as the concept itself is quite strange in this profit-oriented society.  In this era when economic gain seems to be the be-all-and-end-all of life, we easily acquiesce to the principle that nothing comes for free.  There’s no such thing as a free lunch, we say.  Everything has a price.  Everything has to be paid.  Even in the theological exposition of the “economy of salvation,” the expiation framework easily makes sense to most of us:  The cross of Christ is some kind of a payment for our sins. To be saved from sin, someone has to pay the price. This logic we understand quite readily.

The readings today, fortunately, offer us another way of understanding the mystery of our salvation.  The readings invite us to see our relationship with God from the point of view of God’s gratuitous love.  For this we need to let go first of our fixation to concepts like profit, interest, price, payment.  We need to accept the principle of gratuity:  The best things in life are for free.  The nearest common concept to gratuity, I think, is gift-giving.  But again, even this concept has been tainted with self-interest as in the case of our exchange-gift-Christmas-party favourite.  We give and expect to receive.  All too often, we are robbed of the joy of pure giving when we fail to receive what we have expected to.

Something is gratuitous when it is offered unwarranted, undeserved, unmerited.  It is pure gift. Not demanded nor bought.  God’s love to us is gratuitous. This is illustrated in our first reading (2 Chr 36: 14-16, 19-23), when God inspired Cyrus, the King of Persia, to free the Israelites from Babylonian captivity.  This loving act of deliverance was unmerited by an unfaithful people.  Despite their sins, the people of Israel were restored to their own land.  St. Paul expresses this in the second reading (Eph 2:4-10) with more clarity of insight into God’s undeserved love and mercy: Brothers and sisters, God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love he had for us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, brought us to life with Christ... For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast (vv. 4-9). 

Clear as daylight. We did not deserve to be cared for.  We were sinful, unfaithful, hard-headed, proud, and selfish. Despite these, we were saved from the very sins that had brought death upon us.  Such is the greatness of God’s love. Gratuitous indeed!

Moreover, today’s gospel (Jn 3: 14-21) highlights God’s love as his own initiative of giving up his only Son that we may have eternal life: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. The Son of God is lifted up on the cross as God’s ultimate act of sacrificial love.  Through this sacrificial love, our enslavement to sin has been broken.  Selfishness has been overcome by total self-giving.  And by Christ’s resurrection, death is vanquished; eternal life dawns for all of us who believe.  And all of these come to us for free.  It’s pure gift.  If there’s one thing we can be sure of about what God is not, God is every inch not a businessman!

In this season of Lent, we may do well to heed these following invitations:

Conviction.  Are we convinced of the gratuity of God’s love for us? Isn’t it the case that often we are practically incredulous of God’s capacity to love us despite our unworthiness? In our relationship with God, we allow our sense of unworthiness to get in the way.  We still think that we can only come to God when we are worthy; so, when we are not (which is often the case), we keep God at bay.  Lent is an opportunity to strengthen our conviction about God’s gratuitous love for us.  It is God’s grace which makes us worthy of him. We need to surrender to this truth and there can be no stronger proof of his unconditional love than the fact that, by God’s initiative, his beloved Son was lifted up on the cross... that we may have life.

Celebration.  A true disciple of Christ has all the reasons to be joyful. This season invites us to celebrate the joy of being loved gratuitously.  This is an invitation to a joyful spirituality, living each day with the delight that the new life in Christ brings, living in a loving relationship with God with utmost confidence in God’s unfailing fidelity, if not in our own capacity to be faithful.  May this season help us to truly relish with joy our freedom from sin and death won for us by Christ through his cross and resurrection. 

Commitment.   We have been loved unconditionally.  God loves us not because we are good.  God loves us despite ourselves. He loves us warts and all. His love is not because of our merit.  His love is pure gift.  Every day we receive his grace and we experience his mercy as gift. This experience of gratuity invites us to a commitment to self-giving, to be a man-and-woman-for-others, to serve without asking for reward, to give to those who cannot give back. 

May the Lenten discipline transform us into the effective signs of the presence of God’s gratuitous love amid this society which puts a tag price to just everything.

God’s Temple (3rd Sunday Lent B)

In Fr. Niall O’Brien’s best-seller prison diary, Revolution from the Heart, this Columban missionary unfolds the story of his twenty-year mission in the island of Negros.  Central to this story is the struggle of the “Basic Christian communities” for liberation from poverty and oppression in the times of Marcos dictatorship.  I remember reading the portion when Fr. O’brien went for his sabbatical and found himself in the gigantic and elaborate Church edifices of Europe. There he couldn’t help but notice the paradox: Huge and intricately ornamented churches but very few people to worship God.  Back in Negros, the barrio chapels were just a little better than crudely built shacks, but they were packed with the communities of the poor worshipping the Lord and drawing from one another the hope they so badly needed in the midst of oppression.

True worship springs from a community of people inspired by the Spirit of the Risen Lord.  Worship is not tied to physical location like a well-ornamented temple.  There can be no authentic worship in an empty shrine. We can claim this truth now because Jesus has revealed it to his followers through the mystery of his death and resurrection.

The gospel reading of today (Jn 2:13-25), Jesus’ cleansing of the temple of Jerusalem, lends itself to a better understanding of the real temple where God can truly be worshipped. After driving out with a whip the sheep and oxen being sold inside the temple area, after overturning the tables of the money-changers telling them to stop making his Father’s house a marketplace, Jesus was confronted by the Jews with a demand for a sign: “What sign can you show us for doing this?” To which Jesus answered: “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”

The Jews of course could not understand.  Jesus was no longer speaking on the natural plane. His reference to the temple was no longer the material edifice.  It was naturally impossible to rebuild in three days a massive temple constructed for about forty-six years.  Jesus was speaking on the spiritual plane.  The temple which was to be destroyed and later be raised up was his body.

The gospel of John uses this incident as one of the signs.  This is the sign of substitution.  Jesus replaces the material temple where God, as the Jews used to believe, dwells and is exclusively worshipped.  Through the death and resurrection of Jesus, the temple is superseded by the new reality of a “Spirit-filled” Christ.  Jesus Christ is the new temple. By his resurrection he becomes the locus of the presence of God. And this truth revolutionizes the way we experience and worship God.  We encounter and worship God whenever and wherever we gather and pray in the name of the risen Lord as a people.  Our relationship with God is no longer dependent on a particular location.  God is not confined to the temple or cathedral. God dwells in us.  St. Paul says: “Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” (1 Cor 3:16).

Some implications:

In our pastoral concerns, according to PCP II’s vision, the building up of the communities of disciples or the basic ecclesial communities should then take precedence over our concern for church edifice and its beautification. The two, of course, do not necessarily contradict.  It gives a lot of joy and comfort to the worshiping community when our church buildings are spacious, clean and beautiful.  But, again, they are only beautiful in as much as there is a community that brings life to authentic worship.  Let us not allow our priorities (time, resources and energy) to be skewed on favour of inanimate edifice to the detriment of our task in community building. Several times I celebrated the Eucharist in the simple chapels of the barrios and they are the best experiences of worship I ever had.  It’s not because of the location or building but because of the Spirit of the Lord who is alive in the community.
  

Our worship does not end in the church where we celebrate the liturgy.  We are the temples of God.  Our life and all that we do outside the church must also be an expression of our worship.  We see then a continuity of our liturgical celebrations in the church with our day-to-day life.  We worship God in and outside the church, by way of piety and by way of charity and commitment to social justice. Our participation in the Alay-Kapwa Lenten campaign is part and parcel of our meaningful worship.

In this season of Lent, therefore, we are invited to encounter and worship God, first, in our meaningful liturgical celebrations that usher us, as a community, into a deeper relationship with God, second, in our commitments to social charity reaching out to the poor and needy members of the community, and third, in our personal sanctification as the temple of God by way of repentance, striving to become worthy of God’s presence in our hearts.  

The Test of Love (2nd Sunday Lent B)

Sacrifice is the test of love.  It is only when we have the capacity not to withhold for ourselves our most precious possession for the sake of another, only when we can give up even that which is most important to us for the good of the beloved, only then that we truly love.

Abraham’s devotion to God was tested.  The first reading today (Gn 22: 1-2, 9a, 10-13, 15-18) recounts the chilling moment when Abraham was about to offer up his beloved son, Isaac, as a holocaust.  Isaac was everything to Abraham.  Precisely because of Abraham’s love for his son that God asked him to offer up his beloved son as a sacrifice. Could he give up his son and everything that his son meant to him? Abraham proved his utmost devotion to God when he obeyed without questions God’s command and kept within himself the pain of having to sacrifice his own son.

We know the rest of the story of course.  God’s messenger stopped Abraham from slaying his son.  The messenger said: “I know now how devoted you are to God, since you did not withhold from me your own beloved son.”  A ram caught in the thicket was offered up as a holocaust instead of Isaac.

God could not allow Abraham to harm Isaac, much less to sacrifice him, his own beloved son, as a holocaust.  God certainly knew how excruciating the pain would be for a father to lose a beloved son by giving him up.  So, God spared the life of Isaac. God spared Abraham from the most unbearable pain a father may experience.

The ultimate test of God's love. But this test of Abraham’s devotion through an act of sacrifice somehow prefigures God’s own act of manifesting his love for his people—for all of us.  God, whom Jesus called his Father, would come to the point when He would allow his own beloved Son to be sacrificed on the cross for our sake.  God, the loving Father, the same God who spared Abraham and Isaac, kept within himself the unbearable pain when He did not spare his own Son in order to save us!  God remained silent, and He must be in great pain, when Jesus was about to die on the cross calling on his name, asking him, “Why have you abandoned me?”

St. Paul’s insight into the greatness of this sacrificial love is expressed in his assuring letter to the Romans:  “He who did not spare his own Son but handed him over for us all, how will he not also give us everything else along with him?” (Rom 8: 32).

What else can God refuse to do for our sake after having gone through the ultimate test of his love for us—giving up his own beloved Son?  What more can we ask for from this loving God who has given up everything for our sake?

And yet, the cruelest fact of our human insensitivity, we continue to doubt the love of God at some dark hours of our lives!

Invitation to confidence in the love of God. This second Sunday of Lent invites us to have confidence in God’s love for us.  The message of our readings is crystal clear:  God’s love is beyond doubt.  God’s love will see us through thick and thin, through floods and droughts.

Jesus’ transfiguration in today’s gospel reading (Mk. 9: 2-10) is meant to build the confidence of the followers who witnessed the event—Peter, James, and John.  Jesus’ awesome appearance with Moses and Elijah at his sides is an assurance, a preview of his glorious resurrection, which the apostles would hang onto when the darkest hour of Jesus’ passion and death comes.   The transfiguration event boosts the confidence that God’s love will ultimately triumph even if for the moment there are seemingly contrary evidences.

Reflection: Sacrifice is the test of love.  Have we made it through the test?  Do we really love? Can we bear silently our suffering when it is for the good of the people dear to us? Our reflection today has shown us that we can share in God’s salvific act of love whenever we embrace any suffering brought about by our decision to love.

Let us allow this blessed season of Lent to help us see clearly the greatness of God’s love for us and hence grow in the confidence that we are truly loved. Whenever we see the image of Jesus being offered up on the cross, may we perceive through it the love of the Father who has nothing more to withhold as he has offered up for our sakes the one he calls “my beloved Son.” 

Springtime of Renewal (1st Sunday Lent B)

Lent is from an old English word Lencten meaning “spring”—a season when days are lengthen and all of nature comes alive after the sleep of winter. Lent is a springtime, a period of renewal and growth in the life of the spirit.

Three images—desert, flood, rainbow—in today’s readings will show us why. The “desert” experience brings intimacy with God; the “flood” experience brings conversion and new life; and the “rainbow” experience brings hope and confidence in God’s victory. Let us reflect on these three images and allow our Lenten journey to be as flourishing as the spring.

The “desert” experience brings intimacy with God.  The first image is that of the desert. In today’s gospel (Mk. 1:12-15), we see Jesus, after his baptism and before beginning his years of public ministry, being led by the Spirit “into the desert," where he is tempted by Satan. All throughout the Scriptures, the desert is often referred to as a place of trials and of purification from all idols. The Israelites lived in the desert for forty years in order to be tested and purified of their idolatrous habits. Jesus is also tested in the desert and offered the idols of power, wealth and fame. But he passed all trials by his fidelity to the Father. 

The desert is a place where our illusions of self-sufficiency and comfort fade away. When we are in the desert we quickly realize that we need God. Lent is our desert experience too. For forty days our minds and hearts are trained to be faithful to and intimate with God. The three traditional disciplines of Lent help us towards self-emptying and intimacy with God: Fasting sets us free from self-centeredness; our works of mercy lead us to serve and love our neighbors in need; and the discipline of prayer brings intimacy with God whom we choose to be the center of our lives.

Let us allow this season and its disciplines to lead us into greater intimacy with God. What would represent the desert experience for my journey this season of Lent?

The “flood” experience brings conversion and new life. The second image in today's first and second readings is the flood.  The 40-day flood in Noah’s time was God’s act of washing away sin and evil from the earth in order to forge a new beginning.  That ancient flood of water foreshadowed Christian baptism.  In the second reading (1 Pt 3: 18-22), Peter tells us that we are now saved by a baptismal bath which corresponds to the great flood: the waters of baptism washed away all that is sinful in us and we enter into a new life, a new covenant relationship with God.

Lent is our “flood experience”—our opportunity for repentance and conversion as the Gospel reading today calls forth: “Change your ways and believe the Good News” (Mk 1:15). Our Lenten journey looks forward to the renewal of our baptismal promises on Easter and invites us to accompany those who will receive the gift of new life through baptism.

We ardently pray therefore for the grace of a life-changing repentance and the joyful appreciation of our new life in baptism.

The “rainbow” experience brings hope and confidence in God’s victory. The third image is the rainbow. In the first reading (Gen. 9:8-15), the rainbow is a symbol of God covenant with Noah. We can grant that Noah had completely no idea about the prismatic refraction of light in a rainbow as its scientific explanation, but he did understand its spiritual meaning. The rainbow stands for God’s covenant with him—God’s promise of victory over the destructive power of sin. In Jesus Christ God fulfilled this promise.

Life on earth is difficult. We still experience the oppressive power of sin and the suffering it brings. Lent offers us our “rainbow” experience. Lent helps us anticipate the glorious victory of Christ on Easter Sunday. Lent allows us to remember even in the face of unspeakable sufferings that there is always hope and we can be confident that Jesus, who himself was crucified, will not let us down as He has overcome the destructive power of sin in his resurrection.  

Can I also be a “rainbow” to others who are experiencing defeat in life? Can I share to them my hope and confidence in the victory of God?

Indeed, Lent is a springtime, a season when our spiritual life blossoms as we experience intimacy, renewal, and hope.

Touched by God (6th Sunday Ordinary B)

A friend in Facebook once posted this interesting information: We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth (attributed to Virginia Satir, family therapist). To which I commented: If this were true, I would be in real bad shape now suffering from a severe hug deficiency!

Leo Buscaglia, the author of Living, Loving and Learning and a dozen more inspiring books was also known as Dr. Hug. He once said, “Everybody needs a hug. It changes your metabolism.” He is remembered as a passionate inspirational speaker who talked endlessly, without apologies, about love and authentic loving relationship. At the end of his every talk, he would spend time going to the audience and hug each of them (or at least those who wanted it). Those who were watching on TV could only wish to be a part of the audience and experience hugging this man who was bringing great inspiration into the world.

As relational beings, we do need to be physically connected to others, to feel that we are accepted and that we belong. The saddest and gruelling human experience, perhaps, is to be isolated from our loved ones, to be rejected as an outcast, to be reduced to nothing.

Dr. Hug, as he was fondly called, would always insist to go out and be connected with people, to reach out and touch them. An often quoted line from one of Buscaglia’s books comes to mind: “Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”

In today’s gospel (Mk. 1: 40-45), Jesus turns a leper’s life around by reaching out to him and actually touching him—an unthinkable gesture then. Jesus’ touch is all that matters to this social and religious outcast.

As a leper, this man is a social outcast. He has been consigned to the margins of society having to live outside the town away from people in order not to contaminate others with his dreadful skin disease. He has to take it upon himself to make sure that people shy away from him should he enter the town: He “shall keep his garments rent and his head bare, and shall muffle his beard; he shall cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean!’” (Lv. 13: 45). He is not just a social outcast but a religious outcast too. His ailment is seen as a curse from God on account of his grievous sins. The people of Israel are designated as “the Holy People;” hence a leper, unclean as he is, has no place in this religious community. He is barred from worshipping God in the temple. Therefore, to be a leper means to be absolutely rejected—by people, by your loved ones, by God.

In the gospel reading, the leper musters all his courage to approach Jesus who is his only hope to become clean again and become a person again. Jesus is moved with pity; He stretches out his hand and touches the outcast! Jesus speaks to him and proclaims the leper’s salvation: “I do will it. Be made clean.”

How I love to contemplate on this scene using my imagination taking on the personality of the leper, approaching Jesus with my every filth and experiencing firsthand the compassion and love of God through the tender look of Jesus, his reassuring touch, and his kind words of salvation.

Jesus respects the Mosaic Law. He has come not to abolish it but to perfect it. In reaching out and touching the leper, however, He has demonstrated the primacy of the worth and dignity of every person over social and religious mores. The law should not kill but save the person for he is a child of God. Jesus’ touch reminds everyone that no matter how sin spoils a child of God, he retains his worth in the eyes of God.

We are a people touched by God in Jesus Christ. Through his passion and death, Jesus definitively revealed the worth of every person. We are worth sacrificing and dying for! In His resurrection, He has given us the assurance that sin has been vanquished and we can all have new life; never again will anyone who comes to the Lord be unclean and be declared an outcast. In our baptism, we have a sacramental experience of this powerful and saving touch of God cleansing us and giving us new life in Christ. What a gift!

The leper in the gospel has been warned not to tell anyone about his cure. But it is not difficult to understand him when he defies this warning and starts to dance around with joy proclaiming the saving deeds of God in his life. Do we exude such joy that only a people touched by God can have? Do we extend to others this beautiful blessing of being touched by God?

Again in the words of Dr. Hug: Let us not “underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”

Our Only Hope (5th Sunday Ordinary B)

“Life is difficult.”  This is the first sentence of Dr. M. Scott Peck’s bestseller, The Road Less Travelled. Life is filled with problems and pain. Many people attempt to avoid problems and suffering instead of dealing with them because most of the time people cannot understand what’s going on. The story of Job, a portion of which is in our first reading (Jb. 7:1-4, 6-7), tackles the seeming meaninglessness of life in the face of unexplainable suffering.  Job speaks: “Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery?” (v. 1) “Remember that my life is like a wind; I shall not see happiness again” (v. 7).

Most part of our lives may indeed be without rhyme or reason.  Today you’re doing fine, feeling strong and invincible, relishing at last the confidence of being on the top of the world; but tomorrow you’re suddenly down and out despite the fact that, like Job, you’ve played it fair and square.  Is not life pointless? Both the bestseller, The Road Less Travelled, and the story of Job develop and come to an end with the conviction that there are ways of responsibly facing and resolving our problems and beyond our self-discipline and loving response there is a force which we can’t fully explain but effectively works to bring us to wholeness. Dr. Scott Peck identifies it with grace. The author of Job identifies it with God who restores everything that has been lost.

Only God brings hope to this otherwise unexplainable and pointless struggle we call life.  Today’s gospel reading (Mk. 1: 29-39) presents to us Jesus Christ and his ministry of hope.  The whole town gather around him in search of answers to their various sufferings. Here one can perhaps visualize the crowd that gather during the feast of the Black Nazarene in Quiapo.  There is just so much pain and suffering among the people.  Maybe out of desperation, they would push and shove just to be near the source of miracles, Jesus Christ, who for them certainly stands for their only hope.

The author's first charcoal painting some time in 1994.

We can bring out and reflect on the three approaches of Jesus in his ministry of hope in today’s gospel—his ministry of healing, praying, and preaching.

Jesus, the Healer.  The gospel depicts Jesus’ healing ministry.  He has gone to the house of Simon’s mother-in-law and cured her of her illness. After sunset, the whole town gathered at the door and he cured many of them of their various diseases and freed many from the possession of the evil spirits. Jesus brings hope to these suffering people through his healing ministry.  He sets them free from both physical and spiritual alienation. He restores what is taken away by the power of sin.

We can extend this ministry of hope. Our sacramental life offers us the sacraments of reconciliation and the anointing of the sick. These are the sacraments of healing that restore our wholeness.  To some extent, each of us shares in Jesus’ healing ministry. We can overcome the spiritual alienation wrought by sin when we learn how to forgive one another.  When we forgive, we heal broken relationships. We can overcome the physical alienation of people suffering from diseases when we truly care for them.  Mother Teresa, for instance, made this her ministry. She didn’t have the miraculous power to cure a terminal illness. But she did have the power of love to make sure that the dying would have their last breath knowing that they were loved and cared for.  Caring is our power to heal the broken-hearted and the physically ill. To forgive and to “caregive” is to bring hope to much of our suffering in life.

Jesus, the Pray-er.  Jesus reveals in this gospel that praying keeps the fire of hope burning.  The suffering and pain He encounters in the life of the people can be overwhelming.  He who ministers can be exhausted and can end up burned out even before he sees all the needs answered. Jesus’ practice of spending time in solitude, in His case early before dawn (v. 35), reveals the source of his sustenance in keeping up hope in the ministry. For Jesus, and for His followers, life only finds its direction, strength, and meaning in God.  Jesus’ solitude is not loneliness. It is intimacy with His Father in heaven. The Father’s will is always Jesus’ point of reference in everything He does.

Life can be burdensome, a drudgery, in Job’s language.  What is the point of all our endeavours in life? What is the meaning of our endless activities? When life is un-reflected, we only see the superficial.  All the happenings are like series of disconnected activities that randomly comes one after the other.  And when life brings suffering, all the more that we fail to see its meaning.  It is the time we spend in silent prayer that offers us a new perspective in life... a new way of seeing... a new meaning.  Again, the text message sent to me by a victim of typhoon Sendong is worth remembering here: “Even in the worst of times, there are a lot of reasons to be thankful for.”  I bet that person draws such a hopeful disposition from her silent moments of prayer. Prayer brings hope. Jesus has shown us that.

Jesus, the Preacher.  “Let us go on to the nearby villages that I may preach there also. For this purpose have I come” (v. 38), Jesus tells his disciples. It is when the Lord preaches that He enkindles the hope in the hearts of the people; most of them have been downtrodden.  Jesus’ preaching announces the Good News of the reign of God. The God of love reigns! The evil one is cast out. Repent! Believe in the Good News! Jesus’ preaching assures all of us that God has not left us in the hands of the evil one to suffer and rot. He assures us that salvation is ours for God is always a faithful God; He will always be on our side. God is doing just everything to bring back his oppressed people to his fold. In Jesus all these have come to fulfilment.

We can bring hope to the downtrodden.  Every time we proclaim the goodness of God in our lives, we continue the preaching ministry of Jesus.  Whenever we share to others how God has worked marvellous deeds in us, we lift up the spirit of those burdened by life’s misery.  And there are just thousands of them and more. 

Life is difficult. Jesus shows us the way to hope. God is our only hope.

Invitation to Silence (4th Sunday Ordinary B)

During Pope Francis' visit to the Philippines in January of 2015, one of the most moving encounters of the Filipino people with him was perhaps when he invited all to a moment of silence—silence in the midst of the unspeakable remembrance of the agony, pain, loss, and other forms of suffering that had befallen the people of Tacloban.

"Some of you lost part of your families, all I can do is keep silence, and I walk with you all with my silent heart...I have no more words to tell you." These words of Pope Francis revealed how silence has allowed him to show his own limits and humility. But this honest expression of vulnerability has, all the more, humanized the papacy and made him a captivating figure to many people.

For me, such an invitation to silence, coming from a humble Pope, is a reminder that in silence, more than in its doctrinal eloquence, Christianity is in its finest. In silence, Christianity’s compassion for the poor and the suffering becomes pure, honest, and unmistakable.

Few people have discovered the eloquence of silence.  Most people live and have mastered the art of thriving in the noise of anxieties, charting their way to success through the multi-layered pile of tasks, important concerns, and, no doubt, noble responsibilities.  For these people addicted to productive activities, silence is strange.  Silence is unbearably a waste of their precious time.

In today’s gospel (Mk. 1: 21-28), Jesus commanded the man with an unclean spirit to be quiet: “Quiet!  Come out of him!”  Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit this way because he was ranting and raving as Jesus was teaching with authority in the synagogue.  The man with an unclean spirit was resisting Jesus’ authority as he cried out “What have you to do with us...? Have you come to destroy us?  I know who you are—the Holy One of God!” 

Such is the noise of resistance to God’s authority.  Like the evil spirit, all too often we find ourselves declaring our autonomy from external authorities like God’s. “What have you to do with us?” We are afraid that God might ask us to change and “destroy” our own grand plans in life. We acknowledge his Holiness but we do not trust God enough to allow him to be the God of our lives!  Hence, we keep on ranting, filling our hearts with the noise of resistance.  No wonder, many times we are afraid to be silent.

Today we listen to the Lord as He commands us with authority, “Be quiet!”  Only in that deep state of silence can God speak into our hearts.  I propose the following invitations to silence:

The silence of emptiness.  Cluttered with all our worldly concerns and anxieties, our minds and hearts have no room to offer for God.  We need to de-clutter.  We need to give space for God’s Word to penetrate our hearts.  Silence is an invitation to emptiness.  To be truly silent is to be empty in such a way that our only yearning is to be graciously filled up with the sense of being loved by God. 

The silence of powerlessness.  Satan’s bad habit is to perpetually resist the authority of God.  Satan wants to wield power and to be his own God.  We do feel this evil tendency in us very strongly.  We want to be “the captain of our souls.”  We want to be the ones taking hold of the helm of our fate.  We have to admit, we can be control freaks.  We seem to be disoriented and lost when we are not in control. That is why we resist God’s directions.  We cannot let go. Silence is the courage to be powerless in the face of God. Silence is letting go of our control and being docile to God’s command, “Be quiet! Come out!”  Hence, silence is an invitation for us to give up our futile resistance and let God be the God of our lives.

The silence of peace and harmony.  This is the experience of tranquillity after we have been purged of the “unclean spirit.”  This is the peace that sets in after the convulsions of our defiance.  We seek harmony in life.  We can only attain it by making silence an integral part of our busy lives. We can have peace and harmony when we have replaced our bad habit of harbouring anxieties and resistance in our hearts with the powerful habit of incorporating into our practical lives the eloquent power of silence.  The silence of harmony is like the silences in between the notes of a great musical composition. All those notes fail to form a harmonious melody when they are not woven together by the silences that connect them all. So are the endless concerns in our lives.

The euphoria of the Pope’s visit soon died down. And rightly so, in order that we, in the same silence he called for, may do well to allow his message of mercy and compassion to sink in and become truly an honest impulse in our response to the suffering of the poor.