Quo vadis?

Hello, hello!!!! It's been, what, almost a year since I last wrote something on this blog, and boy, how time flies!! A year in tech world is like a lifetime (iPad, iPhone 4, rise of FB & Twitter & Netflix). I haven't quite lost interest in the world yet, but most of the interesting links I found go to Facebook now after Yahoo! announced del.icio.us' early demise. And along with dwindling attention span - it's down to 140 characters thanks to a previously mobile startup called Twitter - I find writing anything more than a couple of soundbites, a tad too tedious.

Anyway, it's good to be able to write a good length piece once in a blue moon. And today is such a day.

Our late beloved pope, John Paul II, was officially beatified this morning. Although in the eyes of many he's already a saint, the church does what is in her purview - trust but verify - and declare it official after a process of investigation. Papa BXVI did dispense with the 5 year waiting period, but did not decide to declare his predecessor Santo subito ('immediately') without due process. We're in the age of reason after all, or post-rational, as some'd prefer to say..

If you haven't caught the fever of enthusiasm and joy yet, read on as I'd like to share a bit of my conversion that I believe I have JP 'the great' to thank for. (Have I got any of my old readers left? No? Doesn't matter, I only hope to cheer on a random soul searching for anecdotes about lives touched by JPII)

It started back in 2004, when I just left a serious relationship, and found myself searching for "what's more" in life. I found Choice program - which markets itself precisely to capture this audience. It was good though it wasn't what I was meant for. Got involved running the program, and the community was truly like my second family back in Singapore. That's where I first encountered Theology of the Body, a teaching about love & sexuality made popular by JPII. It was like, who's this brilliant, charismatic, pastoral, and truly paternal figure?? Before this encounter he was only a remote leader figure in the Catholic Church living far away in Rome, and for whom we pray each day even if only out of common piety (or so as not to lead us astray!! How presumptuous I must've sounded...). From then on I began to read his biographies, his works, his encyclicals (yes, even those...), eager to know where'd this guy get all that wisdom, charisma, and above all, the peace & joy that could only come from knowing you're doing exactly what God has made you to do. From one thing to another, I found myself reading tons of blogs (St Blogs, in the words of a wise Catholic blogger), learning stuffs about Catholic doctrine that I never knew existed.

When he passed away in 2005, the whole world's interest in him was renewed. Then I came across a blog post about volunteering for the World Youth Day in Cologne, the first one without JPII. I didn't know what the WYD was, but I signed up and haven't look back since. From there on, one thing leads to another, one encounter after another, one session after another, and two years after his death, I found myself signing a blank cheque of my life to God. (Those of you who know me in real life know what I'm referring to).

So, here I am four years later, in a place I never dreamt of visiting, doing things I'd never dream of doing if not for the yes JPII has inspired me to do. (It's kind of hastily written - but I just had to write something you see...)

Meanwhile life goes on. I still make mobile apps in my spare time (look out for WYD companion app coming soon for your iPhones!!), I am still struggling to keep awake in those Gethsemani moments in my life, I'm still struggling against the old man in me, and I still carry the hope that at the end of it all, our lives are not the sum of our successes and failings, but the sum of God the father's love for us.

Javierada

When I left on Friday afternoon for Pamplona, I confessed I had no idea what'd transpire this weekend. Sure I'd heard that this weekend would be 'The Javierada', where many people would walk from Pamplona, or surrounding villages, or anywhere along the route between Pamplona to Javier, the village where St Francis of Xavier (Francisco de Javier) was born.

Having vaguely said yes to an invitation someone made some months back, I gamely signed up to go on this 'hike' (or so I thought) although the original person who invited me backed out because she had a class to attend on Saturday morning. So we set out, 4 brave cats (cuatro gatos), at 5:15 in the morning, finding for ourselves a lovely weather, not cold at all for March, taking into account that just last week it snowed pretty heavily.

On the way to Noain, the airport of Pamplona, we met a middle aged man who regaled us with stories of his various journeys of Camino Santiago and countless Javierada. We walked with him up to Monreal; I was marveled by the witness of his faith. He went this year, he told us, to pray for his two daughters who are self-professed atheists. He is asking for the gift of faith.

At this point (it was 8:10 in the morning when we arrived at Monreal - about 12km from Pamplona) I had not felt fatigue setting in, although a brief pause while a friend took a pee, was a welcome respite. I thought about his remark that "everybody had something to ask", and thought, what'd I have to ask from God? Let me say that I made up my mind to do this Javierada, only in this past week, when something reminded me that my father is baptized Fransiskus Xaverius (that's Latin-- or rather, Indonesian-- spelling of the saint's name) and it seemed like a great pity if, being in his homeland now, I do not take advantage to seek his intercession. So that's what I have come to ask.

An hour and a half from Monreal, I began to realize that I have a problem. We were walking on perfectly paved roads (which some said are bad for the knees). My friend was telling me that I'm dropping my pace, while I was perfectly sure that I am walking at a constant pace. Soon she left me, and I realized everyone else was overtaking me... even children and the elderly pilgrims were walking faster than me. At this point, my legs felt kinda stiff but there was no pain yet. At 11, we passed by "La Venta de Judas", an oasis under a flyover, where volunteers were offering us food & drink. We thirstily drank Aquarius and picked up some goodies for the journey. That was our brief stop, and my company left me behind for the rest of the journey. Soon one hour became two and two became three. We didn't even stop for lunch. I drank liquids, although I wasn't so thirsty. After all the weather was good. We had good fortune: the wind was blowing (mostly) from behind us. The sun was in my eyes (which for most people here is what constitutes good weather) and I felt not the least bit cold.

At about 2 o'clock we "regrouped" at Yesa, to decide whether to stop to eat or continue. We continued, and my company soon left me behind. The last few hours were hellish. I started the day praying the Via Crucis, and realizing for the first time, the fundamental reason why man, does penance and suffers voluntarily, when I said the closing prayer (a la Española) "Señor, pequé." This was the closing prayer that I never quite heard clearly before (having only prayed the Way of the Cross in English, privately of course).

"Señor, pequé." Lord, I have sinned. This is why Javierada attracts thousands of people. The next day I read in the paper that not less than 20,000 people did the Javierada this weekend. I was impressed to see many young people, while expecting to see only the most pious and perhaps, the older population. I think there is something deeper than a simple tradition handed down from generation to generation and it being a good day to 'walk a bit' with friends: there is a deep sense that we ought to make reparation for some thing that we have done wrong against ourselves, against some people, and ultimately, against that Someone.

We prayed countless rosaries, both together and in feverish silence. All that thought, many prayers, and mumbling the names of each one for whom I pray at every excruciating step, was what got me there. St Francis of Xavier, of course, interceded for us. Here is a saint who inspired, and continued to inspire thousands of people to rise above their own comfort and dare to venture out to spread the love of God. My last prayer, I'm a little embarrassed to say, was for us (well, I know my company was ahead of me) to arrive there before the Mass starts. How glad I was to see the huge sign "Bienvenida a Javier (2006)". Little did I know that the castle of Javier, which is right now a basilica, was at least 2km further and up the hill.

But we made it.

And just in time for the Mass. I arrived at the grounds outside the Castillo at 4:30pm. I was truly surprised to see a mass of people. It turned out that groups from Madrid had come to celebrate a stage of the journey of the World Youth Day cross. So I was there, reliving memories from the World Youth Day in Cologne, although exhausted and could barely stand (thanks to the huge blisters in my feet and stiff legs). The bishops of Pamplona—Tudela and San Sebastian were there, and said homilies which clearly showed their zeal for souls— encouraging young people to not be afraid to open their hearts to Christ and to pray, concretely, for 3 people around us, to 'bring them up' in the paten at the Mass.

The Mass, although outdoor, was reverently celebrated and the people were absolutely pious. I couldn't stand up nor kneel for the consecration, although fortunately, I could see everything as I was situated just in front of the outdoor altar.

Another friend from Pamplona 'rescued' me at the end of the mass, held my arm as I limped down to where the car was parked. It was only 50-odd kilometres from Pamplona to Javier. The WYD Cross was brought to the chapel of San Fermin in Pamplona, where an overnight vigil was held. Close to 2000 people came to pray before it, reported the paper the next day.

I am glad to have gone, although am still suffering the aftermath with sunburnt lips, swollen legs and limps. This Spanish tradition speaks volume about the Spanish culture and deeply rooted Christian identity. I will go again, given the opportunity. And this time I hope to see the basilica, at least.

Aquí nació

On July 31st, the feast day of St Ignatius of Loyola, I (and 16 others from the residence) went to Loyola for a day trip. Our objective was to see the basilica of St Ignatius, built next to the Santa Casa (Holy House) where he was born and was 'converted', taking advantage of the fact that his feast day happens to be the day when we had a break during the summer course. We went with intent to have more leisure than to exercise piety, but we were quickly disabused of that notion.

We drove from Pamplona, and arrived a little before 1pm, and to our (well, mine really) surprise, the parking lot was full and there were throngs of people everywhere. There was a Mass (in Basque) being said, and when we came to the doors of the basilica, we had to be 'restrained' outside until hundreds of people streamed out at the end of the Mass. The next Mass, this time in Spanish, ensued at 1pm. I'm just plainly surprised that the local people are just naturally pious. To come to the basilica of St Ignatius on his feast day is the normal thing to do :)

We watched an introductory video about Loyola (more about Loyola than about St Ignatius) at the tourism office, which is just below the basilica. I didn't understand a single thing, since it had the style of Shakespearean Spanish.

After briefly seeing the basilica, taking a few hurried shots as the Mass was under way, we went to the Santa Casa, which is the center of attraction. The basilica in fact, was built just next to it. Admission costs 2€, and guided tour costs 3.5€, but somehow, just somehow, somebody managed to convince the counter guy that since there were 17 of us, we should be let in for much less. So we forked out 1€ each and got ourselves a guided tour ;) The guided tour really means that our group gets a card that is to be scanned by card-readers at every station (there are 12 in total) in the Santa Casa. When the scanner reads the card, an automatic voice recording plays and thus we heard the history of St Ignatius - from his birth until his conversion.

It was very well done. I am impressed at its quality and comprehensiveness. It informs us of the very well-documented facts of the life of St Ignatius, from the significance of the location of this house and its political alliance, to the significance of the construction of the house (which has no windows on the lower part of its walls—characteristic of a fortress), to the more elevated aspects of the life of St Ignatius, culminating (the tour, that is) in the Chapel of Conversion (the room where se entregó a Dios Iñigo de Loyola)

What impressed me most of all is the devotional and 'elevated' style of the guided tour. It has the style of a Christian meditation. In fact, some of my friends jokingly added "Amen" at the end of several of the stations. We heard through the recorded voice that Iñaki (Iñigo in Basque) asked himself - given that God had given him so much - what has he done for God? Then we were asked to 'reflect' what God wanted of each of us ;) Mind you, my friends are exactly some of these pious people who could appreciate such elevated discourse, but the unexpectedness of it all brought much humour to the situation. Indeed, we came out nearly two hours(!!!) later, having piously (and humorously) heard 'the meditations' and praying for the intercession of St Ignatius on behalf of all the persons & the intentions entrusted to us by our friends who couldn't be there, half-dying with hunger and had a picnic lunch in the park outside the basilica.

So far, this is one of the best excursions (not to mention the madness of Sanfermin!) I have had in Spain, very characteristic of this land — both playful and pious at the same time.

More pictures can be seen here

In the footsteps of a saint

Castillo de Javier, Navarra, Spain

Almost by chance, as I was browsing around the ancient bookshelves that clearly don't belong in a modern, brightly furnished study in this residence, I found a decent book titled "Set All Afire". Only the author's surname, De Wohl, attracted my attention since I have heard good recommendation about another book also written by him.

There being only a limited collection of English books here, I took it out and started reading. It was about St Francis Xavier, who by chance was born in Navarra, whose 500th anniversary of his birth was just celebrated, who by chance was thinking of becoming canon of Pamplona, and who by chance, is the patron saint of Navarra. Enough chances. I figure out that since I am very much surrounded by circumstances that led me to this book, I might as well read it well.

To my surprise, I soon found myself praying with this book. Well, at least, the first few chapters of it. While it is a fictionalized account of his conversion and initiation into the Compañia de Jesus (Society of Jesus), it moved me profoundly.

The zeal of St Ignatius (whom they called "Father") was palpable, and his love of God -- and with that, confidence in God -- can be summarized in one sentence, which often gave me consolation: "If everything I planned failed, all my wishes were thwarted and all my fighting were in vain -- a quarter of an hour in prayer would reconcile me and leave me as cheerful as I was before." The book is about St Francis Xavier, though one gets more than a good glimpse of St Ignatius of Loyola, his 'spiritual father'.

Well-educated men they were, these pioneers of the Societas Jesu, and it is exemplified by De Wohl's portrayal of St Francis walking up to an Indian temple full of Brahmans, very much reminiscent of St Paul at the Areopagus. Using reason, with fire - both figuratively and literally - when it is needed, or a gentle word when it is needed, he brought many souls to the true faith, a hallmark of all saints.

What I found extremely interesting were these two passages from the book, again fictionalized, but those which capture different ways of dealing with diversity of beliefs:

First was a lively discussion between St Francis and two Muslim clerics in an island off Mozambique, in the east coast of Africa, on the subject of declining numbers - something that we know very well in today's Churches.

Seventeen mosques there were in Malindi, but no more than three of them had worshipers and these were few in number. He could not understand it. How could it be? Why was there such a hardening of the hearts, such negligence and indifference? Surely it must be because of some great sin they had committed...

"The sin that was committed," Francis said sternly, "is that God's revelation brought to us by Our Lord Jesus Christ was not accepted by you."

"Isa ben Marryam," said the old man, "is to us a prophet - a great prophet - though not as great as Mohammed."

"There is your sin, old man," said Francis, "... . You are not like the poor heathen who have never heard of Our Lord and thus have had no chance to accept him in their hearts. You heard and you rejected him, you give a mere man preference over him. No wonder then, that God does not abide with you and takes no pleasure in your prayers."

"Allah is merciful, it cannot be that."

...

(After Francis reluctantly left these two Muslims to catch a boat to India, the imam reluctantly defended Francis' position to his fellow Muslim -- all highlights are mine)

The Imam gave a bitter laugh. "How right he is and how wrong you are, O Ali ben Mottaleb!"

"Allah!" The old man stared at him, aghast. "You, a Moslem can say such a thing?"

"I can say it because it is the truth. When we were children, O Ali ben Mottaleb, we learned that two and two is four. Not seven. Not even four and a half. Just four. And when the teacher asked us how much two and two made and we gave any other answer but the answer four, he would punish us, because we were wrong. Now if this is right and true in an everyday matter, how much more so must it be so in the things of Allah? Either we are right and the Nazarenes are wrong, or the Nazarenes are right and we are wrong. Of course, we may both be wrong. But one thing is certain: we cannot both be right! It is not possible that at the same time Mohammed is greater than Isa ben Marryam and Isa ben Marryam greater than Mohammed."

"That is true, but..."

"And it so happens that that Nazarene believes he is right, O Ali ben Mottaleb! So he must declare us to be wrong. It is true that his eyes are those of a prophet -- because his soul speaks through them with conviction. He feels sure that he has got the true answer. So how can he make any concession? By the beard of the Prophet, it is impossible! Don't you see what is wrong with us? It is that we no longer have real faith. If we had, we would not ask him questions. We would try to win him over to Mohammed and kill him if he resisted our attempt."

There are many things packed in this short conversation that could teach us about tolerance and truth! 'Religious' conflicts that happened (and still happen) in many places are, in my opinion, a little too unavoidable. The reasons are plainly obvious, as stated by the imaginary cleric in the imaginary conversation with St Francis. When two religions 'dialog', each must be aware that a compromise in each other's positions, or tenets of faith and liturgical practices, should never be only a part of the objective. To win the other party over - is always the objective, no matter how politically incorrect it sounds. Like De Wohl put it, "[with them - Christians] it is always everything or nothing."

I think it is futile to enter into a dialog when neither party believes that what he believes is sacred. It is also futile to enter into a dialog when both parties believe they are both right but not willing to declare the other to be wrong for politeness' sake. It is even more futile to desire peaceful coexistence without each party, or one, having to re-examine its own relationship to the Truth.

I wonder what St Francis would have said and done about syncretism and inter-religious "dialog" of today... something that many modern day institutions inherited by his fellow 'Iñiguists' seem to gain infamy for.

In the second passage, St Francis was talking to the first Brahman he encountered in India, who gave him presents of fruits, meat and pearls -- as a kind of 'bribe' for not inciting more unrest in a village of Sudras - one of the lower castes - who had been converting to Christianity in droves, depriving the priestly caste of tributes:

"Please accept in kindness these little tokens," said the Brahman, "tokens of our admiration and respect and the sign of the respect we servants of the gods have for each other."

"There is only one God", said Francis stiffly.

The Brahman smiled. "To the servant of Siva there is only Siva," he said. "To the servant of Ganesha there is only Ganesha. That is as it shold be and as the wisdom of the gods has decreed it. But confusion would result if we were to teach the lower castes that they must listen to us alone and not anyone else. We are resolved not to contradict your teachings, wise man from the West, and all that we ask of you is that you will not interfere with pious men and women rendering their tribute to the gods in our temple."

(Whereupon St Francis flatly refused to accept the bribe and said: )

"Truth makes no bargain with error. ... I shall not rest till all Paravas have become the servants of the one, true God."

Indeed. Truth makes no bargain with error.

The other 'mystery' I encountered in this book, is martyrdom and the mysterious way the Communion of Saints work. In one of the southern islands of India, as well as in many other places, hundreds of villagers were massacred because they would not renounce their Christian faith, they who had learned the Creed and believed in it for a very short while. A most powerful communion of saints strengthen and support the earthly journey of every Christian, never more strongly encountered than in those who have paid the sweet price of faith with their blood.

Another thread that is most apparent, is his use of intellect ad maiorem Dei gloriam. Like many Jesuits I know, Francis did not disdain human recourses, used strategy and never shied from using arms to the advantage. And coming from a military background, he knows the importance of discipline in an army, especially the army of God. This book also tried to explain the only possible reason why Francis wanted to set up a kind of Inquisition in Goa. The entry on him in Wikipedia implied that the Inquisition was directly due to Francis.

The other journeys of St Francis were described most poignantly. I was most touched reading the chapters of his arrival at Malacca, and afterwards, to the Moluccas islands, beyond the city of Amboina (now called Ambon), to the cannibalistic parts of those islands. To think that a saint had learned to speak my language... to think that a saint had set foot in my country to spread the Faith, and to think that today, the Moluccas Islands remain one of the most staunchly Christian part of Indonesia. Both India, Indonesia, China and Japan, countries St Francis visited, are still mission territories today.

Few of us are perhaps called to 'evangelize' the way St Francis did, to spread the faith with fire, but for the rest of us, our Jerusalem is "wherever work was to be done for the glory of God, in Siena or Calabria, in Ireland or in Parma, in Lisbon or in India. Even at this old desk in this old room..."

St Julian the Hospitaller

This year, I did not look for a patron saint until I came across Seminarian Matthew's update about it early this month. While it's not important, it's a kind of pious habit to rely on the intercession of those who 'made it'. So I promptly asked for one and guess who picked me... St Julian the Hospitaller, also known as St Julian the Hospitalarian or St Julian the Poor.

His origin is a little obscure, some legend says he was French, some says his hospital was in Rome, some says it was near the shrine at Santiago Compostela. The Golden Legend tells an embellished tale of heroism and charity of St Julian and his wife. It goes that a beast once foretold that he would kill his own parents, so St Julian exiled himself, until one fateful day when his parents met his wife and were taking rest in his very own bedroom. Out of jealousy, he killed both his parents, thinking they were his wife and her lover. Inconsolable with remorse, he & his wife traveled to Rome, asked for pardon from the Pope and dedicated the rest of their lives in continence to serve the poor and the sick. Now that the disclaimers are dispensed with, let's get on with the tribute.

Whether or not the legend is true, St Julian (and his wife) are famous for running an inn or a hospice, taking care of poor and sick pilgrims. The same pious legend says that one night an angel of the Lord visited St Julian as a leper pilgrim, asking him to ferry him across the river to where his inn was, and at the end of St Julian's selfless service, announced God's forgiveness for his past sin. There are many churches dedicated to St Julian in Paris, France, and in Macerata, Italy.

Legend or not, this Lent it is one story has particularly inspired me about what charity truly is.

Why me?
I once read an amusing story about the business of picking patron saints. Enbrethiliel told me that we should rather, pray that a saint would pick us up into his/her patronage. Going with the latter view, I realize I couldn't ask the saint "Why did you pick me?", but I need to ask "Why did you pick me?". Through the communion of Saints, we are grateful for any kind of intercession from any fideles: living militant, suffering, or triumphant. Still the question remains: what is our connection? Is it a reminder to cultivate and exercise Charity? Well, that is one task that will be with me til the end of time! Time will tell.

Communion of saints

For many years, the Communion of saints is a Catholic concept that is probably one of the hardest things to understand for me, a convert. To me, from observing many cradle-Catholic friends of mine, the communion of saints means, roughly, praying to St Anthony for a certain kind of intention, St Jude to another kind of intention, going to novenas, visiting the shrines of our Lady for all sorts of special intentions, etc. What often came to my mind is a picture of old ladies clutching prayer cards and rosaries, and occasionally, physical penance carried out to 'bargain' with the saints for their intercession. Their piety amaze and move me, but really, is it necessary?

I suppose I did not much understand this because my life frankly, has not been one where much bargaining for divine intercession is needed. There were many ups and downs, but I trust that God knows better what's good for us than we do ourselves.

Fast forward to the present day, I share an apartment with a cradle Catholic from the Philippines, and made friends with many other cradle Catholics from traditionally Catholic countries. They expose me to these heretofore alien pious practices. And many intercessions, invocations, devotions, and Marian pilgrimages later, I realize that it has helped me form a habit to pray for other people's intentions and needs. I also realize that means I can ask many more people to pray for my intentions. It is strange for me today if there are nobody's intentions to pray for... and if friends ask me, a lowly member of the Church militant and a sinner, to pray for their intentions, why can't we turn to the saints and holy souls to intercede for us? For the petitions of the just surely carry more merit in heaven...

Through other means I have also 'discovered' the communion of saints. Since I started reading Catholic blogs, there have been so many new acquaintances made, and so many people and intentions to pray for. Two years ago, I found out that one of the twins (of Angry Twins) was about to enter the monastery and began praying for him. And the blogger formerly known as Moneybags, have also entered the seminary this fall. And the blogger who's praying for the safety of a baby in threat of being aborted. And the blogger who's praying that the San Diego fire may not harm a monastery nearby. There are many other examples through which I realize that the communion of saints is so REAL.

Today, for instance, I read a lovely story about Kate's grandfather who recently passed away and whom she remembered especially for his famous butter cinnamon toast. I don't know who Kate is, I don't know who her grandpa is, and I've never eaten cinnamon toast before... but from now on, I'll remember them in prayer whenever I eat cinnamon toast. Isn't the communion of saints beautiful?