Humility (22nd Sunday Ordinary C)

In 2007, a Jesuit missionary ended his forty three years of service in what was then the Prelature of Ipil. Fr. Angel Antonio was to be transferred to another assignment. He was willing to leave even if obviously his heart belonged to the mission area where he spent most of his life serving the poor and building their communities. At his farewell party, he was given the opportunity to share his farewell message. People expected him to speak about his great contributions to the local church, describing perhaps his heroic dedication to the mission and the long litany of his sacrifices. But no, this great missionary had only a few words to say. 

He stood up and said something like this, “I have only three words to say: First, thank you for the opportunity given me to serve; Second, I’m sorry for all my failings. You call me Fr. Angel, but I hadn’t always been an angel to you; and lastly, goodbye and pray for me as I face another chapter of my ministry.”

I was misty-eyed looking at the figure of the old man. What humility he had shown! Forty three long years of missionary service and he summed it all up with only a couple of minutes of farewell message devoid of fanfare and self-glorification.

Our readings today allow us to ponder on an essential Christian virtue, humility. In the light of the readings, two perspectives can help us deepen our reflection on the virtue: First, humility as the way to greatness; second, humility as a preferential love for the poor.

Humility as the way to greatness. This has always been an important paradox of our Christian life: In order to be great, one has to be the least of all. The first reading reminds us of this as it says, “Humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God” (Sir 3:18). Similarly, the gospel reading (Lk 14:1, 7-14) expresses the same paradoxical teaching of our Lord: “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (v. 11). Humility is the way to find favor with God; humility leads to exaltation by God.

The parable told by our Lord about the conduct of the invited guests and hosts at a banquet illustrates this truth as well. “Rather, when you are invited, go and take the lowest place so that when the host comes to you he may say, ‘My friend, move up to a higher position.’ Then you will enjoy the esteem of your companions at the table” (v. 10).

As a parable this is not to be taken literally as instructions governing table etiquette on where to sit when you are invited at parties. “Sitting at the lowest place” refers to a humble disposition that does not seek honor and glory for oneself. It is a disposition of dependence on God’s graciousness. We do not glorify ourselves; it is God, the Host of the heavenly banquet, who honors and exalts those who have been selfless and humble.

Humility is based on an honest acceptance of ourselves; hence, our business is to be truthful and faithful to who we are and what we can do given our gifts and limitations neither belittling nor boasting ourselves and our accomplishments. And it is God’s business to honor and exalt anyone He sees fit.

Do we possess this disposition of honest self-acceptance and dependence on God’s graciousness? If we do, we are on our way to greatness.

Humility as a preferential love for the poor. In today’s gospel, the Lord ends his parable with an instruction to the host who invited him: “…Rather, when you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous” (v.13-14).

Almost always we invite to our table those whom we regard with high esteem because their presence buoys our self-esteem too. We invite those who are close to our hearts and those whom we consider our friends as their presence brings us joy. But for the Lord, humility consists in our preferential love for the poor. He invites us to offer our table to those who are least in society. He invites us to regard the poor with high esteem, to allow them to be close to our hearts and to be our friends.

We take pride in our association with the famous, influential, and wealthy people probably because it feels good to belong to their circle. Besides, our association with them is a social asset. Christian humility invites us to take pride in our friendship with the unknown, voiceless, and poor people and be at ease spending time with them seeing them not as asset nor liability but as persons and as children of God with the same dignity as everyone else.

Are we friends of the poor? 

Man of Faith (5th Sunday Ordinary C)

Many have stood by their I-did-it-my-way philosophy in life. They have tried to appear to have lived “a life that’s full” solely relying on their own human capacity.  At the heart of their conviction is that man is self-sufficient; he is intelligent and free; he is capable of doing what he wants in life and giving meaning to it; he may struggle but he does not need help; asking for it, especially when kneeling, is weakness. With pride, he has to face the final curtain of life as he intones:

For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught;
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels;
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way! (Sounds familiar, huh!)

Quite opposite to this self-made man’s confidence or perhaps, more appropriately, conceit, is the total wretchedness with which other people view life and human existence. There are those who see only the brokenness of man and live as such—miserable people. They see only human frailty, imperfections, sinfulness, defeat, and absurdity of life. So they make life miserable—thanks to alcohol and drugs, to their insecurities and self-pity, their anger and violence—not only for themselves but for people who care for them.

But still another way of approaching life is the way of the man of faith.  He shares some likeness with the first two in that he believes in his worth and dignity, on the one hand, and he acknowledges his imperfections and inadequacies on the other hand.  He is different from them though in that he opens his heart to the grace of God.  In his moments of inadequacies, he has the courage to bend his knees because he has no problem accepting he is weak. But precisely in this humility before God, he finds his strength to overcome not only his imperfections but even the most crushing of trials that the human spirit is made to endure.

All three readings of today’s liturgy herald the way of the man of faith by featuring three models: Isaiah, Paul, and Peter. 

In the first reading (Is 6:1-2a, 3-8), we hear of Isaiah’s calling. Isaiah acknowledges his unworthiness as he says, “Woe is me. I am doomed! For I am a man of unclean lips, living among a people of unclean lips…” (v.5). Isaiah’s imperfection and sinfulness is identified with his lips since his is to be a preaching ministry. Yet the Lord purified his mouth; his wickedness is removed. So that, as the Lord asks who to send, Isaiah responded firmly, “Here I am, send me!”

Paul, in the second reading (1 Cor 15:1-11), testifies to the same enabling grace of God in his ministry.  He used to persecute the church of God due to his unenlightened religious convictions, yet he turned out to become the zealous preacher of the Kerygma, the good news of the saving death and resurrection of Christ. Here, Paul testifies that this dramatic change in his life is only made possible by the grace of God: “For I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle… But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me has not been ineffective” (v. 9-10).

Finally, Peter. In the gospel reading (Lk 5:1-11), Peter is humbled by the fact that he and his fellow fishermen had worked hard all night and had not caught anything; yet at Jesus’ command, Peter, probably going against the wisdom of his years of fishing experience, lowered their nets just the same. And to the astonishment of all, they caught so great a number of fish that their nets were tearing and their boats were in danger of sinking (v.  5-7)!

Peter, the expert fisherman, fell at the knees of Jesus as he exclaimed: “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man” (v. 8). This is Peter’s realization of his inadequacy in front of the Lord. How consoling for us to be reminded of this humbling experience of the first pope of the Church of Christ.  And how reassuring that the Lord dispels every fear in our otherwise feeble commitment to take on his task as He says to Peter: “Fear not; from now on you will be catching men” (v. 10).

Isaiah, Paul, and Peter all illustrated for us the way of the man of faith and how we surely live life to the full when we allow the grace of God to work in us.

The man of faith does not have to prove to the world his greatness and strength. After having done everything that his life is meant to accomplish, he does not have to proclaim at the top of his lungs that he did it his way. Humility, which gives him deep serenity, is his path, not pride. He knows that conceit brings him false glory and honor. Of course, he believes in his giftedness—his intellect, freedom, abilities—and sees them as such, as gifts. Hence, the man of faith glorifies not himself but the Giver of every gift in his life.

Moreover, the man of faith acknowledges quite truthfully his inadequacies. He sees his brokenness, feels his unworthiness. But he needs not fear his weaknesses for they are the very occasion of God’s grace to work in his life. It is in the instance of his humble acceptance of weakness that God’s power makes him strong; God’s power shines mightily unhampered by the person’s foolish pride. The man of faith believes that despite his glaring imperfections, he is not destined to a miserable life; for he is called to a beautiful life, a meaningful life, a life with purpose and mission.

Clearly our invitation is to stop wasting our time exploring different ways of living our lives. No use living in either conceit or defeat. God invites us to live life in the way that brings out the best in us. God calls us to trudge the path of the man of faith.

We Can’t Always Say Perhaps (4th Sunday Advent B)

Why does it take a lot of courage to say yes? 

Women, unsure of their feelings for their avid suitors who press them to give their answer, have a very convenient reply: “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps!” (This is with or without a smile).  A variation in Filipino language is “ewan...” which means “Sorry. I don’t know. I’m not sure.”  Songs have been composed along this theme. They sure are amusing and cute.

While this reply is convenient when we find ourselves not ready to commit, a persisting non-committal attitude to life, however, can be disastrous or tragic.  We may lose our opportunity to make our choices and decide what ought we to do in life or what kind of person we want to become.  We may live life, taking our time, as if we’re not going to die and we die as if we have not lived.  Tragic indeed.

Life is a commitment.  So we can’t always say “Perhaps.”  In some life-defining moments, we need to say “Yes!”  Today’s gospel reading (Lk. 1:26-38), we witness once more the courageous fiat (latin for let it be done) of Mary.  This is Mary’s “Yes!” to God’s invitation for her to become the mother of Jesus, the awaited Messiah and Savior of Israel and of the whole creation. Let us allow Mary’s fiat to invite us, as part of our preparation for Christmas, to examine our own attitude to commitments to life and, ultimately, to God. 

Why does it take a lot of courage to say yes? Three ways to show why in the light of Mary’s yes:  Saying yes is a leap of faith.  Saying yes is realizing our destiny.  Saying yes is a commitment to serve humbly.

Leap of Faith. After hearing the angel Gabriel’s greetings and message, Mary “pondered” what this meant.  “How can this be?” She asked. Mary was in the face of something which, in her human reckoning, is impossible.  Yet, she said yes.  She said yes despite the clear danger that her having a child out of wedlock might bring her.

Saying yes to God’s invitation is a leap of faith.  One has to place everything in the hand of God believing that nothing is impossible with him.  To say yes is to trust in a faithful God—a God who fulfils his promise like his promise of a throne for David’s descendants that will last forever.

Like Mary, we say yes to God’s calling not because we are sure that we can deliver and succeed but because we are certain that God always delivers and succeeds through us. We only have to say, “Yes. Let it be done to me.” As the angel reminded Mary, we are reassured too:  Do not be afraid.  Take the leap of faith.

Realization of Destiny.  When God has promised, it is destined to happen in His own time.  Mary was placed at the threshold of the realization of what God has destined to happen and that is the coming of the long-awaited Messiah who will establish God’s Kingdom forever.  For this destiny to be fulfilled, Mary needed to say yes out of her freedom. Her fiat allowed her to participate actively in the fulfilment of God’s design.

We are not puppets.  We are not programmed to mechanically execute a design.  We decide whether to say no or yes.  Hence, we are responsible for the choices we make and their consequences.  Our decisions may thwart what is set by God for us.  To be able to fulfil our own destiny, to be able to become the kind of person we are called to be, we need to be decisive.  We cannot persist in our non-committal attitude to life like a shrivelled leaf adrift the river.  Destiny is not fulfilled this way.  God’s design calls for our active participation as it did for Mary’s fiat.

We say yes to God and allow the realization of God’s design in our lives.  We say yes and we fulfil our destiny.

Commitment to Humble Service.  Mary’s fiat came from a humble posture of a handmaid: “I am the handmaid of the Lord.  May it be done to me according to your word” (v. 38).  This is a decision to place oneself at the disposal of the Lord. This requires humility and readiness to be of service to God.

In this dog-eat-dog society, competition is the name of the game. When you’re into it, you want to show who’s the boss, who calls the shots, who’s the man.  It’s no mean feat to be committed to humble service in such an egoistic milieu.  

Christians who are in leadership positions in society are called to say yes to the ideals of humble service as Mary did.  We can make a difference.  Let us not allow the narcissistic style of this world to shape our way of being.  It’s our commitment to humble service that ought to teach the world.  Let our humble posture of service everyday convert the proud and self-serving inclinations of the world.

When our response to life’s opportunities and God’s invitations is always “perhaps” for wanting to be on safe grounds, we sure end up losing everything instead.  We ought to have the courage to say “Yes!” to life and to God.  In our preparations for Christmas, this last week of advent showcases to us the courage of Mary’s fiat.  With her brave and trusting yes to God, she made all the difference.  She made us all see that indeed nothing is impossible with God.

In this joyful season of Christmas, can we allow our contemplation of the mystery of God’s incarnation to evoke our own fiat?  

Change of Mind (26th Sunday Ordinary A)

As held by an unwritten law, women have the privilege to change their mind. An old adage has it: "A woman's mind and winter wind change oft." Billy Joel’s “She’s always a Woman to Me” has this witty refrain many of us love to croon: “Oh and she never gives out and she never gives in, she just changes her mind.”  Apparently Billy gets away with this stereotyping as women themselves love the song too; they find it cute and even flattering!  Perhaps they find it actually expedient to be fickle-minded.

It’s not only women who change their minds though.  All of us do. I saw on a sticker: "The only person who can't change his mind is the one who hasn't got one." On the surface, today’s parable of the two sons is about changing minds.  One says “No” to their father’s injunction to work in the vineyard, only to change his mind later and goes to work. The other says “Yes” but changes his mind too and never reports to work.  So, the one who initially signifies refusal ends up actually following his father’s command and the other who starts off with a confident confirmation falls out of his father’s grace.

When seen in the context of the other readings for today, the parable is not simply a lesson on fickle-mindedness.  The "change of mind" in the parable is really not about the whimsical and capricious inconstancy of a woman's mind and winter wind.  The change rather refers to the profound movement of conversion:  The movement of turning away and turning towards.  Specifically, turning away from sin and turning towards God.  The first son is a sinner who later converted and turned towards God.  The second is a virtuous man but is fettered by his self-righteousness hence gradually moves away from God.  In the parable, the first son represents the tax collectors and prostitutes who mended their ways; the second represents the religious leaders of Judaism who were imprisoned by their own brand of holiness.

There’s irony here. The poignant paradox of moral life is already hinted at by the first reading: “When a virtuous man turns away from virtue to commit iniquity, and dies, it is because of the iniquity he committed that he must die. But if a wicked man, turning from the wickedness he has committed, does what is right and just, he shall preserve his life” (Ez. 18:26-27).  

In short, the sin of the virtuous man is his own undoing; the humility of the sinner is his salvation.  Let me treat this a little deeper for our reflection.

The sin of the virtuous person.  This is the yes-turned-no of the religious leaders of Judaism in Jesus’ time.  This is our own stance of self-righteousness today. The greatest temptation of a virtuous person is to be intoxicated with his sense of holiness as one can be intoxicated with power.  The person begins to be proud of himself, even without knowing it. And while he may honestly believe in his humility, he ceases to feel the need for conversion.  He’ll never be seen on his bended knees to beg for mercy. He does not need it.  He’s perfectly fine. He’s a virtuous man after all. And he loves the feeling. No one should dare take it from him.

The “pride of holiness” seems to be an oxymoron but, no, pride can perfectly thrive in a false sense of holiness.  This is the irony: He who prides of his holiness ends up falling out of God’s grace. Very sad and tragic scenario!

The humility of the sinner.  Many times we say “No” not because we don’t care but because we feel unworthy of something.  The feeling of unworthiness leaves a disturbing empty space in us that longs for wholeness.  That is why Jesus was powerfully appealing to the sinners of his time.  He spent time with them. He announced the Good News of God’s love and mercy to them.  He was the living spring from where they longed to drink in order to quench their parched and thirsty souls.

The humble stance of helplessness allows a repentant sinner to change his “No” to a “Yes.”  The change of mind here is not the stereotyped capricious fickle-mindedness of a woman.  It’s rather the profound movement of conversion which transpires in a person who is humble enough to admit his need for mercy and who begs for it.  Again, the irony: the unworthy sinner ends up rejoicing in the abundance of God’s healing grace. The happy ending scenario we all wish for!

To sum up: Jesus, in the second reading, is the epitome of humility. He was in the form of God but did not regard equality with God. He emptied himself taking the form of a slave, of human likeness. He humbled himself accepting even death on a cross! But because of this humility, God exalted him, gave him the name above every name so that every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord! (Phil 2:5-11).

We all need a change of mind—not in the sense of fickle-mindedness but in the profound sense of conversion. Jesus’ parable and own example all point out to the power of humility to set us off to the right direction of change—from a sinful life to a life of grace.

God despises the proud and self-righteous; He lifts up the humble of heart.

The Crucified King (Christ the King C)

From day one up to now, believers and non-believers alike have been inspired by Pope Francis. On The Washington Post, Kathleen Parker wrote about Pope Francis:

“Pope Francis continues to delight and surprise as he pursues his radical pilgrimage across the global psyche - inspiring with his humility while also sending shock waves with his subversive spirit. Yes, make no mistake, this humble man from Argentina who describes himself first as a sinner and prefers simplicity to the opulence afforded by his station is, like Jesus Christ himself, a radical. He washes the feet of the poor while eschewing the ruby papal slippers for his own holy feet. He lives in humble quarters among colleagues rather than in the isolation of the Vatican suites where his predecessors have slept. He immerses himself in humanity while urging a greater pastoral role for the church and a de-emphasis on the harsh judgments of institutional authority.”

What makes Pope Francis tick? I think, as Kathleen Parker somewhat hinted at, it is that his ways remind us of Jesus Christ. And the world longs for a leader who is a living witness to Christ.  

In today’s gospel reading (Lk 23:35-43), Jesus is portrayed as the crucified King. In this reading, it is possible to bring out three traits of Christ the King that people of today somehow recognize in the ways of the present Pope: These are humility, compassion, and servant-leadership. These must also be our own, if we are indeed disciples of Christ the King and are edified by the leadership example of our Pope. 

Christ the King is a humble King. While he was hanging on the cross, the rulers, the soldiers, and one of the criminals beside him all sneered at him. Each of them challenged the crucified Lord to prove himself as the Messiah of God by saving himself from defeat and death on the cross. But He did not succumb to the temptation to use his power. On the cross, He remained humble and “powerless.” His way is the humble obedience to the Father, not the triumphalistic and egoistic display of power to show his greatness. He died utterly humiliated. But such humility was the very power of God that brought salvation to the world.

Pope Francis reminds us of the humility of Christ. He inspires us because he believes that humility attracts people to the Church, not power and pride. He once told the cardinals that the strength of the Gospel “is precisely in humility, the humility of a child who lets himself be guided by the love and tenderness of his father.” As he himself chooses to reject the opulent trappings of the papacy, the Pope invites the Church to leave behind whatever remaining vestiges of triumphalism it has gotten used to over the centuries. He invites the Church to be humble just as Christ the King is humble. This invitation touches the hearts of many people and deeply inspires them.

Christ the King is compassionate. The gospels have all recounted the many incidents when Jesus manifested his compassion for the least, the last and the lost. But today’s gospel reading highlights even more the compassion of Christ when, as He hanged on the cross facing his own death, he listened to the prayer of the thief beside him: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus recognized the implicit repentance in the prayer of this thief. Right there and then, Jesus’ compassionate heart granted the promise of eternal life to him. Herein lies the true power of the crucified King: not in casting harsh judgment on sinners but in showing compassion and mercy to the repentant.

Pope Francis too has been moving the hearts of thousands of people by his simple gestures of compassion. Once, he met a man covered in boils from head-to-toe, instead of recoiling from this man as some doctors even do, Pope Francis embraced him. In yet another instance in Saint Peter’s Square, the Pope noticed a man in the crowd with a severely disfigured face. The Pope approached him, embraced him as well and prayed with him. Pope Francis is showing the world the compassion of Christ the King. And more importantly he invites the Church to change focus. The Church, he said, should emphasize compassion and mercy instead of “small-minded rules.”

Christ is a servant-king.  To the world, a “servant-king” is an oxymoron, a combination of two contradictory concepts. But for Christ, the former fittingly defines the latter. As he had declared early on in his public ministry, the Son of Man “did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mt. 20:28). Hence, as a King, he rules not by domination but by serving even to the point of laying down his life for his people. He is not a king sitting pretty on a majestic throne but one awkwardly hanging on the cross bruised, wounded, and dying—all for the sake of whom he was sent to save.

Pope Francis too understands his leadership in terms of service just like Christ.  On his installation he proclaimed: "Let us never forget that authentic power is service…  The pope, too, when exercising power, must enter ever more fully into that service, which has its radiant culmination on the cross." And he calls the Church to rise beyond her tendency to be “self-referential” and to take the risk of reaching out to the poor in service. The Church, like her King, must be a servant Church.

With Pope Francis leading us in the spirit of Christ the King, we continue living out with joy and enthusiasm our Christian faith. Pope Francis has begun pointing us to Christ once again by his examples and exhortations on humility, compassion, and service. Just as Christ the King is humble, compassionate, and a servant, so his Church must be, so each of us must be.