When God is our guest

(first published Sunday 18 July 2010 in the Faith section of Cebu Daily News)

Three seeming angels dominate an icon, a reproduction of Andrei Rublev’s depiction of the Blessed Trinity, in the sanctuary of the Alliance of Two Hearts church in barangay Guadalupe, Cebu City.

Rublev, canonized a saint by the Russian Orthodox Church in 1988, was said to have grown the original icon from an earlier piece titled “The Hospitality of Abraham.” The scene is retold in today’s first biblical reading (Genesis 18:1-10).

The centuries have seen several varied artistic interpretations of this particular text. Most represent Abraham’s visitors as three angels.

But the text does not at all speak of angels visiting Abraham.

“The Lord appeared to Abraham at the Oak of Mamre while he was sitting by the entrance of the tent during the hottest part of the day,” the text begins. “He looked up, and there he saw three men standing near him.”

In response to Abraham’s offer of rest and food, “They replied, ‘Do as you say.’”

Like Abraham, who heard three men speak with one voice, we can take the wings of the three characters on Rublev’s icon as signs not of their angelic nature but of their shared deity. Wings, in fact, are just the first of numerous indications that the persons represented in the icon refer to the one God who is mysteriously three persons.

Behind one of the three is a house. This reminds the viewer of Christ’s mention of the many mansions in his Father’s house or the homely house of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. These houses are images of heaven to which we are all invited. This first person in Rublev’s icon therefore represents God our heavenly Father.

Behind the central figure is the “Oak of Mamre.” Because this second figure points to the species of the Holy Eucharist, the divine food offered to us mortals, the tree becomes an allusion to the Holy Cross of Calvary. This second figure therefore represents Jesus Christ.

Behind the third figure is a mountain, the usual place of revelation to patriarchs and prophets (like Elijah, who atop Horeb heard God’s still, small voice; or Moses, who heard from God in the burning bush, also on Horeb). The third person in the icon therefore represents the Holy Spirit, whose presence and guidance we are encouraged to ever rediscover in the mountain of prayer.

When we look at Rublev’s icon in the context of today’s first and gospel readings (Luke 10:38-42 also speaks of God—in Jesus Christ—visiting Saints Martha and Mary), what emerges as the overall theme is prayer, the encounter with God, the welcoming of God into one’s life.

The readings present two ways of encountering God. Abraham and Martha went about the encounter via mere activity. Thinking that God was just dropping by amid a more important journey, Abraham offered to wash his guest’s feet and busied his wife Sarah and his servant with preparing food for God. Likewise, Martha, who welcomed Jesus, “was distracted with all the serving.”

Sarah and Mary did not do much. Sarah quietly baked bread. Mary sat at Jesus’ feet, listening to him. But today’s first reading ends with God telling Abraham, “I shall visit you again next year without fail, and your wife will then have a son.” And the gospel excerpt closes with Jesus telling Martha, “You worry and fret about so many things, and yet few are needed, indeed only one. It is Mary who has chosen the better part; it is not to be taken from her.”

These readings teach us that encountering God is not about second-guessing or doing things to him.

Like Abraham, instead of striving to share God’s grand vision for our lives (the great news of parenthood in the case of barren Abraham and Sarah), we often tend to assume that God is someone we have to do some things to when he stops over, usually on a Sunday, before he resumes taking care of more urgent affairs.

Or like Martha, we tend to think that to be with God is to take on a long to-do list rather than let him unburden and speak hope to us.

Having God in our lives actually requires of us no more than to abandon all unnecessary tasks, sit at his feet and be ready to be surprised by his presence and word.

When God pays us a visit—perhaps especially in the hottest part of the day, the most trying of times as in Abraham’s old age, or at a time when we feel like Martha that everyone but us seems to be enjoying life—he comes not for himself but for us, to bring us home to the joy of his sheer presence.

For only in the joy of his presence can we catch and keep that glimpse of his vision for us. This vision is not unlike that of Abraham and Sarah’s parenthood of believers or Martha and Mary’s witness of Jesus’ raising of their brother Lazarus.

It is a vision not unlike that of Rublev’s creation of an icon that in its timeless, silent beauty continues to tell generations of God’s enduring care for humanity.

Laetare

(first published Sunday, 14 March 2010 in the Faith section of Cebu Daily News)

Today is one of only two Sundays on the Catholic liturgical calendar in which priests wear pink or rose-colored vestments or stoles at Holy Mass. The first of the two is Advent's third, called Gaudete Sunday. The second is Lent's fourth, called Laetare Sunday. Providentially, the Latingaudete and laetare command the faithful to rejoice and be joyful in the middle of penitential seasons.

Roseate liturgical clothing reminds us that penitential seasons like Lent are not occasions to be gloomy. If Lent occasions a Christian's realization of his littleness and imperfection, indeed his sinfulness, that Christian is not expected to wallow in self-reproach but is encouraged to look with hope to God, who brings him mercy, reconciliation, and the grace to rise from failure.

Laetare Sunday readings remind us of the centrality of reconciliation, the restoration of the broken relationship between man and himself, man and his neighbor, and man and his Creator in the mission of our Lord Jesus Christ the first time he walked this earth.

The first reading, taken from the book of Joshua, features the image of the land yielding food for Israelites at the end of days when they had to be chastened by heaven to learn total dependence on God (symbolized by the miraculous manna). The image is a foreshadowing of the Christ's new covenant, which essentially includes man's discovery of his absolute dependence on God's mercy, that he may know how to till the land of his being for it to yield the feast of Christ-like mercy for his brethren.

The first and gospel readings use the image of eating, nay, feasting, as the sign of reconciliation. In the first reading, God removes the stigma of his people's rebellion (after being liberated from Egypt) from them, making the Gilgal tilled by human hands produce the food they need. In today's Lukan gospel, Jesus comes eating with sinners. When the self-righteous grumble about this, the Lord uses a parable that had a lot to with food and feasting to illustrate mercy – the heavenly quality of God's justice.

The prodigal son misused his dignity in a life of debauchery, indulging his appetite left and right. We can easily include gluttony in this younger son's lifestyle. In the worst episode of his irresponsibility, he sinks to the point of desiring to eat food meant for swine. I leave others to imagine whether such food was “Polard” tolerable to the sense of smell or stinking “lamaw.”

The point is that people can be classified into two categories of sinners, the first being those who, like the prodigal son, fail to appreciate the greatness of God's gifts for the nourishment of spirit, soul, and body – those who rebel against God's laws and try to feed themselves in their own human way, without our heavenly Father's guidance.

The second category of sinners include all those who, like the elder brother in today's gospel parable, presume that they are living so well that the Father is feeding them in reward. They think God operates like a bank: you put in much cash in exchange for a little interest rate. They are self-satisfied and proud of their hard work and achievement, but deep in their hearts they resent the Father, feeling that they deserve a bigger serving of whatever food is on the table.

The younger son is prodigal with his rewards. The elder son is prodigal with his efforts. To bring them home from their waywardness the father in the parable, like our heavenly Father, shows himself lovingly prodigal beyond all telling. The father who runs, embraces and organizes a feast for the young son, and who pleads with the resentful elder son is an image of the Father.

God the Father is prodigal in sending his only-begotten Son to do all the effort to bring us back to our heavenly home, so that we will understand that all the work that remains for us to do is not servile but is a gift, and all the reward that we are encouraged to partake of came at the costliest of prices: the Body and Blood of Jesus himself.

The bulk of the work that remains for us to do is this: to learn to be as merciful to the God who sent his Son to reconcile the world to himself and the Holy Spirit for the forgiveness of our sins.

In a sense, we are called to have mercy on God. He has given us everything, what else can we demand from him? In another sense we are called to be merciful to ourselves. Everything is impossible without God, so why set ourselves or our lifestyles against him?

In yet another sense, we are called to have mercy on one another. In a certain way, the joy of our reconciliations with God, our grace-filled efforts to live life with newness, cannot be complete if there are those among us who put us in the box of our histories of failure. 

We cannot truly have a feast if we are surrounded by fault-finders. Knowing the intensity of the struggle required to come home to God, let us rejoice too, like the angels do, when we see our brothers and sisters coming back home and being celebrated by the Father of mercies.

Shepherding

(first published on Sunday, 25 April 2010 in the Faith section of Cebu Daily News)

Easter continues today, the season’s 22^nd day and fourth Sunday. This day is also called Good Shepherd Sunday or Vocation Sunday.

These names rightly describe the Fourth Sunday of Easter because the day’s reading from the gospel according to Saint John is about Jesus’ revelation of himself as the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep, as the shepherd whose voice, calling out to the sheep, is recognized by them so that they follow him.

The gospel readings of the first three Sundays of Easter were about the risen Christ’s appearances to his disciples.

On Easter Sunday, Jesus, once crucified to death, was seen outside the empty tomb. On Divine Mercy Sunday, he appeared twice within a week inside the Upper Room though its doors were locked. On the Third Sunday of Easter, he appeared at daybreak on the shore of Lake Tiberias to cause for his disciples—who had been fishing in vain the whole night through—a miraculous catch of fish.

In the gospel of the Third Sunday of Easter, we heard Jesus asking and telling Saint Peter: Do you love me? Feed my lambs, tend my sheep. Jesus did so thrice to re-establish Peter—who denied the Lord thrice during his Passion—not only as a “Fisher of Men” but also as a “Shepherd of Souls.”

On this, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, the Church, gifted by the Holy Spirit with wisdom, brings us to the Christ who taught not only Peter but all of us what it means to be a genuine shepherd of souls.

“Jesus said: ‘The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life; they will never be lost and no one will ever steal them from me. The Father who gave them to me is greater than anyone, and no one can steal from the Father. The Father and I are one.’” (John 10:27-30)

Jesus is telling us that a shepherd owns his sheep. The shepherd is the one to whom the sheep feels that they belong. The shepherd is in a relationship of communion with his sheep. The shepherd speaks to the sheep with a tender truthfulness that encourages them to listen. He speaks with deep, caring knowledge about his sheep.

Since the shepherd provides the sheep a deep sense of belonging, speaks to them with the voice of truth and indicates to them that he knows all their lights and shadows and loves them anyway, the sheep are drawn to him and they follow him.

The sheep follow the shepherd because he gives them eternal life.

To give eternal life is to be in Christ, and—out of that being-in-Christ—to give our fellow men and women a sense of belonging, the sense that they are welcome in our lives. It is to speak to them words that bind up their wounded hearts. It is to be willing to know them deeply while giving them the assurance that we will handle our deep knowledge of them with extreme reverence and constant care.

To give eternal life as a shepherd in the footsteps of Christ is also to do our share in keeping the people entrusted to us from being lost or stolen, for they can be lost in the paths of worldliness, passing joys, meaningless feats, or self-centered existence.

To be a good shepherd like Jesus is to protect the people entrusted to us from robbers like temptation, sin, scandal, despair, doubt and hatred.

Finally, to be a good shepherd like Jesus is to run in search of the sheep when they are lost and to be patient in leading them back to God’s fold, knowing that our Father in heaven has made available for them (and for us) all the grace necessary to recognize and follow Christ, the original Good Shepherd of whom every Christian is an emissary.

Prayer power at 24

(first published on Sunday, 21 February 2010 in the Faith section of Cebu Daily News)

We will begin celebrating the 24th anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution of February 22-25, 1986 tomorrow. As we celebrate, we must not forget that the EDSA event was more than just a political milestone, historical watershed, or fluke of romantic populism. EDSA was and is a spiritual reality.

EDSA had many principals. Vote tabulators abandoned their posts when it became evident that the snap poll results were tampered with to orchestrate a Marcos victory over Corazon “Cory” Aquino. Troops followed Juan Ponce Enrile and Fidel Ramos in their rebellion against the late strongman Ferdinand Marcos. The historically fragmented political opposition, united but newly under Cory, demonstrated an amazing oneness behind her.

Members of the shackled press used alternative media or reported from hidden locations to counter the government’s spin-doctoring and report the news truthfully. The Catholic hierarchy led by Ricardo Cardinal Vidal, then-president of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines courageously convicted the government of moral illegitimacy for its rape of the elections. Manila Archbishop Jaime Cardinal Sin, through Radio Veritas, called on the people to protect the military men opposed to the dictator.

But EDSA would not have ended on a peaceful note without prayer.

Nuns in contemplative communities across the country knelt in their cloisters and chapels to ask God for the peace of those four days. At EDSA, priests and seminarians were among the first to place themselves between rebel and loyalist soldiers. The nuns of Carmel of the Holy Child protected Aquino in their monastery with prayer and emotional support. At EDSA, there were more rosaries and crucifixes and images of the Blessed Virgin Mary raised in peaceful protest, and prayers offered, than there were, if there were, placards or streamers of angry revolt.

When I was younger, I frequently came across newspaper articles and heard and watched broadcasts that referred to EDSA as not just the People Power but also the Prayer Power Revolution. Such an appreciation of the revolution should not be forgotten.

The revolution, a collective action, was embodied by Cory, a woman of faith and prayer, and her husband, Benigno “Ninoy” Jr. Come to think of it, our peaceful return to democracy is easily God’s reward to Aquino and her husband who together for the nation were conjugal intercessors (one in this world, the other in the next), in contrast to Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos who were conjugal tyrants.

The prayerfulness of Ninoy, who led the opposition to Marcos’ misrule long before EDSA, and whose martyrdom in 1983 quickened the movement to EDSA, is not so well-publicized. But I remember an interview in which Cory shared how Ninoy prayed the Holy Rosary as much as 50 times daily in the cells where the dictator had him confined for more than seven years. Suffering converted the political star into a contemplative luminary.

Apart from acts and words of prayer, many of which Cory have written down, contemplation also bears fruit in poetry. Poetry was an expression of Ninoy’s poetry. He once wrote, in a plea for his mission of peace to be taken up by others, these lines:

“I am burning the candle of my life

in the dark with no one to benefit

from its light,

The candle slowly melts away

soon its wick will be burned out,

and the light is gone!

If someone will only gather

the melted wax, reshape it,

give it a new wick

for another fleeting moment

my candle can once again

light the dark

be of service

one more time

and then

Good-bye.”

Cory on the other hand had much time to write down her prayers. She remained prayerful long after EDSA. Can we say that of our leaders and of our people as a whole? That is something to think of in the days to come. In the meantime, let us ponder the words of one of Cory’s prayers:

“Almighty God, Our Father

Come, come to my aid

And put my enemies in dread of You.

Have pity on me, O Lord

And relieve the troubles of my heart.

My words no longer matter

For ears that can hear

No longer want to hear.

My deeds seem worthless

For eyes that can see

No longer want to see.

You alone are my hope, Most merciful God

To You alone I surrender my soul.

I know that You will hearken to the sound of my prayer

For great has been Your kindness to me

In times of suffering and distress.

Teach me to humbly wait

And to be constant in my prayers.

Let me praise Your Holy Name

From the rising to the setting of the sun

Proclaiming Your Goodness before

Your faithful ones.

Thanks be to God, forever and ever.

Amen.”

Lent, love, and our land

(first published in Cebu Daily News Faith, Sunday, 14 February 2010)

Snow covers many countries west and north of where we are. These lands, wrapped in ice, now wait for Spring, a season known in archaic English parlance by the name Lent, when the first shoots of greenery emerge from the ground, and the earth for miles and miles about strains towards rebirth.

This rebirth, in the Catholic worldview, comes from none other than the Resurrection of Christ, and Lent is a journey of the spirit towards that Easter newness. The 40-day Lenten season will begin this Wednesday, with the ritual tracing on the faithful’s forehead of a cross of ashes – remnants of burnt palms symbolizing mortality, decay, and sin that everyone needs to shed.

In the 40 days of Lent or “Cuaresma,” we will begin in spirit a journey to the arid, quiet desert, a journey like that of our forefathers in the time of Moses as they pressed towards the Promised Land, like that of Jesus' soon after he was baptized, wherein he grappled with and vanquished temptations to earthly riches and power, counterfeit honors, and fleeting pleasures.

These days will be a time of solitude and recollection: We will confront and strive to further overcome our spiritual enemies, our selfishness, the destructive agenda of the world, keeping in mind the land of the saved that God pledged will be our heritage. We will bear in mind what Holy Father Benedict XVI preached when this year began, that we cannot aspire to a new world while wallowing in selfishness and the habits of sin.

As Filipino citizens, Catholics can use Lent as a time to better discern who should lead the land, not just in government. Good leadership is required in families, among peers, in business, in the Church, in the academe, in every sector of society too. Lent in fact is a privileged occasion for all to claim being leaders and servants as part of their individual identities, to find in the crucified and risen God the grace to not shy away or flee in fear from the cross of sacrificing self and forsaking self-centered agenda for the benefit of many.

Self-sacrifice – God's sacrifice of his only Son – lies at the core of the justice that is the theme of the Pope's Lenten message. “What then is the justice of Christ?” Benedict asks. “Above all, it is the justice that comes from grace, where it is not man who makes amends, heals himself and others. The fact that 'expiation' flows from the 'blood' of Christ signifies that it is not man’s sacrifices that free him from the weight of his faults, but the loving act of God who opens Himself in the extreme, even to the point of bearing in Himself the 'curse' due to man so as to give in return the 'blessing' due to God.” (cf. Galatians 3: 13-14)

This is love. At its most glorious, love is spent, indeed wasted, on the beloved. In the great and holy season of Lent we are called to a greater discipline of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, because outside prayer we cannot be convinced to love without calculation, without fasting we cannot embody the convictions formed in us by prayer, and without almsgiving we cannot bring to perfection what we have begun to embody in our fasting.

We pray for love in those who will eventually be elected as leaders of our land, even as we pray for love in us, that we may serve and lead well in our own spheres of influence, that we may be healing members of the Mystical Body of Christ.

May the decisions of leaders – ourselves and those above us – be the fruit of well-formed consciences. May these be effected without corrupt interests. May these truly empower and not foster dependency in constituents. May the blessings of Lent be received by those who will be elected (God already knows who they are) into public office, so that their rule may go down in our history as the dying days of a winter of despair and the beginning of a fresh Spring of patriotism.

God's dreams for man

(first published on Sunday, 31 January 2010 in the Faith section of Cebu Daily News)

Barely 10, the boy Lance dreams of building a house with 150,000 rooms. “For all the beggars, so that they no longer have to live on the streets,” Lance explained to his mother, my friend and co-worker Nida, when she asked him who his envisioned mansion would house.

Lance’s dream springs not from wild fantasy, but from a hopefully not rare, compassionate, God-shaped young heart.

Once, in the family car, when his mother was almost dissuaded by his father (on grounds of discouraging harmful dependency on the part of the less fortunate) from feeding a hungry street kid, Lance protested, exclaiming “What if that child had been me?”

Compassion in young dreamers like Lance has been the seed of positive social transformations all throughout history. Case in point: Giovanni (John) Melchiorre Bosco, popularly known as Don Bosco, the saint whose memorial on the Catholic calendar falls on January 31 and who is especially celebrated today by the 20,000-strong Salesians of Don Bosco (SDB).

Founded by the saint himself, the SDB identify themselves as “an international organization of men dedicated full time to the service of young people, especially those who are poorer and disadvantaged.”

The Salesians work in 128 countries, focusing all their concern on youth resource development through education and evangelization in the belief that “total dedication to the young is [their] best gift to humanity.” Salesian service to the young is inspired by reason, religion, and loving-kindness.

Don Bosco, gazing at the fruitful ministry of the Salesians, must be smiling with a sense of vindication today. He himself had initial doubts about, and encountered ridicule when he spoke of a dream in which God directed him to spend his life shepherding young people.

In that dream, Terry Matz writes on Catholic Online, the young Bosco saw himself in a field with a crowd of children. “The children started cursing and misbehaving. John jumped into the crowd to try to stop them – by fighting and shouting. Suddenly a man with a face filled with light appeared dressed in a white flowing mantle.

“The man called John over and made him leader of the boys. John was stunned at being put in charge of this unruly gang. The man said, ‘You will have to win these friends of yours not with blows but with gentleness and kindness.’

“As adults, most of us would be reluctant to take on such a mission – and nine-year-old John was even less pleased. ‘I'm just a boy,’ he argued. ‘How can you order me to do something that looks impossible?’ The man answered, ‘What seems so impossible you must achieve by being obedient and acquiring knowledge.’

“Then the boys turned into the wild animals they had been acting like. The man told John that this is the field of John's life work. Once John changed and grew in humility, faithfulness, and strength, he would see a change in the children – a change that the man now demonstrated. The wild animals suddenly turned into gentle lambs.”

What if Don Bosco had given in to doubt instead of being faithful to God’s instructions? At the very least—and this is to illustrate how far-reaching Italian Don Bosco’s faithfulness to God is—there would not be a Don Bosco Youth Center in Pasil, Cebu City.

Among other services, the center makes available to nearly 500 families and 1,500 individuals nutrition, scholarship, medical and dental assistance, free clinic, and loan assistance programs. It provides for the community’s spiritual needs through a daily oratory. It offers out-of-school youth wood and furniture, automotive, mechanical, and dress making technology courses.

Don Bosco’s response to God’s dream for him and many others finds a scriptural parallel in the call of the young, Old Testament prophet Jeremiah, who recalls, in the First Reading of today’s Mass:

“The word of the Lord came to me, saying, ‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.’ ‘Ah, Sovereign Lord,’ I said, ‘I do not know how to speak; I am only a child.’

“But the Lord said to me, ‘Do not say, ‘I am only a child.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you,’ declares the Lord.

“Then the Lord reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, ‘Now, I have put my words in your mouth. ‘See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant.’” (Jeremiah 1:4-9)

Jeremiah modeled for Israel in his time faithfulness to God. John Bosco's service to God’s poor and disadvantaged during the Industrial Revolution continues today.

I pray that like Jeremiah and John, Lance may be faithful to God’s dreams for him.

And I pray that you may have the courage and joy to live God’s dreams for you.

Starlit

(first published on Sunday, January 3, 2010 in the Faith section of Cebu Daily News of Inquirer Publications Inc; posted on inquirer.net, the website of the Philippine Daily Inquirer on Monday, January 4, 2010).

We can call Saint John, the youngest of Christ’s twelve apostles, “the one who leaned on the light.” Midway through the fourth gospel of which he is the inspired author, John recounts having reclined at the Last Supper on the bosom of the one whom he quotes, paragraphs preceding in the same book, as saying, “I am the light of the world.” (John 8:12)

Peculiar to John’s rendition of the good news is its sparkling imagery. Its prologue proclaims the Word that was God, the Word that wrought life, life that for humankind was unquenchable light. Its ninth chapter records Jesus’ restoration of sight to a man born blind. Its epilogue records the resurrected Savior’s appearing, at the rising of the sun, on the shore of Lake Tiberias to the apostle and six others who had gone fishing overnight.

We can imagine the evangelist John’s prominent use of light in writing as suggesting in him a providential fascination for anything lustrous: perhaps the lamps lit within Jerusalem’s temple, the torches he used as a teenage fisherman to make his way to the waters in the dark, or the stars shimmering all around a hidden moon – celestial bodies that John cannot have missed on nights fair in weather and bounteous in catch.

Did John ever encounter the artistry of his fellow evangelist, the physician Luke, who dabbled in painting? He would have appreciated in the doctor’s works the dramatic use of light and shade, known centuries later in formal art schools as chiaroscuro. To Saint Luke is traditionally attributed the only known portrait of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the model for all other Mother of God icons. Light on that portrait, and the figure of twinkling stars that define Eastern Christianity’s Mary illustrations, Saint John (to whom Jesus bequeathed his mother) would have knowingly admired.

Stars—as they should not—feature not in the first and only artist-drawn portrait of me that I have. But I like to think that light, a simple hint of that light which no darkness overcomes, does. Artist and art professor Arlene Villaver sketched me in charcoal and marker on paper one fine afternoon last December, at the end of Binhi Art Group’s press conference on “Reflections,” the recently-concluded exhibit at the SM City Cebu Art Center.

Not counting the blazing sun, that afternoon began brilliantly enough. The exhibit’s media and entertainment collaborator, Lyndon Angan, welcomed with the warmth of disposition and treats of warm coffee the conference’s guest writers and photojournalists at one of the city’s cafés. There I met the summery Arlene, who, after introductions, shone with interest about the craft of those at hand who wielded pen and camera for a living, calling these, based on her similar experience as an artist, “a double a double blessing: an opportunity to do something that you love and something that yields monetary returns.”

I call the opportunity a triple blessing, as Arlene and her colleagues revealed during the press conference proper, which was held at the hilltop home of installations and furniture manufacturer Janice Minor. The artists explained that they organized “Reflections” as a step towards reclaiming the culture for Christ. This, art and communication's being instruments, in Binhi’s words, “to celebrate God’s love goodness, kindness, greatness, faithfulness, and sovereignty over us through our artistic expressions” is their third blessing on their stewards.

Binhi’s message reminds me of Venerable John Paul the Great’s address to members of the Pontifical Council for Social Communications during their plenary meeting almost eight years ago. Then, the pope said: “The Gospel lives always in conversation with culture, for the Eternal Word never ceases to be present to the Church and to humanity. If the Church holds back from culture, the Gospel itself falls silent. Therefore, we must be fearless in crossing the cultural threshold.”

The artists of Binhi, at the end of the recounted afternoon, gave guests a glimpse of how they spread the good news through their craft. Each painter made him or herself available to do sketches of the guests, one after another. Some of the artists watched their colleagues at work and spoke to the models of how well they have been represented.

“She made you look very good, and very expressive,” an artist told me, referring to Arlene’s sketch of me. “Live up to it.”

This is what the Epiphany means to us today. In being Christian-cultured and in our own national culture, be it through an offer of a cup of coffee to another, a genuine interest to see and proclaim the blessing in another’s life, or in our well-meaning perspective of another, we can choose to see and share goodness, to see and share God’s light. Thus, like the Star of Bethlehem, the star of the light of the world that Saint John beautifully proclaimed, the star that the three wise men followed like a signpost to the Word-made-flesh, the star that Mary epitomizes in leading all to her Son and our Savior, we too can give each other starlight.

Saint Lucia, pray for us

(first published Sunday, December 13, 2009 on Cebu Daily News Faith and inquirer.net, the website of the Philippine Daily Inquirer)

Upon learning some years ago that my mother's late Lolo Lucio Lopez was born on this day, I surmised that his parents—either by their religiosity or heeding a pious Christian's prompts—must have named him in honor of Lucia, the turn of the fourth century, Roman virgin saint. Her martyrdom is remembered by Catholics and Orthodox everywhere and by Lutherans in Scandinavia every December 13.

An image of Saint Lucia is enshrined on the second-floor narthex of Cebu City's Our Lady of Mount Carmel church on Magallanes Street. The statue is faithful to the rather shocking Lucia iconography that the likes of Italian Renaissance-Mannerist painter Domenico di Pace Beccafumi (1486–1551) propagated: the saint as a woman clad in red and holding with one hand a plate containing a pair of eyes.

Tradition generally holds that during the persecution of Christians circa the year 304, either Emperor Diocletian himself or Roman soldiers gouged out Lucia's eyes with a fork. This was in retaliation for her refusal to worship as divine a statue of the emperor and deny the lordship of Jesus Christ.

In a version of Dante's “Purgatorio,” Lucia plucks out her own eyes to turn down a suitor (who hugely admired the saint's beautiful eyes) in light of her total gift of self to Jesus. God took pity on Lucia and gave her lovelier new eyes.

Generations of optometrists and blind and visually impaired persons, whom the Church placed under Saint Lucia's patronage, have found hope and solace in the “eye portion” of the long story of her passion and eventual death. The episode is one of many heavenly assurances that God continues down the centuries to restore sight, miraculously or through the agency of medical arts, to people whose prayer is “Lord I want to see.” (Luke 18:41)

On another plane, Saint Lucia, whose name shares a root word with lucis, Latin for light, is patroness of sight and light because the choices she made amid difficulties in favor of faith were poetry in motion founded on our Lord Jesus' words: “The lamp of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.” (Matthew 6:22)

Single or pure eyes enlightened Lucia to radically choose no love for her soul apart from Jesus and no Lord for her life apart from him. As a consequence, her whole being, “like the stars for ever and ever,” (Daniel 12:3) is for people throughout the ages a bright signpost to God and example of faithfulness to him.

Like Lucia's, the eyes of everyone who believes in Jesus ought to function beyond skin-deep or superficial seeing. Our Master, basically explaining how we can make our eyes single or pure, and promising on those with purified eyes the greatest of rewards, said: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5:8)

It follows that the single or pure eye, exclusive to the pure in heart, sees God in its very soul, in every man and woman, and behind every created thing. Singleness or purity of heart and vision therefore leads, among other results, to a person's modesty, lest in lust he defiles anyone who is God's home, and to his serenity, lest in belligerence he finds himself fighting not only against his fellowmen, but “fighting against God himself.” (Acts 5:39)

So we pray that Saint Lucia may intercede with God for purity of heart and singleness of sight, not only for those captive to lust, but for all who are involved in conflict, especially in Mindanao's discordant spots – Agusan del Sur, Basilan, and Maguindanao – from where political thuggery, hostage-taking, and banditry casts despair's pall over the Philippine archipelago.

Only purity of heart and singleness of sight can tame and cause contrition and repentance leading to acts of reparation in the hearts of the wicked: they who failed to see God's image and likeness in the people – someone's son or daughter, husband or wife, mother or father, brother or sister, relative or friend, God's beloved children, everyone – they harmed or killed.

Only purity of heart and singleness of sight can chase away the shadows of vengefulness in the victimized and bereaved (which by extension includes every Filipino), so that any crusade for justice may be unblemished by vigilantist or politically expedient injustices in the brilliance of its righteousness.

Only purity of heart and singleness of sight can sweeten the bitterness of those who mourn as they fumble to rise and walk again in this valley of tears, seeing in hope their dead alive again in the peaceful arms of their Creator, and envisioning in hope a happy reunion with them one day.

As we light our pink Advent candles today, pray for us, Saint Lucia, that we may have pure hearts and eyes, that seeing God in Christ who is light of the world everywhere and in everyone, we too may know how to shine and give the light of love to one another, especially the heartbroken and war-torn. Amen.

One Lord, one oikoumene

(first published November 15, 2009 on Cebu Daily News and inquirer.net, the website of the Philippine Daily Inquirer)

After the Last Supper in the Cenacle or Upper Room in Jerusalem, Jesus conversed with our Heavenly Father. Within a sparkling spiritual mosaic of adoration, thanksgiving, and petition known as his High Priestly Prayer, our Lord prayed for the unity of all his followers.

“I pray not only for them, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I am in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me,” Jesus said. (John 17:20-21)

Since apostolic times, oneness marked Christianity. In the year 431 however, the absence of the Assyrian Church of the East from the gathering of the world’s bishops in Ephesus led to that church’s estrangement from the Catholic Church until the time of Pope John Paul II.

In 451, the Oriental Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church split apart. In the Great Schism of 1054, the Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church also parted ways. In the 16th century, Christians led by Martin Luther, Huldrych Zwingli, John Calvin, and England’s King Henry VIII left the Catholic Church. Theological controversies and human pride were at the center of all these divisions.

By 2001, over 22,000 Christian denominations existed, said Zenaida Ligan, one of my social science professors at the University of the Philippines (UP). Free internet reference site Wikipedia reveals that today, the figure has ballooned to about 38,000.

The good news, thanks be to God, is that we live in the age of ecumenism, when Christians acknowledge that “division openly contradicts the will of Christ, scandalizes the world, and damages that most holy cause, the preaching of the Gospel to every creature.” (Second Vatican Council’s Decree on Ecumenism)

Ecumenism comes from the Greek oikoumene. It means “the inhabited world.” “Home” is Orthodox Church Patriarch Bartholomew I of Constantinople’s preferred translation of oikoumene, so that Christians may understand ecumenism—against currents of division and in response to Jesus’ prayer for their unity—as rebuilding and restoring their broken home, the one Church of Christ.

Whenever I hear or read the word ecumenism, I remember clergymen, ministers, and pastors in assorted liturgical garb praying and working towards a common reading of Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition, as Eastern Orthodox and Catholic theologians did in Cyprus last October 16-23 and as Catholic and Anglican clergymen did more recently.

Catholics and Eastern Orthodox are straining towards consensus on “The Role of the Bishop of Rome in the Communion of the Church in the First Millennium.” This, when resolved, will go a long way towards healing the Great Schism.

Meanwhile, Pope Benedict XVI has established, through the apostolic constitution "Anglicanorum coetibus" and for Anglicans converting to Catholicism, bishop-led groups of churches using Anglo-Catholic rites and liturgies. This is aimed at mending the brokenness begun by Henry VIII's protest.

Beyond these, the word ecumenism reminds me of friends I met in UP Cebu: Brian of Christ’s Commission Fellowship, Jimvic of the Living Christian Church, Jedaiah of the Bible Baptist Church, Geraldine of Victory Christian Fellowship, and Mischelle and Mary Ann of Maranatha Christian Fellowship.

From a sensational secular perspective that often claims to be dispassionate (hence true), since we go to denominationally disconnected churches, a modicum of civility concealing rancor, if not mere good will, is expected to hold sway over our association.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Many of us contributed to “Amazing!” – UP Cebu’s pioneering inspirational journal from 2002-2003. Some of us visited each other’s churches and ate at one another’s homes when we were in college. Some of us planted trees, selected pet fish, went Christmas caroling, or walked miles of beach together. Today, most of us meet once a month in any of Cebu’s restaurants, to catch up on the events of our lives, critique current affairs, mull over other joint activities like visiting museums, and of course, share generally joyful meals.

I say “generally” because we do not minimize our differences or pretend that these do not exist. Oftentimes as we eat, I have had to account for the Holy Writ behind Catholic traditions like the Chair of Peter or veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary. At such times, my joy turns into a deep hope for that day when our Lord, in the words of many a saint, shall be “all in all:” that day when, having partaken of the same Eucharistic sacrifice, Christians disagree at meals no more.

It is a fair hope. Come to think of it, the first celebration of the Holy Eucharist, the center of Christian communion, happened around a meal table, as our trysts do, and was surrounded by prayer – the act with which our meetings commence and by which our friendship is bound together, in the Name of the one and only Jesus Christ.

Treedemption

(first published October 25, 2009 on Cebu Daily News Faith and inquirer.net, the website of the Philippine Daily Inquirer)

Yesterday morning in the mountain village of Cantipla, Cebu City, I joined Smart Communications personnel and University of the Philippines students in planting trees. This was a full circle event to me: I first planted trees of the flame-of-the-forest variety in Cantipla over eight years ago. I have also planted mangroves on the shores of Lilo-an and Balamban as well as mahogany, jackfruit, and cinnamon trees in Talisay City's Jaclupan and Cebu City's Lusaran watersheds.

The wisdom in planting trees has become incontrovertible amid the onslaught of floods, drought, tsunamis, and landslides around the globe. Coastland trees can weaken the impact of tsunamis. Mountain trees lower the probability of landslides occurring. Trees in valleys and plains stave off severe floods. Everywhere inland, trees stabilize the supply of underground freshwater.

The archdiocese of Cebu is reportedly breathing new energy into Archbishop Ricardo Cardinal Vidal's call in the 80's for priests to require the faithful, before being baptized, confirmed, ordained, or wed, to plant trees or donate seedlings to be planted by parish workers. The archdiocese's plan is a bright illustration of Saint Benedict of Norcia's motto, "Ora et labora" meaning "Pray and work:" The archdiocese that is putting the faithful to the work of planting trees is the one that in the first place asks God to inspire us all to grow into responsible stewards of his creation in the oratio imperata or mandatory prayer for deliverance from calamities.

While we plant trees to defend ourselves from the havoc wreaked by pollution and global warming, we need to rediscover as Filipino citizens and men and women of faith the deep roots of our relationship to trees. It is quite tragic that we have sunk to a depth from which trees are seen as disaster-combatting paraphernalia. Such an appreciation of trees is a step below the appraisal of trees as no more than economic factors of production, which in turn is a step below the animistic but at least reverential treatment we once gave trees out of respect for their alleged, invisible spiritual inhabitants.

Our archetypal Filipino literature is far friendlier to trees. Malakas and Maganda, our mythical first man and woman were conceived in the trunk of a bamboo tree. The story of Malakas and Maganda appears to be our people's foreshadowing of the Judeo-Christian tradition we have come to believe in: that Adam and Eve, the first man and woman, were created carers of creation and placed in the garden of Eden by God to enjoy his friendship and partake of the fruit of the Tree of Life.

Adam and Eve's original rebellion--eating the fruit of the forbidden Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil--kept the Tree of Life out of our reach, and I suppose every human act in history that harmed parts of the ecology, especially trees, has been an echo of that first rebellion against God and the Tree of Life. This must have been why God never failed to use a tree or two or more in the history of salvation. Noah's Ark, symbol of the saving church, was made of wood. So were the 'cushion' on which Abraham laid Isaac before the aborted sacrifice, the flowering staff of Aaron, and  the pole where Moses on God's command hung a bronze serpent to which people looked for healing after being bitten by poisonous desert snakes.

In the fullness of time, Jesus was born, and laid on a wooden manger. He crossed lakes and seas on wooden boats as he went about proclaiming God's kingdom. Long before he was crucified on a tree in the definitive act of reopening Eden to man, Jesus said: "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:5)

In Jesus, the Tree of Life is once more within our reach. Jesus' act of redeeming man by giving up his life on the wood of the cross should echo not only in our hearts but to the whole of creation, including the trees. In Jesus, the Tree of Life is ours, never to be taken away. Let us make this truth the root of our relationship to trees, bearing fruit in a love for trees over and above superstition, economics, or disaster preparedness: a love for trees that echoes our love for God and each other.