AN AUSTRALIAN PRIEST MARRIES A FILIPINA, AND MY TAKE ON THIS...

A Catholic priest in Australia has made a controversial revelation: he has been married to a Filipina for a year now.
 


According to Yahoo! Australia's 7News, Father Kevin Lee, a priest for 20 years in Glenmore Park, Sydney, admits "living a double life" with his wife Josephina, whom he met in the Philippines.

“So I've fallen in love and I've got married and it's outside of most people's awareness, but I'm sure people within the church could have had a suspicion,” Lee told 7News.

The Australian priest claimed that there are many others like him and that he pitied those “sacrificing” priests around the world who are denying themselves a relationship.
 


“That's one of the reasons that motivated me to make public my admission that I'm one of those people who's been a pretender: To draw to the attention of the public that there are more like me, in fact most of them,” Lee was quoted as saying.
 
“I feel sorry for them, I really do, but I think they need to admit they are not being led properly. I think celibacy has to go as a prerequisite for being a minister in the Catholic religion,” he added.
 


While urging for the abolition of celibacy, Lee also plans to write a book about what he believes is the wider wrongdoing of fellow priests.
 
However, after making a public confession of his marriage, 7News reported that Lee has been removed from his position as parish priest and has been excommunicated by the church.
 


The head of the diocese, Bishop Anthony Fisher, denied Lee's claim that most priests live double lives and that the hierarchy knew of his marriage.
 
“As Father Kevin is aware, by his actions he can no longer operate as a priest and as a result I will immediately be appointing an administrator to Padre Pio parish,” Fisher said in a statement.

 

MY TAKE:

This piece of news doesn’t surprise me: it’s nothing new; this is not the first time that this has happened, nor will it be the last.

No, I’m not shocked, nor will I feign outrage at my brother priest’s remarks. However the guy has said some things that have made me thinking.

First of all it doesn’t surprise me that he’ll end up confessing his “marriage”, an announcement which undoubtedly would sadden not only the community that he had been building up for so long, but would also wound the greater community that is the Church. Such things cannot be kept under wraps for so long. I don’t know how to cook rice, but from what I’ve observed, the contents of a bubbling pot tend to spill out sooner or later (though in most cases, it’s more sooner than later). It doesn’t surprise me; the guy has got the whole package: the girl’s got looks (she’s quite a catch), and she’s Filipina, and that means that stereotypically he’s got someone who’s caring and loving. But most of all because, as he himself admitted, he has been living a double life.

There you got it.

Celibacy doesn’t have to get the blame for that. It’s like saying that, having been caught committing adultery, you blame being married to your wife. That is why I kinda reacted when Fr. Kevin (he is, after all, an ordained priest) said that he pitied those “sacrificing” priests around the world who were denying themselves of a relationship.

I would daresay that this is another misstep that he had committed. I am no judge of the heart, nor would I judge him, but then I was thinking about the way he had been considering his whole priestly life of twenty years: is priesthood not a relationship, and a loving one at that? Was it not supposed to be a life of prayer, and prayer understood as a relationship? When a priest ceases to pray, that is when he feels most alone, and turns around looking for relationships. Now I’m not saying that Fr. Kevin doesn’t pray, however. But intuitively I know that there has never been a priest who took his prayer life seriously who left the priesthood, no matter how tough things were going.

I think a double life in anyone—whether he a priest or a married man—is caused by the fact that he has lost his center of gravity. A married man begins to offer more than just a cursory glance at other women than his wife because his life has ceased to revolve around her. In the case of the priest this is because his personal relationship with Jesus Christ has waned.

“I feel sorry for them, I really do. I think that they need to admit that they are not being led properly. I think celibacy has to go as a prerequisite for being a minister in the Catholic religion”, Fr. Lee says. One could invent a thousand and one reasons against the discipline of clerical celibacy. Priests are supposed to be smart. But in the end one could only be sorry for himself. Fr. Lee may be right in some way when he referred to priests who are still in the ministry living a double life the same way as he does as needing to be led properly (we have also a crisis of episcopal authority and shepherding in the Church), but celibacy is not the reason for the scandal that he has helped in unleashing. If he thinks that it’s time for celibacy to go, I respect for his personal opinion, and am glad that we could agree to disagree on this point. Thank God the Magisterium of the Catholic Church doesn’t depend on personal opinion, or consensus, or majority, or polls.

This piece of news doesn’t shock nor anger nor discourage me. It’s nothing new, as I’ve said; I wonder why they placed this kind of thing in the first place. It all the more bolsters the conviction that much of the media nowadays thrives not on the truth but on sensationalism: the truth doesn’t seem to be so popular nowadays.

But this does move me to something, however. More than anything else, this has moved me to fall on my knees. This guy, and the rest who seem to have their fifteen seconds of fame for leaving the priesthood—Fr. Alberto Cutie, Fr. John Corappi, and now this—were better priests than me. If they were able to let this happen in their life, how much more in my mine? Only God’s grace could save me from the same fate, and my fidelity to that grace. As they say it in Spanish, no somos nada, we’re nothing.

I could sure thank Fr. Kevin for pointing out the root cause of this trouble.

"I am the Immaculate Conception"

These words, uttered in her day by an illiterate peasant girl from the south of France, caused a lot of commotion among the faithful merely four years after the solemn proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. It seemed to be the heavenly confirmation of the article of faith solemnly defined in Rome in 1854, something of which Bernadette Soubirous knew absolutely nothing about. 

The apparitions of Mary at Lourdes would also seem to inaugurate, in more recent times, the frequent  pattern observed with respect to Marian apparitions of the Twentieth century: that the visionaries are either  women or children or both. 

ON CANDLES AND FLOWERS DURING CANDLEMAS

Name two things you would most certainly associate with worship

Name the two things that you would most certainly encounter upon an altar, a Christian one, that is.

Flowers and candles.

Tomorrow would mark another turn in the liturgical calendar, as we would once again be celebrating the Feast of the Presentation. I am well aware of the significance that candles have for this feast, also known commonly as Candlemas, because of the ancient tradition of having candles blessed during this day, and of having these candles brought in procession at the start of the Mass (well, that would depend on the entrance rite that the priest would be chosing). The after the feast, these same candles, blessed the day before, would be used to impart another special blessing, now gaining popularity and usage, at least in the Archdiocese of Palo, I’m not sure in other places, in honor of St. Blase’s day: the blessing of the throats.

As I’ve mentioned, the candles have significance more with them lighted for the feast of the presentation. The candle flame brings to mind the words of Simon when he referred to the Child Jesus whom he held in his arms as the “light to the nations”.  In Butler’s Lives of the Saints the author explains that “we hold these lights in our hands to honor Christ, and acknowledge him as the true light, whom they represent under this character, and who is called by holy Simeon in this mystery, a light for the enlightening of the Gentiles; for he came to dispel our spiritual darkness. The candles likewise express that by faith his light shines in our souls: as also that we are to prepare his way by good works, by which we are to be a light to men”.

Today also we celebrate the World Day for Consecrated Life. I’m thinking that this was the day chosen especially for that due to the connection of religious consecration with the consecration of the Christ-Child at the Temple being celebrated in this feast. This brings me back to the question that I would like to pose in this entry: as symbols on the altar, common signs present in Christian worship, what do flowers and candles speak to us about consecrated life?

By consecrated life I do not only refer to that lived by religious, though they are precisely in the crosshairs of my reflection; I would rather include the reality of the priestly life (of course) and the Christian life as a whole, something that is also (and should be) consecrated to Him.

It’s quite late. It’s nearly eleven in the evening here as I write, my eyes are tired and I’m anticipating the arrival of the cold from that has come all the way from Europe just to bid us a good day tomorrow, with temperatures that could go way down below zero. So this means I’ll be concise. We know that it gives light, and therefore as such has an orientative aspect: the mission to show people not only the way, but also the situation that they’re in.  Between the flame and the darkness that surrounds it there will always be an antithetical relationship: one is to the other because it precisely isn’t what the other is. A consecrated life, while being in the world, isn’t of the world. Going further, the life totally consecrated to God points directly to the life that is to come; this allows us to appreciate why the Church has considered the religious life as one having the mission of the eschatological witnessing. In other words, the religious life—that  lived by the sister and friars (and by priests by extension with their priestly life and celibacy)—point towards the future life wherein the human person would be able to love God directly, wherein human loves would irresistibly drawn towards this Love, which simply irresistible for the heart that has been totally created just for loving.

Once a candle is placed upon the altar, it will serve no other purpose than that of giving light for the services. It has no other function in the cult but to give glory to God. During the first centuries when electric lighting was unknown and were churches were known for their cavernous interior, candlelight was a big help. In this time and age wherein the liturgy is celebrated amidst a blaze of light—the electric kind—candlelight is practically useless, a fact which all the more increases its meaning as an integral offering solely for the glory of God. A person consecrates his life not because it’s useful—he or she could be of use as a religious in the missions of course, but utility is not the first reason for one’s decision to follow God closely in poverty, chastity and obedience. One offers himself totally and exclusively (which is precisely what consecrated means) because he loves God, and in this he gives Him glory.

An ideal candle upon the altar is basically silent. Try celebrating Mass with a sputtering candle and you’ll see how annoying that is. The consecrated life is one that does not share the noise of the world: its distractions, its revelries. It is essentially a silent life, one that has been shaped by silence and is lived in silence, one that is not necessarily characterized by pursed and closed lips, but by a heart that listens, which I might say, could qualify as a good definition of what silence is: Silence is the prayerful attitude of the heart that listens.

Finally, no matter how bright the candle may shine with its flame, the time will always come when it will spend all of its wax and burn itself out. This is perhaps one of the greatest characteristics of consecration: sacrifice, through which the person offers everything to God, without keeping anything to oneself. I have never heard of a candle who had decided not to burn itself out; it was made to be that way. The consecrated soul never keeps anything to itself; once offered, it offers everything and never takes it back. This offering, this consecration is precisely that which assures that the candle continues to burn. The sister, the religious brother, the contemplative, the priest, shines as a light to the community, in the heart of the Church, because he gives and holds nothing back.

And what about the flowers? I jokingly commented to some companions that what people actually place on altars and offer to their loved ones where the reproductive organs of plants, something which is totally true, except that we prefer to regard them as flowers, and not as reproductive organs—or structures, whatever. It’s indicative of consecration as well. What does the offering of a flower mean for the plant? Certain death, since without its reproductivity it would surely perish, being incapable of reproducing itself. The meaning of consecration is not lost on the person who offers himself totally to the Lord; in contrast to the plant whose flowers are offered however, the person does not die, nor does his stock decrease and dwindle. On the contrary it increases exponentially. He becomes even more fertile than if he had withheld his fecundity for himself. This would direct our consideration to the truth that everything offered to God generously returns to us a hundredfold, as the Lord Jesus himself had mentioned in his gospel: “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters, or father or mother, or children or lands for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold, and inherit eternal life” (Mt. 19:29)

With this reflection, while getting ready to celebrate the feast, just thirty minutes away as of this writing, I doubt that I’ll ever look the same way at the candles and the flowers I see on the altar, and what this says about a life consecrated to God.

Happy Candlemas!!!

PEDAGOGICAL ADVICE FROM THE APOSTLE OF THE YOUTH

I think the first encounter that I could remember that I had with this man was really unforgettable. When I was studying first grade in the Don Bosco Technical Institute of Makati I could remember that one day we were made to copy the most important points of the life of St. John Bosco from the blackboard. Nowadays the teacher would’ve just given us photocopies of the biography, which was very precise. I think that was the first lengthy writing exercise I have ever done in my life (perhaps a harbinger of thinks to come), copying the whole biography of that saint from the blackboard during Christian Living class. I remember the anguish that I felt upon seeing the teacher write more lines on the blackboard, and asking myself when this would end.

Of course I won’t write all about my childhood angst here in this short entry, much less against Don Bosco. But I think the experience I have just shared above was known to me alone until now. Children don’t like to be told to write long documents in cursive. As I’ve mentioned, nowadays teachers would’ve given the pupils photocopies (otherwise erroneously known as Xerox copies, at least in the Philippines) of the whole thing, but the question would be if the children would ever learn to write lengthily in their own hand if teachers would always be pampering them. So I think that Ma’am did things with a wisdom that surpassed my years and went beyond the complaints of my then puerile hands.

I remembered that because I realize that this saint has had such an influence in my life. This saint—Don Bosco—has caused a lot of ripples in this side of heaven (I’ve always liked to call this life as such). One of those ripples had reached up to me. I think his influence started from the day I was baptized. I was baptized precisely in the parish dedicated to his name, adjacent to the school were I spent my first years of education (which continue even until now, here in these lands of Navarra), at the Parish of St. John Bosco, given to the pastoral care of the Salesian fathers. I don’t remember much of any influence that I might have had during my stay in DBTI under the same salesians (except for some things, among them the temporal fear of copying long biographies from the blackboard), other from the fact that I positively dreaded facing the elementary department principal, a certain Mrs. Patrimonio, if I remember the name right.

But as a youngster, now gaining in years, I took pleasure in reading the stories about his dreams. As the years went on, I became more fascinated with his life, especially with the story of his vocation to the priesthood. This was true especially during my years in the seminary.

I didn’t mind him much when I finally became a priest, but recognizing him as a priest who dedicated his life to the youth has recaptured my attention. A few days ago I was doing my spiritual reading and came upon a passage that stated that aside from a firm and constant relationship with the Lord—prayer life—charity was the cornerstone of any pastoral undertaking. This man, Don Bosco, had no other pedagogical method in dealing with his youth other than love. This love as the capstone of dealing with the youth in the apostolate is well evident in the Office of Readings, which presents a letter from him, perhaps written and addressed to his sons in the Salesian order:

I have always labored lovingly for them (those whom he calls “his foster children”), and carried out my priestly duties with zeal.

I give you as a model the charity of Paul which he shared to his new converts…

See that no one finds you motivated y impetuosity or willfulness, it is difficult to keep calm when administering punishment, but this is to be done if we are to keep ourselves from showing off our authority or spilling out our anger….

In serious matters it is better to beg God humbky than to send forth a flood of words that will only offend the listener, and have no effect on those who are guilty.

Excellent advice for a educators from a man who was a confirmed educator all his life…

RANTING ON BOTH EXTREMES OF THE PENDULUM: NEOCATECHUMENALS AND TRADITIONALISTS

I wasn't much interested in the developments concerning the petition made by members (and leaders) of the Neocatechumenal Way for their definitive approval, and the approval of some of their rites, particularly those of Christian initiation. But the news of Pope Benedict XVI's approval of the Way and the its rites of Christian initiation have caused a lot of joy naturally among the same members of the Way, and consternation and strong reactions among traditionalists. News of this approval on the part of the Pope had kept this latter group on their toes, for very obvious reasons. Much has been said about their liturgies, especially about their particular celebration of the Mass, more commonly termed by followers of the Way as the Eucharist, since it presents a rather striking departure from the liturgical laws and norms stipulated both in the common practice and legislation of the Latin Rite. I could sympathize with those who are lobbying for more decorum and solemnity in the Mass, who I guess would wince in seeing how the gifts would be prepared beforehand by lay people; I could imagine these same people (I refer to the traditionalists) rending their garments at the sight of people receiving the Body and Blood of Christ in their seats, drinking from the huge chalice passed around by the "lay ministers", which they have previously received from the presbyter. I myself couldn't stop thinking (and dreading) about the real and proximate danger of the Eucharistic particles falling into the floor.

Let this post of mine be a frank confession about how I feel about the Neocatechumenal Way. I've had close encounters with them. People would contact me, inviting me to preside or assist in their liturgical celebrations, mainly the Penitential celebrations. I've also been invited to preside in the Eucharist various times, even celebrating the Easter Vigil with them last year. I'm a stickler for the rubrics and things liturgical (I've said a lot of times that were I not studying history, another one of my passions, I would've been studying liturgy), and with a lot of people I avidly looked forward to the reform that the Holy Father had been effecting all throughout these years (somebody commenting on this article would find it opportune to place the proverbial parenthesis and bold comments in red after this lines, I surmise). I don't agree with a lot of the liturgical elements in the Neocatechumenal celebrations, especially with respect to the Mass, and there had been times that I really felt uncomfortable celebrating the Mass in a way that hasn't been laid down in the liturgical books. This was precisely the reason why I was at times hesitant to accept these invitations. I would confess that there were a lot of things that I didn't understand about them. 

And yet one would wonder at why the Pope, and this Pope in particular, one with the keen eye for liturgy and had done quite a job in bringing back the Tridentine Mass, and who had been stereotype as the stern inquisitor of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith. This was the same Pontiff who had at one point, in addressing the crisis of faith in this secularist society, which in turn is undergoing its own crisis in many fronts, had mentioned that the testimony of Faith was to be given by small faith communities. Perhaps this was what the Holy Father had seen in this movement. From what I've seen from my own experience among the Neocatechumenals, I've seen a lot of conversions, of people trying hard to live the universal call to holiness, each in their own way of life, according to their particular situation and condition. Ordinary people, trying to avail of the same life from the same means available to anybody who forms part of the Church of Christ, with their own struggles and stories to tell. Perhaps they are lacking in formation, and that is precisely why they are in the Way. A lot of people have come to know, practice and live their Catholic Faith through the Neocatechumenal Way; for them this was the instrument through which the Lord had called. 

The scene that I saw unfolding before my eyes, that of the Holy Father meeting the leaders and the followers of the Way and giving them the news of the pertinent approbations--specifically of the rite of Christian Initiation, and not automatically of the Eucharist (though I myself hope that the Holy Father would ask them to be more faithful to the common tradition shown in the liturgical books)--showed me the confidence that Pope Benedict XVI had placed in them as new missionaries who would work for the new evangelization. I would daresay that the Holy Father was very bold in saying that the Way was a special gift of the Holy Spirit in our times. From what I've seen, I guess he's right.

A further thought on the liturgical topic. There has been talk of an organic development, of a certain dynamism found in the liturgical tradition of the Church. If this is the work of the Spirit, then perhaps we have to have to have more confidence in the Holy Spirit to guide this new charism within the Church. The things that I have seen and read in traditionalist blogs (I keep asking myself why I persist in wasting my time looking at things that would merely serve to irritate me) have shown me how ossified people could turn out to be when deadly set in their opinions (place another parenthetical comment in red here please), even to the point of attacking the Holy Father and saying other things besides that place in doubt their true orthodoxy. Their attitude reminds me well of the lessons I've had about fourth-century Donatists and the seventeenth-century nuns of the convent of Port-Royal, who were "pure as angels but proud as demons". One's fidelity to the Successor of Peter is one clear sign of orthodoxy, and I guess for me this particular case functions as a litmus test to see where one's loyalty lies.

The history of the liturgy has shown us that the liturgy has developed throughout the ages: the only Mass of the Ages that we ever had was Jesus Christ himself in the Eucharist, I believe that anybody who makes a specific rite the center of his faith is grievously mistaken. The Mass had undergone an organic development throughout the centuries, from the simple fractio panis of the earliest Christians to the various rites in the different ecclesial traditions, to the splendor of the gregorian liturgy, of which the Tridentine Rite, merely one of the various rites within the Church, is heir. I could say that the liturgy that we have would still change and admit development. As what I've argued with a companion  last night at table, the liturgy that we have on earth, no matter how we have it, is imperfect; that perfect liturgy we would have seeing God face to face. With respect to the Neocahatechumenal way, I believe this is also the case. I could only personally wish that as time moves on, the Way could come up with the means of being faithful both to the liturgical tradition of the Church and and to their own charism.

The Sto. Niño and the Black Nazarene: Two Icons of the Filipino's Faith

This Sunday the Church in the Philippines distinguishes itself once again with the feast of the Sto. Niño, a devotion that not only is typically Filipino, but that which is at the very core of the people’s identity and history as a Christian nation (here, as a parenthetical observation, despite of a certain percentage of Muslims and of the fact that the majority of the archipelago’s pre-colonial inhabitants were animists, it could never be said that in any point of its history was the Philippines an Islamic nor an animistic nation. The evangelization wrought by the missionaries of the Spanish Crown was a big factor in the building up of our identity as a nation; where there were petty kingdoms scattered throughout the archipelago, the colonization brought about a cohesive unity between the islands under the Cross and the Crown). No doubt by this time, millions of devotees and revelers have congregated at what could be the centermost metropolis of the Visayas—denominated the Queen City of the South—Cebu, both out of devotion to the Holy Child Jesus, whose image was the first Christian image to be revered in this part of the Far East, and also to celebrate in what has become the Philippine’s answer to Mardi Gras of Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans. This multitudinous gathering comes almost a week after another one done as well during the first week of the year, though this one is marked more by devotion not lacking in fanaticism than by a reason for celebrating. This Monday’s feast of the Black Nazarene of Quiapo was marked by the usual confluence of millions jostling in order to touch the 17^th century image (a remnant of trade relations by way of galleons between Manila and Mexico) with their handkerchiefs and towels in the belief of its healing powers, while accompanying it in a procession that lasted fourteen hours. The annual feast and its highlight—the grand procession back to its normal place in the Basilica of Quiapo—was celebrated amidst reports of a possible terrorist attack, one which the President himself made out in a rare press conference made before the date. This didn’t even make a dent in the devotees faith, resolved to fulfill their yearly panata or personal vow. Urged on by their resolve and personal need, the same millions braved the annual pandemonium around the carriage that bears the darkened image of the Savior on the way to Calvary.

The proximity of both feasts calls my attention as we celebrate another feast that is typically Filipino, and this I mean in two ways: in the first place, liturgically speaking, because both are rarities, and from a foreign point of view, one that could not be easily understood. Secondly, both as images and devotions they give us a view of what the identity of the Filipino Christian is all about.

Regarding to the first point, refering to the Black Nazarene, as a liturgical feast it stands out like a sore thumb, having just ended the Christmas season days before (this year, it was celebrated on the day where in some part of the Latin Church people were ending Christmas with the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord). The feast of the Sto. Niño could raise some foreign liturgical eyebrows for the same reason, now that Christmas had ended. Secondly, it is truly Filipino because of the significance it has in the nation’s history. As I had pointed out earlier, among the numerous images venerated by Catholics in the Philippines, that of the Holy Child of Cebu is certainly the first that came to the islands, and consequently, not only is it the oldest, but certainly its devotion is among the most widespread among the Filipino people; at par with the Sinulog celebration in Cebu we have the Ati-atihan of Iloilo and the Pintados-Kasadyaan of Tacloban (the Sangyaw of the same city is a very recent invention). As historical records would tell us, the image was arrived to these islands as a gift made out to the premier wife of Humabon of Cebu by Ferdinand Magellan during the first expedition in march 1521. This first encounter between the Spaniards and the natives (which was to end tragically, for the Spaniards at least), though not enough to plant the Cross and the Christian faith firmly upon this part of Asia, was nevertheless the seed that was to grow with the evangelization of the islands, a movement that coincided with its political subjugation under Spanish rule, which was to last for three hundred years, form 1565 until 1898, the year that signaled the end of the Spanish colonial era. One merit of the this colonial rule was the unification of the islands under one government; where there was once a group of islands with petty kingdoms, the evangelization and colonization of what became las islas Filipinas under the Spanish crown brought about the a unified conscience, that was to grow and mature under the American administration, interrupted for two years during the Second World War with the Japanese Occupation.

The Image of the Nazarene, Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno, came in the midst of a prosperous era marked by trade relations between Manila and Mexico. Ships would ply the route from the Spanish port in Asia—Manila—laden with goods destined for markets in Nueva Castilla (Mexico) and the old world. The same galleons would return from the other end in Acapulco back to Manila laden with Mexican silver and other goods. In one of those trips came the image of the Nazarene. No, better still, one could talk of images since there were two of them. I won’t elaborate on this here though, as I would be digressing from my point.

Both the images and the devotion that Filipinos have towards these representation of Jesus Christ in two instances of his life—both as a child and as a grown man, could say something about their spiritual life as a people. I have long wondered about the devotion that my people have towards the Sto. Niño and the Nazareno, a devotion that is seconded only by the Filipino’s love for the Mother of God (the Philippines, to use a well-known phrase, is a nation in love with Mary, un pueblo amante de María, and its love affair with the Virgin is as interesting as its strong devotion to the ones highlighted in this present reflection).

In the first place, I could well say that these January devotions reflect how the Filipino sees himself in relation to God. With regards to the Holy Child, the Filipino has always known himself to be small before God, a child in the arms of his Father. Without prejudice to people of other nationalities, I could say that the Filipino is instinctively religious. Of course religion as a human phenomenon could be given in man himself, but the Filipino has no qualms in praying in public; given the circumstances, he is at home with the spiritual, and this spirituality is one that is trusting, a spirituality in which surrender to the higher power occupies an important part. The Pinoy is accustomed to living surrounded by children, and is quite fond of them; anyway, who isn’t fond of a cute baby? The country’s population is relatively young, a promising one that could yield a veritable workforce, given the chance. Just as a child is desirable and lovable in the eyes of its parent, the Filipino, seeing himself as a child, also knows himself to be loved, and this love is that which makes him strong, even in the darkest of times, even in the midst of suffering. There is never any doubt that the Filipino finds his strength in hard times surrounded by his family and those who care for him most; however, one source of strength that he can dispose of as well is prayer, drawing from those deep spiritual reserves that find its roots in his Christian faith.

Speaking of suffering, everybody would agree that the present generation of Filipinos had never known a period of bonanza or prosperity as such; each turn of history would seem worse than the last. Philippine contemporary history, either lived out individually or as a nation, seems to pass from one crisis to another. The image of the Black Nazarene seems to be the incarnation of the image of the suffering Filipino himself; better still, I could say that the Filipino is able to recognize himself in the image of the suffering Savior on the way to Calvary, which is perhaps the reason why there he has so much devotion to the suffering Christ. This identification with the Nazarene, carrying the Cross on the way to Calvary, is perhaps the reason that lies at the root of its attraction for the Filipino.

The Black Nazarene is the image of a God who is never from the situation of those who suffer, never distant because he shares their suffering, and manifests it for all to see.

But there is another reason for its being attractive: though suffering and the perspective of certain death is evident in the black face of the Savior, within this sign, we might say, there is the glimmer of the final victory. The Filipino, though suffering and being accustomed to it, knows and recognizes the transient nature of suffering, and foresees in a certain manner the glory of the Resurrection. He knows that suffering will cease, and that life still goes on. This is something that lies at the heart of the Filipino psyche; this is the reason for the Filipino’s ability to smile, laugh and celebrate despite of the bad times; ever a musical people, Filipinos are known to express their pain even in singing, as they do in times of joy. This is the reason of the Filipino’s affinity to telenovelas, which show the long-suffering of the innocent protagonist, whose story always culminates in triumph.

The profound reason perhaps why these devotions have so much popularity among the Filipino people is because they see themselves associated with Christ himself. When the devotee gazes at the obscure face of the Christ bearing the Cross, he does not only see his own pain, he also sees his own resurrection. In the same way, when he celebrates and dances with the image of the Infant in his hands, he sees himself as a child loved by God, one who would never abandon him to his fate, as a popular religious Filipino song would say (hindi kita pababaya-an).

One last thing that this reveals about Filipino Christian religiosity is that it is Christological and Christ-centered. All of this identification with Christ that I’ve been talking about, about how Christ shows who and what God is, and how Christ shows man about man himself—these point to the fact that Filipino Christianity is in the right route. There is a lot of purification to do, of course, there is no doubt about this, the experience of the procession and the fanaticism of many of the Nazarene’s devotees are proof of that, but I guess that deep within, the Filipino has grasped one central concept of Christology, which is that of the Incarnation. This is one concept in which through the person of Jesus Christ, man is able to see and know—and even touch and caress—that who and which the invisible God is. Also, in the face of Christ, man is able to know more about who he truly is. In the case of the Filipino devotee, both in the Sto. Niño and in the Black Nazarene, he sees a God who has come down to man so as to be embraced and carried, in whom he knows himself to be loved and cherished. Here he realizes that he is not alone in his suffering, and that, despite of the darkness of the times, the gloom is not enough to snuff out the flame of hope that would inevitably lead to the bright day of the Resurrection. 

The Philippine President and a lost moment of valor

I’m not a fan of Pnoy, as the occupant of the country’s highest political office is fond of styling himself. I haven’t been since the beginning, when he was a nobody in the Senate, who was suddenly thrust into the limelight because his mother died. Suddenly, overnight, under the steady rain of yellow confetti, Benigno Simeon Aquino, Jr. becomes almost something akin to a Messiah come to save his people, a role that he believes is his by divine right of the people, and which gives him the power and the audacity to work for reforms, hurling thunderbolts here and there.

Don’t mistake me, I’m not a fan of the previous administration either. Ganun ba yun—quipped a friend in that modern Aeropagus we more commonly call Facebook—Basta hindi ka sang-ayon kay PNoy, Pro-CGMA ka ka? (is this how things are right now, that just because you don’t agree with Pnoy, you’re for CGMA (Congresswoman Gloria Macapagal Arroyo)?). These words were no more than an observation of the ambiance of current opinion. You could see that where the action really is: in the comment boxes of news articles in the webpages of the more prestigious Philippine dailies. These com-boxes could be as dirty as the hidden alleys of Barcelona and as busy as a hive. Here you would see people who differed from Pnoy’s view of things being attacked by his lackeys for being CGMA cronies. Is reality that merely two sided? Are we going the way of another dictatorship? I’m inclined to see it that way, a rather silent one, a dictatorship of public opinion, I might say. Pnoy won’t be so audacious as to do a Marcos; he would rather be caught dead than do a Gloria, though I won’t be surprised if, after four years, the same charges be leveled against him, irrespective of whether they be truthful or not, Philippine traditional politics being as it is. But yes he is being tyrannical in a way, vindictively tyrannical. I am digressing.

As of the moment one thing that had people buzzing much like bees in a hive is his delay in visiting typhoon stricken northern Mindanao, first explained by his staff as due to careful planning and work in assessing the situation and how to best respond to it. Later on it came out that he was in a party with the PSG, laughing and having good time with his people, as a comedienne would later tweet. I don’t have much against him spending time having good time with people who work for him, but then for a lot of people this appeared to be exactly the opposite of the image that people would like him to have at the moment. His sisters and the rest of his office have come to his rescue (what would one expect? Were I to trip at least I would expect my own to do the same for me right?) but it seemed to boomerang instead. People would always have their reasons; I’m sure Pnoy would be having his (and I won’t be surprised if it were a really lame one).

Everybody has the right to party, especially during this season, but one thing that Pnoy might have grasped is that, if he were seeking to have that burnished image of a president that really cares for greater things that incidentally fall beyond his political agenda, he could have grabbed this opportunity that literally fell from the angry skies. A lightning visit would’ve given the image of a president who wanted to handle things firsthand, and to be one with the people. When the skies poured water in lethal abundance, and when tears of disconsolate grief rose up in return, the whole country was in Cagayan de Oro; the president was somewhere in the capital. He could have went there immediately. Just being there could have been enough. I could imagine that at certain moments words are superfluous; there are times when being there is more than enough. Disaster plans come minutes later. Just as his immediate presence could have said something, his delayed presence in those ravaged areas had aroused much comment and consternation.

It made me think of something a leader once did in a time like this. It was wartime, and the clouds of war loomed darkly above, even over a place as eternal as Rome. The morning of July 14, 1943 was promising to be just like any other, where it not for the arrival of 521 Allied planes who suddenly flew over Rome and dropped their lethal load of bombs over the district surrounding the basilica of San Lorenzo outside the walls. The walls shook, and the shock waves reached the windows of the papal study. Once it was established that everything was clear, it didn’t take an hour for Pius XII to be out in the papal automobile speeding towards the devastated area, unaccompanied by the usual escort, but with an aide, Msgr. Montini (the future Pope Paul VI) and the chauffeur. He went to the shattered basilica and stayed for two and a half hours. Peter Hebblethewaite, a distinguished expert on Vatican affairs, wrote about the scene in his biography of Paul VI:

“It was the first time the Pope had been outside the Vatican since the mobs had hooted him in 1940. He knelt among the ruins and recited the psalm De Profundis (Out of the depths O Lord). The crowd gathered to pray with him. He comforted the wounded and tried to console the bereaved. His white soutane was soon flecked with blood. The Pope failed to save Rome from the bombs but he was closer to the people of Rome than Mussolini had ever been”. (Peter Hebblethwaite, Paul VI, Paulist Press, New York 1993, p. 184)

By the time Rome was completely occupied by the Germans, the King, his ministers, and Mussolini with his, had all but abandoned Rome to her fate. Pius XII was the only figure of authority that the city had during those hard times, and the people never considered the figure of the Pope a distant one. He was immersed in trying to do the best in every situation, in trying to provide safety and shelter to everyone—either Jews or Christians—within the walls of churches and ecclesiastical domain, safe within the limits of Vatican neutrality. The daw the armistice was announced, the city filled the square of St. Peter’s to pay homage to Pius XII, Defensor civitatis (defender of the city of Rome).

What was the point of this flash back? Well, certainly Pnoy is no cleric, much less a saint, nor did Pius XII do it in order to earn pogi points among the Romans. But both offices hold within their bounds the obligation to be with their people most especially in times of adversity, in which the presence in its initial moments is enough balm to strengthen the ailing soul.

Perhaps Pnoy should’ve considered this, that in being at the scene in its first moments he wouldn’t only be fulfilling something that falls within his office, but he would also further his image which is important in any political career, and which is also helpful in allaying any further criticism from those who do not take kindly to him. But more importantly, he should’ve properly considered the fact that being with these people was of far more urgent importance, than being in a party. Well, he can have his party in the evening if he wants to, but would that keep him from going to the depressed areas the next day?

What is certain is that he hadn’t considered them, and that he had botched this opportunity, this moment of glory, unlike many other leaders whom history had enshrined in its memory because they had known to take charge of a situation that called for valor. How he would get out of this episode, and what pathetic reasons and excuses and even possibly —and dare I say it, lies—that he may have to concoct to save face is another story, one that does not capture my fancy at the moment to elaborate.

Christmas and Sendong

As of the moment, the numbers continue to rise, with 650 dead and several hundreds still missing. Thousands left homeless, and the local government and agencies trying to respond as best as they could to the drama that continues to unfold. The photos convey more vividly what the papers had communicated: entire communities of shanties and dwellings of the poor crushed by the brutal onslaught of the winds and the rising waters, people wandering about, most half clad, many for whom the clothes on their backs where the only thing they could bring with them in time. however the photo that gave the tragedy a face—and which had done its rounds in the Internet—was that of a disconsolate father clutching his dead child to his breast.

One would think that some evil genius could have crafted this kind of thing to happen, when people were most vulnerable, during the night, in their sleep. Of all the seasons in the year, one may be impelled to ask, why does this have to take place in the threshold of Christmas? I don’t think many would blame God for this, but I am certain that thousands upon thousands of voices are rising to the heavens, not in outrage against God, but expressing that question that has more than once issued from the human heart: WHY?

From my perch, thousands of miles away, despite of the great distance, the news affected us back here all the same. MAS DE 400 MUERTOS POR LAS INUNDACIONES Y LOS DESPRENDIMIENTOS DE TIERRA EN FILIPINAS, the headline in today’s paper read.

But let me go back to the thought that I had earlier tried to develop. I don’t think a lot of people would be seriously angry at God for this. Many would feel disillusioned, but I don’t think they would be seriously angry. The true question would be, both for the affected and the bereaved, why would He permit this to happen?

I won’t claim to know the answer. His ways are not our ways, nor are His thoughts like ours. But certainly I do believe that the proximity of the Christmas feast and this tragedy desired by none, not even by God give a new depth to the celebrations for which we are preparing ourselves. For weeks we have been gaily going about with the preparations for the season: buying gifts, planning parties, coming up with charitable initiatives, and doing ourselves spiritually in order to enter more into a meaningful celebration of Christmas. All of this is okay. Sometimes, however, the comfort and amenability of our stable situation could allow us to have a superficial appreciation of the message of the Christmas mystery. Christmas is none other than the mystery of the Incarnation, God-with-us, Emmanuel.

Seeing this entire rampage, wrought by the unfeeling brutality of nature, one may ask: were was God in all this? As one surveys the no-man’s land scenario, one could as well talk about the silence of God. Yesterday I sat down in the confessional in one of the parishes here in Pamplona. In one of the confessions, I remember saying to a particular penitent that in those times that God seems most silent, it is when he is most near. These words, whispered in the dimness of the confessional, came back to me as I pondered over this piece of news. Where was God? Though not immediately evident, one could come to this conviction: God was surely present, and so continues to be even more. He is present in the heart of the father who grieves for his lost child; He is most close to the family who is at a loss to see where they would be spending Christmas, as their shack had been destroyed; He is perceived in the good intentions of many people who sympathize with the affected and the bereaved, and is at the heart of every initiative to aid. In the miracle of the Incarnation, men tried to look for God where He was not to be found; they found Him in the most unexpected of places.

It is my guess that for many this Christmas is going to be very different. Yes, even the most ugly of all tragedies is capable of showing us the face of God, in the face of the pained, of the benevolent, of those who offer their hearts in prayer, of those who seek to be of help in anything. As they say, the darkness makes the light even brighter; this crude reality of tragedy allows us to appreciate Emmanuel even more: God-with-us, a God who is not impervious to our suffering, and has shared our human condition in order to make clear to us that we ought not to feel ourselves alone.

Merry Christmas.

SIMBANG GABI AND FOUR YEARS AS A PRIEST

Christmas, as the saying goes, is right around the corner, and yet from the view outside of my window, four stories above the street in Calle Monasterio de Oliva here in Pamplona, there is nothing that belies the fact that the Christmas season is fast approaching. Aside from the Christmas lights shining merrily on the windows of the Chinese shops (yes, there are Chinese merchants even here in Spain), and a few posters showing the Christ Child in a few apartment windows—which could be another equivalent to “A practicing Catholic lives here” sign—there is nothing else that shows the fact that it’s nearly Christmas. Well, at least if you look out of my window. There are people bustling by, but no sign of the Christmas cheer whatsoever. You’ll have to go to the city center in order to see Christmas lights on the streets; Pamplona could not qualify as a serious rival to Brgy. Luntad of Palo, Leyte in terms of Christmas lights.

By no means is this my first Christmas outside of the Philippines; having done my theological formation at the Colegio Eclesiastico Internacional Bidasoa—an international seminary located in this same province of Navarra (Spain)—I’ve  spent four Christmases away from my family. This however, would be my first Christmas abroad as a priest.

I believe that I speak for everyone when I say that December and the Christmas season have a special meaning for us Filipino priests. For many of us, the start of the Advent season means preparing and conducting recollections, looking for sponsors and Mass celebrants for the Misas de Gallo to be celebrated in our parishes and chapels, bracing ourselves for this traditional pre-Christmas dawn novena, and preparing for the gifts we would have to make to relatives and friends, as well as parishioners, not to mention the invitations to parties to this or that group in our respective communities. In short, for a Filipino priest, December is a busy time, comparable only to the season of Lent, and this priestly activity merely increases as the month progresses.

I was ordained a priest the day before the traditional Aguinaldo Masses were about to start. On December 16, in parishes and chapels all over the country, millions of Filipino Catholics would make the effort to rise very early in the morning—some very, very early—in order to take part in this unique tradition, only done in the Philippines, and in every place where a Filipino community may gather. This novena of grace was designed to be an immediate preparation for Christmas. In my parish in Palo, Leyte we hold this novena to Nuestra Señora de Belen (Our Lady of Bethlehem, or of the Manger), to implore for graces. I have lived these days to the full since the first moment; in fact, the Misas de Gallo were precisely the first moments of my priesthood. I would rise very early in the morning, excited to celebrate the Mass with the faithful wherever my schedule led me that morning. The Mass would be celebrated  with white vestments, since it was already the Christmas liturgy that was being celebrated. This being so, there was much solemnity; the Gloria  was intoned and the songs were festive. There were flowers in the altar, and the muted atmosphere of Advent gave way to the joy of Christmas. Incense was employed with liberality, something which delighted the sacristans, who did their office with the graveness any cardinal of the Roman curia would envy. The congregation may struggle to be awake during the sermon, for which the priest would have to make the homily more meaningful and even entertaining. The churches would be filled to excess (which led a priest to remark that he hoped that people would take the adage “every day is Christmas” seriously, so that the churches may be filled thus every ordinary Sunday) and the congregation would spill out into the plaza. One would see people both young and old, but the majority of the youth is really noticeable. After the Mass, people would usually return to their homes; many—especially the youth—would chose to remain together with their friends, gathered in the plaza or in the parish. Sometimes the parishes—through the generosity of the donors for that day—would prepare hot food and drinks for anybody who would care to partake of them. The priest would usually remain with the faithful, chatting, greeting people, eating with them.

For three years I had lived these days intensely and with relish. I do so because of the mark it has left in my ministry and in my priesthood. I have never taken lightly the fact that the first Mass I technically celebrated after my ordination was an Aguinaldo Mass, having been ordained on the 15^th of December, 2007. I was ordained on the days that the Filipino religiosity had marked in preparation for Christmas. Perhaps that accounts for the “Incarnational” aspect that I have always thought essential to priestly spirituality: the ordained priesthood is but a continuation of the Incarnation of the Word of God. This is not something that I have invented myself, nor is it the fruit of my personal reflection, but one that I have learned from the treasury of the Catholic Faith. True, the priest is not a man for himself; in the words of Blessed John Paul II, he is to be a man for others. He is not to occupied with himself, but that he must tend toward the Christ-event, the Word of God made flesh, and lead others to enter into communion with this same Word. He is called to reflect the very same face of Christ, living and lovable, so that seeing him, the faithful may not look at the priest, but rather rest their gaze upon Jesus Christ. If Christ is the Word of God made flesh, who dwelt among us, with his life the priest must make his own an incarnation of this very same life, reflecting the splendor of this light which shines in the darkness and which the darkness had not overcome (cfr. Jn 1:5). Of this darkness the priest is conscious; he could see it in himself. That is why all throughout his priestly life he must always wage war against it ever defeating him, knowing that one could only battle the darkness with the light. This struggle against his own darkness he must live not only for his sake, but also thinking about his flock, who look to him for guidance and example as they struggle with their own darkness. The priest is far from perfect, we know, but who cares? Nobody could fault anyone for looking up at priests seeking guidance and looking for a model to imitate in the struggle for holiness: for the Church he is a city set on a hill, and a light placed upon a lampstand, whether he likes it or not. Nobody could blame the faithful for their disappointment and sadness when a priest falls low because of his sins. The priest is the one who must show the faithful the splendor of the coming dawn. I find it significant that the Simbang Gabi, over which the priest presides in persona Christi capitis, in the person of Christ the Head, as Christ himself, starts in darkness and ends with the first rays of dawn. He leads the faithful entrusted to his care towards the light, light that he does not manufacture on his own. When this light comes, he who had served as the light not hidden under the bushel basket but rather placed upon a stand, must give way to the Day that knows no end, Jesus Christ himself.

These considerations I make, as I celebrate four years of the gift that I had not merited, nor would ever be worthy to hold—the eternal priesthood of Jesus Christ, and as we prepare ourselves to celebrate once more the traditional Filipino Christmas that is one of its kind, celebrated at home, in the Philippines, where the heart is, and abroad. Wherever there is a Filipino, no matter where he may be found, this Paskong Pinoy  is always celebrated. I for my part, continue to celebrate this Filipino Christmas. My present situation would never deter me from celebrating a tradition so dear to my priesthood as the Simbang Gabi, though I may be celebrating it in broad daylight, in the privacy and silence of the sacristy, because of how much it has taught me about this priesthood for which gratefully and humbly I would sing to God eternally in profound gratitude: misericordias tuas Domine in aeternam cantabo!

With Archbishop Palma, December 15, 2007

ADVENT SENSE

The term no doubt is not a stranger to all of us. In my own experience since elementary this season has always been explained to us as a season of expectation, of hope, of waiting for the coming of the Lord. This meaning would inevitably resound those first days of the season that is fast approaching. Because, as its very name would indicate, the term “advent” (from the Latin  adventus or coming) points to the fact of the Lord’s approach.

It’s very easy to identify this coming with his historical coming, which we celebrate at the culmination of the season, at Christmas, with the Solemnity of the Nativity of Our Lord. We deck the halls, as the popular song suggests, we busy ourselves in drawing up Christmas lists, we spruce up the tree, and we prepare ourselves to celebrate the feast with family and friends, all in good cheer. To think of the expense of the Christmas feast and the cost of the gifts in kind and in cash would be another thing. Everything is done in order to remember the birth of Jesus Christ, and make present liturgically the birth of the Word of God, made flesh in the virgin womb of Mary Immaculate.

But this is not all there is to Advent however. This is may have been taught to us catechism class or it may have been mentioned to us in homilies and advent recollections, but the season does not only look back to Jesus’ coming in history. The other part of this “advent” is that in this season, we are looking forward to another coming, which will take place at the end of history, when everything reaches its fulfillment and completion. Advent also is about the definitive coming of Christ, who will come no longer in the humility of the flesh, but will return with that assumed humanity glorified; he will come as King and Judge. This is the counterpart of the adventus or coming: in this season we also look forward to the parousía (or “presence” in Greek).

These characteristics could be seen in the historical development of the liturgy (yes, liturgy develops and progresses in its form of expression, while remaining the same in its very heart). It is held that the celebration of a preparatory period to Christmas took form towards the end of the 4^th century en Spain and Gaul. It had an ascetic character and lasted for six weeks, very much like the advent observance of the Ambrosian Rite proper to Milan, Italy (which is not only known for fashion and the opera). There wasn’t anything like it in Rome until the 7^th century. That which pertains to our consideration is that in the liturgical texts of those centuries—the precursors of the Roman Missal that we have at present—entitled Prayers of the Advent of Our Lord, were formulated not to prepare the faithful for Christmas, but rather reminded them of the final coming of the Lord in the end times.

As such, Advent, before becoming a period of preparation for Christmas, commemorated the Parousía, or the Last Judgment, if you may. This being so, one may not find it strange that in these ancient liturgical prayers had Christmas as the first day of the liturgical year and the weeks of Advent as the last days. On one hand, when did Advent become a period of preparation for Christmas we do not know, but on the other, it is very much possible that the celebration of the expectation of the final coming of the Lord was combined with the historical wait for the coming of the Messiah in the Old Testament. The fact is remains, however, that Advent in the Roman Liturgy, in other words, that which is commonly celebrated in a greater part of the Catholic world, is characterized by these two meanings: the reminder of the final coming of Christ and the preparation for Christmas.

Considering these two things as we begin Advent would help us better in preparing ourselves for the Christmas feast. I believe that, considering the quality in which our present culture usually celebrates the season, preparing oneself for Christmas while being mindful that the Lord will come again allows us to celebrate the feast more fruitfully.

One doesn’t need both eyes in order to notice how, in more ways than one, the Christmas feast and it preparation has been transformed into one big consumerist festival. It’s as if Christmas is all about buying things, and enjoying things; it’s about eating and drinking and partying. It may make sense when one thinks that the birth of “Baby Jesus” is reason enough for all the celebration. Quite right. But the celebration is not supposed to be the end in itself. We have easily transformed a festival of God’s humility into a raging orgy of consumerism and shallow feelings. But the feast of the Incarnation and the Nativity is more dense than that. Christ came, he achieved our redemption, he ascended to the Father’s right hand, and there he will come again, and when he does, he will come as Rex tremendae maiestatis, the King of awe-inspiring majesty, as the liturgical sequence for All Soul’s Day reminds us. When he comes, he won’t be the cute Baby who could be cuddled and kissed and played with; he would be the Judge before whose gaze our shallowness and frivolity would be embarrassingly made evident. He would be the same Jesus, though.

I’m not making a point against partying on Christmas, but that which I would like to express is that the eschatological consideration of Advent (or, that Advent also brings to mind the certainty of Chrsit’s second coming) ought to help us realize that Christmas is more than just partying; it’s more than just beautifully wrapped gifts or pretty decorations and lights: Advent (and Christmas) is about being prepared to receive the Lord when he finally comes, remembering that the first time that he did he was rejected already by men.

This element of the second coming, sobering as it is, gives the Advent and Christmas the weight that it may have otherwise lost: this season is not so much about the excess of shopping and consumerist pursuit, but the inner cleansing of our hearts through penance and prayerful expectation.

This is one ascetic challenge that I think all of us should accept as we enter Advent: to see it as it really is, a time of preparation, through inner penance and prayer, for the celebration of the feast of Nativity, while anticipating the coming of the Son of Man who will return in glory, of which we know neither the day nor the hour.