Waiting this advent

Despite the fact that I have always loved the season of Advent, and despite the fact that this year Advent in my life has all the characteristics of waiting, I don't feel at all ready to hear, much less live, the message of Advent. It makes me a little sad how frigid (well, the weather doesn't help) my attitude has been this advent. The birth of Christ, lovingly awaited by thousands of faithful, seems more than a million miles away from me. Even as I helped to put up several Christmas crib scenes around the residence, I wish, I just wish, I could feel a little more enthusiastic, more affectionate, more recollected, to welcome this great mystery of the God who was made man and dwelt amongst us.

For 'cultural' Catholics, this would be easy to identify with. After all, they have grown up surrounded by the myth, (but not quite the mystery) of Christmas, ever since they could remember. All that gifts and warm fire and general atmosphere of festivities may be all Christmas means for many. I count myself amongst them, although neither my family is culturally Catholic nor am I a cradle Catholic.

This year I have the unusual privilege of having nearly two weeks of 'relatively free' time to think (and prepare) about what Christmas means, or should mean.

Struggling to get back 'on track', I tried to imagine being on 'the other side', being the One who is coming to a people who has kind of forgotten him, or is growing tired of waiting for him. How suitably post-modern it is to try to understand a situation from the 'other' point of view.. well. Anyway, as I was saying, I read and prayed, and those exhortations to get prepared, to get ready to welcome God made man, God-made-child, could not lift me up through the thick stupor of routine.

But just imagine: how it'd be like for you, if you were the one waiting to be born, waiting to enter into time, waiting to walk amongst us, His ungrateful creatures, waiting to save us, since... since the beginning of mankind, since the fall of our first parents. Talk about waiting! Our 4-week long advent, or even a lifetime of waiting, is nothing, compared to the thousands of years (millions or trillions, if you are an ID-and-evolutionist like me) that He has been waiting to come into our lives.

Imagine His enthusiasm, His joy, and most humbling of all, His need, to be with us. As omnipotent God who made everything out of nothing, it is unimaginable, inconceivable (indeed, a folly to the Greeks and a stumbling block to the Jews), that God would 'lower' Himself to save creatures who sadly, do not always recognize Him and even when they do, do not always reciprocate, nor even appreciate, the magnitude of this gesture of love. It is mind-boggling, to think that, God's gesture to us almost says "I need you, I want your love", when it is us who should be saying all that to the One who brought us to existence. And He did come, two thousand years ago, and since then, waiting to come anew into our lives, every Christmas.

How fitting it is that December is filled with various feasts of Mary; from the 8th, her Immaculate Conception, to 10th, Our Lady of Loreto, to the 12th, Our Lady of Guadalupe. She knew all about waiting for the One. She knew He has waited much longer, with much more longing, than she, or anyone else, had.

Well. This is my short reflection this Advent. This has helped me a lot; this Christmas, I am going to try to be a little bit more conscious of this wonderfully stupefying fact, that God has waited for me first. May this Advent bring you truly closer to Christ.

Through the looking glass, darkly

Tonight I had the chance to stay up a little later and pray the Way of the Cross, although from outside the chapel. It was an interesting experience as the chapel was closed and pitch dark, except for a tiny light shining from the vigil lamp.

As I prayed the Stations, alternating between genuflecting, standing up and kneeling down, before a tabernacle I could not see, something interesting occurred to me. Looking at the dark chapel illuminated only by the vigil lamp reminds me somewhat of my faith. Often, at times like now, the only thing that indicates that there is a tabernacle there, and that Jesus is present in the Blessed Sacrament inside, is that vigil lamp burning throughout the night. Sometimes, the only indicator I had, that God is here despite, and in the thick of, all the human sufferings, are the faithful who gave witness to the goodness of God by their selfless service, burning through the darkness for the Lord whom they serve.

Secondly, the only time I could see (barely) the outline of the Crucifix and the Tabernacle, is when the lights outside the chapel are turned off. When we are preoccupied with our own 'stuffs', filled with the self-importance of our own ambition, we cannot see the presence of God who awaits us in stillness.

Well. It's past my bedtime and I'm still out. Enough rambling tonight. Here's wishing everyone a blessed Holy Week ahead! Antonia checking out for the night ;)

A perfectly ordinary day

What makes March 25th a special day? Nothing. A little over two thousand years ago, on a day very much like today, ordinary, sleepy (or stressful... insert your own adjective here) and unassuming, something inconceivable happened.

An angel, not just any angel, mind you, an archangel — one of those who perpetually contemplate the face of God — was sent to a humble teenage girl, a teenage girl who had consecrated herself to remaining virgin, to ask her, if she would be the Mother of God.

This mystery in the God's plan of salvation has been the subject of many writings of the Church Fathers and theologians and saints alike. I am not going to pretend that what I write here will hold candle against any of their simplest quotes, but I would like to share this image (below) that I found of the Annunciation.

This is a painting set in the modern times, in a modern suburbia, and yet it captures the "ordinariness" juxtaposed with the loftiness of Mary's vocation. Many paintings of the Annunciation reveal the depth of the mystery beheld by their painters, of this divine logic. Imagine Mary as a young girl, going about her daily household tasks, or studying, or working, like what any of us are doing today. And then an archangel asked for her permission—we can imagine all of the inhabitants of Heaven holding their breath at this moment—for the Son of God to take flesh, to be amongst His people.

This "plan" of God to enter into time, into the lives of His people in carne, is nothing short of genius. Like told in the story of the Lord of the Rings, it was told that the Enemy could not conceive that the weak race of Man may seek to destroy the One Ring instead of wielding it for their own gain. Who'd have thought the Son of God would take on human nature and lay down his life to redeem a race of Lost Men?

The story did not end here. It did not end when Mary said yes. It did not end when the Savior was born. It did not end when He died and resurrected either. It is still happening in our days. Our perfectly ordinary days, like today. Each day the Lord is waiting to hear our assent to His will, and to gift us His graces. And each day we are invited to ponder anew and repeat, with Mary, fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.

A note from the desert

How's your Lent going? I dread this question, although my spiritual director had not asked this to me, as of today... I must confess this Lent has been difficult. Not that I've ever experienced an "easy" Lent. It's only slightly more than a week; and I'm already thinking of all the sharp and sarcastic things I could say after Lent, the things I could do after Lent, all the things I could allow myself to imagine after Lent. Unbelievable!

And then the moment of epiphany came when I read in one of Adoro's posts (in which she wrote about her discernment) that she hasn't been able to "give up sins" for Lent as she had planned. Duh! My first reaction was, how can we give up sinning for Lent when our feet are made of clay? And what's with this "attachment" to sins? I first encountered "attachment to sins" while reading about indulgences and conditions to gain the indulgences. Duh! Can anyone be attached to sins? How silly...

What an abrupt awakening I had when I realize that I too am attached to my sins. Attached to all those things that I told myself not to do during Lent. To these judgments, to these remarks that 'put people in their place', to these private thoughts that my way is the only correct one... The sharp retort that I swallowed back had no place neither during Lent nor after. Rich!

Embarrassment aside, thinking more deeply beyond a little suffering that we Catholics customarily allow ourselves during Lent, it makes no sense at all to be believing the way I had been acting. It makes no sense to tell myself to wait until Lent is over..., because Lent is not a period of self-imposed suffering that the Church made us go through. We have come to the desert voluntarily. Well, to a certain degree. When I consider how we have come freely to enter the Catholic Church, I remind myself how I *did* sign up for all these.

On the other extreme, before you examine how many donuts you did not pass, or how many times you said the rosary today, if you think your Lent has been going badly, let's take a look at the Mass reading from Monday 3rd Week of Lent, on the cure of Namaan, the Syrian (2 Kings 5:1-15ab):

Namaan, a commander in the Syrian army of the King of Aram, was struck with leprosy. His Jewish maid-servant suggested that he goes to Elisha the prophet, to ask for cure. Thus, with a letter from the king, and endowed with treasures in gold & silver, he went to Israel seeking for a cure. Elisha told him to bathe in the Jordan seven times, and this was met by a ludicrous response. Fortunately, he had wise servants who made him see the value of trying out this suggestion. He bathed, was cured and came back not only cured but enriched with the faith in the One God.

His story is amazing for its lesson in faith and humility: whenever we are tempted to think that God is asking us to do 'great acts' (of penance) to 'be cured' during Lent, only to be discouraged when we inevitably fall. For our lives, for whatever it is worth, are composed of 'little moments' of struggle fortified with grace. There is no shame in falling and rectifying all over again, since we know that Jesus had already won the battle.

"Remember you are dust..."

Lent is here once again.

That time of the year in which the Church spends forty days in the desert (so to speak) is here and I'm putting down a few resources for those coming here to look for "Lenten homilies":

• Click HERE for this year's Lenten message from Pope Benedict.
  
• From an article by a Benedictine about just what is to be gained by "giving something up" for Lent?
  
• From the website of the North American College in Rome, explanation of the ancient devotion of the "Lenten stational churches".  Each of the 44 churches are listed, along with their history and some pictures.
  
• Godzdogz provides a "virtual Lenten retreat" being posted on the internet by a group of Dominican students.  Each day during Lent, a new entry will appear with scriptural readings, reflections, etc.
  

Wishing all of you a blessed & joyful Lent ahead.

So your child has a vocation...

I found this story when browsing the Dominican sisters' website Moniales.

So, your child has vocation. Congratulations! He or she has told you about the desire to enter a seminary, cloister, order, or monastery. This is wonderful news. You thank God for this gift to the Church; you make telephone calls to family and friends to announce the news. You find yourself busy with all that this decision entails. Eventually, in the days and weeks that follow you also find yourself pausing over a cup of coffee, lingering over your rosary beads and you find yourself saying to yourself, “What does this mean to me?”

It is really beautiful and moving to hear from someone whose child is called to serve God exclusively. I've never thought about how what they must be going through...

Blessings and grace to them :) Now they have powerful intercessors in the parents of St Therese of Child Jesus, Blesseds Louis and Zélie Martin.

A road to Damascus

After last month's retreat, which took place on the days during which we celebrated the conversion of St Paul, I have been eager to read about conversions to the Christian faith. I am currently reading two books, "The Road to Damascus" a collection of conversion stories compiled by John O'Brien, and another one, "Theology and Sanity" by Frank Sheed.

The first one tells of many paths different people took to arrive at Rome, and the second, of the role of intellect in our spiritual life. I happened to read these, as I commemorated the 13th anniversary of my first communion. (I know, how sentimental it sounds to be remembering dates like these!) After all, I waited almost seven months to receive communion after my baptism, and couldn't help constantly thinking that the craziest thing I have ever done was to convert to Catholicism. Reading these two, I was struck anew with an even greater marvel at the abundant grace behind each conversion.

From Theology and Sanity, I read Sheed's defense of the importance, if not necessity, of having solid intellect in order to love God:

"It would be a strange God who could be loved better by knowing less.
...
Love of God is not the same as the knowledge of God; but if a man loves God knowing little about Him, he should love God more from knowing more about Him; for every new thing known about God is a new reason for loving Him."

Indeed, reading each person's conversion story made me marvel anew at the great mercy of God who brought us home through the least expected path. In all, however, Reason was instrumental. I have been asked several times, to tell my conversion story, and each time, I discovered something new, yet another moment where grace surged in to 'lift' Reason where it could not rise to the occasion. Recently I realized that conversion is a work of a lifetime, that we are invited to keep "turning back to God" after every inadvertent fall, and that every 'new' truth I learn about God help me to grow in love and to fight for this Love once more.

Evelyn Waugh, the famous English author who wrote Brideshead Revisited (among other excellent works), wrote that he "lost" his Anglican faith through a well-meaning Anglican bishop who explained that none of the books in the Bible were written by their supposed authors and invited his students to speculate on the nature of Christ the way 4th-century heretics had. This experience convinced me afresh of the importance of having solid intellect to strengthen our faith; lest in our moments of weakness our will, the other human faculty, falters. He did however, have a high esteem for the supernatural efficacy sacraments of the Church, speculating that if he had been a Catholic boy in his childhood, "fortified" with the sacraments and securely watched over by someone sensible in a Catholic school, he would never have abandoned his faith. (Little did he know...)

"However learned you are in theology, nothing you know amounts to anything in comparison with the knowledge of the simplest actual member of the communion of Saints" -- Evelyn Waugh

Another person who found her way to the communion of saints was a self-proclaimed atheist journalist, Gretta Palmer. Her story really highlighted the struggle of an atheist to accept Truth like a sunshine through a small crack in an 'atheist cell'. Truth has this quality to shine from under the dirtiest facade. Palmer wrote of her "confusion" in her quest to perfect men; not being able to explain why it was not possible to socially engineer a perfect society, naively assuming that hostility towards one another can be cured as one treats as a physical malaise. "Original sin" was the answer given by a priest when she asked him. Her 'scientific' quest for the fons of 'goodness' took her to battle-weary soldiers, giving themselves completely in spite of all the suffering and behaving in utmost noble manner. Interested in social engineering? Palmer wrote that she had a fantasy of becoming Madam "Secretary of Social Evolution", but was soon disabused of this notion on her trip to China when, amidst great suffering and valor of the soldiers, she realized that the most 'useful' thing she could do was to pray for the soldiers. Once again, Reason rules and she soon ran into an inconsistency -- why pray, and to whom does one pray, if there is no God?

"When atheist scientists attempt to study man, they undertake an 'intellectual absurdity'. Man, studied as a creature separated from the God who is constantly communicating with him, can never be understood." -- Gretta Palmer

Reason alone does not provide meaning to one's life. Fulton Oursler, another whose story is featured in The Road, a playwright behind the radio program The Greatest Story Ever Told, lost his childhood Protestant faith and while being an agnostic, thought that science was the only true 'religion', until he concluded that they had "no head for synthesis [and] no heart for seeking a meaning in life." This reminds me of an anecdote told by Cardinal George Pell to an audience of (presumably Catholic) scientists about what "hell" possibly could be for scientists. It sounds something like this: a place where all facts could be known simply by looking it up on a book somewhere on its vast shelves, where all the instruments to measure any kind of thing or to observe any kind of phenomenon are available for use, where all the scientific unknowns could be found out by simply asking. And yet, there is no meaning behind all that. There is no reason to want to know why the number p is transcendent. No reason to know why space-time continuum is affected by mass. No reason to know how old the Universe is. No reason to know how many Universes are there. No reason to know anything at all, if God is not. Truly, speaking as someone who considers her profession "scientific", I am horrified at the prospect of ending up in such hell.

I don't recall exactly how I found my way to the Church, but there is always too much mystery for me -- I'd rather fall on my knees in thanksgiving than to analyze it -- but I'll end off this 'segment' of the Road quoting Fulton Oursler:

"Everyone who faces the blinding light of the Damascus road sees things in himself that he will never tell. On the other hand, I do believe that every man blessed with the gift of faith owes it to his fellow man to tell what he can of his conversion, in the hope that someone else may get from the story a glimpse, a little bit of help, and find for himself the same release."

Is Christ in my city? Is Christ in my country?

Following up after the last post, I realized this Christmas, while spent also in the heat of Jakarta, is unique, like it has always been. My sister and I took the afternoon flight on Christmas Day and arrived before 3 o'clock in Jakarta. Apart from the usual spartan decoration of the airport and the occasional Christmas-themed advertisement billboards, there was little else to indicate that it was Christmas.

My dad was waiting for us with a huge smile on his face. My mom, as usual, was supervising wholesale distribution of all kinds of beverage at her 'shop' - come rain or shine, Christmas or no. So we spent Christmas at the 'shop', waiting for her business to conclude for the day and had a quiet dinner.

Grace awaited us
My confessor had reminded me to remember to pray while 'on vacation', so I went home with a little apprehension lest the laxity of being on vacation at home makes us forget Him. This year though, Grace came in a form of a person :) It was a friend studying in the university in Singapore, who also spent her Christmas with her family, in another city in Indonesia.

Daily she would text me with a short snippet of what is happening to her and around her. Inevitably it would contain a prayer request, a concrete reminder for me to not forget to say my prayers. Her first text message echoed my silent lament: In Singapore we were positively inundated with Christmas decoration at every corner of every shopping mall, albeit for commercial purposes. For a self-proclaimed secular country with a Muslim majority like Indonesia, Christmas atmosphere was strikingly absent.

A few years ago, I would have "complained" and told myself that it is not my fault if I can't "feel" Christmas back at home. If I did not feel particularly charitable nor joyful during these diebus nativitatis, I would have attributed it to the lack of Christmas atmosphere. I was naive and silly, indeed, for wasn't Christ born for all of us in the whole world? Not only for those who were fortunate enough to live in countries that celebrate Christmas properly.

Looking back at the story of my own conversion, I realize that Indonesia and Indonesian Christians have the missionaries to thank. It is these silent martyrs and heroes who, perhaps inspired to bring the joy of Christmas to the pagan East, brought the Good News to my country. The joy of Christ was not meant to stay only in Bethlehem, nor in Palestine, nor in Europe. In the stifling heat of Indonesia, Christ is proclaimed.

Soon night fell and my sister & I found myself waiting in darkness in the car with the radio singing quiet tunes. My parents were out buying the next day's supplies for their 'shop'. I could hear my sister's thoughts echoing my own and my friend's: what a way to spend Christmas day! Suddenly, as if upon a cue, the radio played a most beautiful rendition of Ave Verum Corpus! I didn't cry, but I must confess I leapt with joy upon hearing that hymn, for it was balm to a drooping spirit.

No matter what circumstances we find ourselves in, I know that Christ is in Indonesia, Christ is in my city, and Christ is in my family!

The Immaculate Conception: our bearer of hope!

Today we celebrate the feast of the Immaculate Conception of Mary. It is a feast that some have anticipated for the last nine days in a novena; but its primary theme is thanksgiving, thanksgiving to the Trinitarian God. Every year it is celebrated during Advent, which gives this celebration a solemn flavor.

Someone once said that hell trembles at Mary's fiat. I'd add that "something flashed in the air" when the Immaculate Conception took place. For it is a divine move, in response to man's fallen state, and is something totally unmerited. Like all occasions of grace, it is first initiated by God.

Mary, bearer of our hope, is also the throne of grace, the star of the sea. Our pope Benedict XVI wrote a beautiful prayer to Mary, in the closing of his 2nd encyclical Spe Salvi:

"Ave maris stella. Human life is a journey. Towards what destination? How do we find the way? Life is like a voyage on the sea of history, often dark and stormy, a voyage in which we watch for the stars that indicate the route. The true stars of our life are the people who have lived good lives. They are the lights of hope. Certainly, Jesus Christ if the true light, the sun that has risen above all the shadows of history. But to reach him we also need lights close by — people who shine with his light and so guide us along our way. Who more than Mary could be a star of hope for us?"

Afterwards, our Pope reiterated that Mary, of all people, suffered what seemed like a betrayal of promises made to her by the prophecies, but her faith was one that shone even in the darkest moments below the Cross of her son.

In this solemn season of Advent, let us enkindle our hope for salvation looking to Mary, the first fruits of grace, who trusted Him, cuius regni non erit finis.

Pride & Sloth

Continuing with Fulton Sheen's Victory over Vice, the good archbishop has this to say about Pride:

Surely anyone who has had experience with the proud will bear witness to the truth of this statement: if my own eternal salvation were conditioned upon saving the soul of one self-wise man who prided himself on his learning, or one hundred of the most morally corrupt men and women of the streets, I'd choose the easier task of converting the hundred. Nothing is more difficult to conquer in all the world than intellectual pride. If battleships could be lined with it instead of with armor, no shell could ever pierce it.

-- Victory over Vice, Fulton J Sheen.

On a related note, pride is sometimes manifest in refusal to serve; thinking that the one asking that service of us is not 'worthy' or 'beneath us'. "If God Himself, or the President, or the Pope asks me, then and only then I would do it." From another chapter ("Sloth"), this time about our laziness to work for Heaven, he wrote this:

Heaven is a city on a hill. Hence, we cannot coast into it; we have to climb. Those who are too lazy to mount can miss its capture as well as the evil who refuse to seek it. Let no one think he can be totally indifferent to God in this life and suddenly develop a capacity for Him at the moment of death.

Where will the capacity for Him come from if we have neglected it on earth? A man cannot suddenly walk into a lecture room on higher mathematics and be thrilled with equations if all during life he neglected to develop a taste for mathematics. And a heaven of divine truth, righteousness and justice would be a hell to those who never studiously cultivated those virtues here below. Heaven is only for those who work for Heaven.

Similarly, if we have refused to serve our brothers and sisters throughout our life, it will be inconceivable that we suddenly develop a capacity to serve God in Heaven...

Ave Christus Rex!

Today is the feast of Christ the King, also known as the last 'Ordinary' Sunday before Advent starts. It is not a title commonly referred to (at least not by me nor my friends), but it is one that demands response from us Christians. It is also quite a recent feast, instituted (only) in the early 20th century by Pope Pius XI.

Many years ago, I used to board with a Catholic family in Singapore. And since the lady was a catechist for children, I used to spend Saturdays preparing materials and/or artwork for the coming Sunday's catechism class. One of them, I remember clearly, was an illustration of Jesus entering Jerusalem riding on a donkey, followed by a hymn that says "we have a King who rides a donkey..." That was the extent of the significance of this feast to me then. Since then, many things have happened, to put it in brief.

Here's a King who proclaimed himself present in the least of our brothers. Here's a King who didn't shun the virgin's womb, a good King (and shepherd) who didn't shun suffering & humiliation on the Cross for the sake of saving his flock, his people. Here's a King who doesn't rule with mighty arms but with mighty love, who showed that the way to reign is by conquering one heart after another.

Is Christ really King in our life? Does Christ reign in our heart? Do I defer to Him when making decisions, when choosing between what's good and what's better, when deciding what to do with my time, with my talents, and in the way I respond to challenges?

We have a King who is victorious over the worst evil conceivable: for man to kill God. His victory should imbue all Christians with a sense of joy and optimism.

Pope Benedict XVI said, “Jesus is the Kingdom of God in person: the man in whom God is among us and through whom we can touch God, draw close to God. Wherever this happens, the world is saved.” Our Holy Father continued, "It means not losing heart in the face of resistance, adversity and scandal. It means overcoming every separation between faith and life, and countering false gospels of freedom and happiness."

Regnare Christum volumus!

Gratia plena

In the past one month or so, the topic of "grace" has been dominating my interest and reading. It started out with a simple question during a doctrine class in which a priest was teaching a bunch of us about sacraments - and in particular, baptism. I can't recall exactly what the question was -- I think it was adherence to natural law and the merits of non-Christians -- but the reply given was like a burst of light.

In short, he explained that in his experience, conversion to the Christian faith owes most of it to grace, rather than human merit alone. So, the non-believer or those who have never encountered the faith can be saved not only because they live in a just manner, but chiefly because God gave them grace.

Grace... what is that? Although I have been a Catholic for thirteen years now, the word "grace" has only been part of my familiar vocabulary in the last one year. Partly as part of discerning my vocation, the term "grace" entered my life through the various spiritual directors and mentors. And yet, its meaning was never made clear. At best, grace is defined as "participation in divine life." As if this definition would elucidate anyone...

Since then, I searched to find out more about Grace, and found an excellent primer in Charles Journet's "Meaning of Grace". He wrote brilliantly about grace - what it is, what it is not, and the role of grace in the Catholic interpretation of what some Protestants believe of 'predestination.' Pick it up and gain a deeper appreciation for the treasure that we have in earthen vessels.

And today, as we celebrate the Assumption of Our Lady, a day that has always been graced with signs thus far, I turn my thoughts to Our Lady, Our Mother, who is full of grace, gratia plena. Her immaculate conception probably meant that she never had to struggle against resisting graces. In fact, thinking about it, all we have to do is to NOT obstruct the workings of grace in our lives. Next to the Holy Spirit, she is our best teacher when it comes to cultivating disposition towards grace. Mater divinae gratiae, ora pro nobis.

Lest I forget Heaven...

Tomorrow is the Feast of Ascension, and it marks the start of the decenary (10-days) to the Holy Spirit. I heard this story at Mass today, and I thought to share this here:

A monk was tormented by the dilemma of Eternity--he was continuously plagued by doubts about whether he could ever be happy contemplating just God and the angels for all eternity? A thousand years, maybe.. but for all eternity? Surely, man, so accustomed to variety on this earth, shall find something amiss? One spring evening, the monk went for a walk around the monastery and found himself entranced by the beautiful song of a nightingale. After what he thought were a few hours, he returned to the monastery. Passing through, none of the monks there were familiar to him. He walked through the different rooms, surprised at what he saw and realising that something strange was happening. When he at last realized that nobody recognised him, he went to see the Prior, who was astonished and remembered that a tale went that, a few hundred years ago, a holy monk had disappeared, thought to be eaten by wild animals on one of his spring walks in the woods. The monk then understood that when one is in Heaven, an eternity seems like but a few moment.
--similar story also found here

At Holy Mass today, I once again felt I am Loved. Utterly loved and uplifted from the shadows. Time does fly when one is in love, and conversely, it seems to expand to eternity when one is not in love, or separated from Love. What a loving Father we have; who came after us even if we forget Heaven!

Tomorrow is the feast of Ascension, when we celebrate Jesus' Ascension into Heaven. We celebrate this very much with the mind to follow Him there one day!

Et verbum caro factum est

Today we celebrate (belatedly) an extraordinary event that all mankind has been waiting for: a Savior that comes and lives amongst us. On the 25th of March, the Church celebrates this Joyful Mystery better known as the Annunciation. This silent but wonderful moment marks the time the Eternal one enters into time — for sure we have prayed for a savior, and Israel its Messiah, but to be 'reduced' to an embryo forming in the womb of a young girl from nowhere... no wonder we bow (or genuflect, even) when we recite the Incarnation in the Creed. So great is God's love for us that shows through this humility of our Lord!

At a glance, the world seems to say that we do not need a Savior. And like Lois Lane wrote, in the movie of Superman Returns, a Pulitzer-winning article on why the world doesn't need a savior, many of us or 'our brothers' have yet to face the fact that we do. Because our nature is fallen, we fail to redeem ourselves despite our best intentions.

It is a great feast day in the Church for many reasons. Just as we fall in awe of the Lord's goodness in this great mystery, this feast is also an occasion to reflect upon the humility of our Lady. It has been said many times that our Lady braved death by stoning if she were to be found pregnant and unmarried.

For those contemplating a Call from the Lord, our Lady is a paragon of a disciple and a shining star in your discernment. Was there euphoria at the annunciation? Perhaps, but I'd dare say there was more trepidation than euphoria for her. Was there complete understanding? Perhaps she understood better than the rest of us, as she is without original sin, her reasoning is not darkened by sins... yet surely she couldn't have anticipated the drama of the birth in a stable in a foreign unknown city, the prophecy of Simeon at the baby's presentation, the flight to Egypt, and lastly, the bitter Passion of her Son and His humiliating death. But none of that seems to matter. No lack of euphoria nor lack of complete understanding of her call prevented her, full of grace she is, to say her Fiat. St Bernard of Clairvaux imagined the entire heaven to be looking on, cheering her though no encouragement was necessary. And the entire heaven, which held their breath, sighed with relief, I imagined, when she said Yes. To bear the plan of God required her to say Yes everyday of her life. Victory of God's plan, one can say, was sealed with her obedience.

Again, to those who are contemplating the Call, temptations that it is perhaps 'better', that one is somehow more 'effective' being married and having a great family and raising many Christian children, sometimes do come. Is it possible to dedicate oneself joyfully and totally to God, and looking at having 'spiritual children' instead? Can one live renouncing earthly love to anticipate the heavenly marriage with the Lamb? The answer is yes, "possumus!" Not because anyone on their own is so strong but because God gives the grace to answer thus. I hear a resounding affirmation in today's Gospel:

“How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?”
“The Holy Spirit will come upon you... nothing will be impossible for God.”
--Luke 1:34, 37

Belated Epiphany

To tell the truth, I often prefer Advent over Christmas. Now, I know that Christmas is a great feast and that the magnitude of this mystery is the reason why the faithful prepare ourselves for its celebration for several weeks before the D-Day, known as the Advent period. Yet, Advent mirrors our life of journey and waiting, but Christmas... (I think) no one who is still alive can ever experience the fullest meaning of Christmas. For me it bode eternal salvation, which obviously, we cannot yet experience here.

This Christmas has been one full of struggles personally. The year 2007 has been an intense year, and I struggled to 'sync' my ups and downs with the rhythm of the Church's liturgical calendar, trying to introduce a drop of sensus Ecclesiae into my life. In a way, I imagine it felt very much like what the three Magi must have gone through in their journey to look for the Child.

'Vidimus stellam eius'
The star beckons the three wise men, just like God's call beckons. Along the way, perhaps sometimes they lost sight of the star, perhaps sometimes the terrain was hard-going; such that following a star from a distant land seems, to a rational mind, like a touch of summer madness. But left their palace they did. And so did I.

'et venimus adorare eum'
While the 3 magi did find the Child, I'm still on my journey. At this stage I must say it hasn't been too bad, but there had been moments of wariness and doubt. Doubt that the star wasn't some figment of my imagination. Doubt that what the star signifies is worth leaving my palace for. Doubt that I can find Christ at the end of the journey and not be distracted by curiosity in foreign lands.

I'm currently reading "The Tremendous Lover" by Eugene Boylan. In the first few chapters, he explored the theme of Redemption, and what will be at the end: [one] Christ loving Himself. I found a little 'epiphany' in Boylan's attempt to show the glory of God who is omniscient, of God who knows all things to come, and the outcome of all possibilities. And yet, His preference to let mankind live outside Paradise, suffering the consequence of the original sin, who were later redeemed by the Passion of His Son, must imply that (humanly speaking) amongst all possibilities, He sees that this universe, with its suffering, is the best way to restore the dignity and the glory of His creation. Meditating upon this 'choice' of universe, His choice of allowing us to suffer and become co-operators in our own redemption, I can say safely that I will never comprehend His scheme of things in this lifetime. Wherefore does this lead me?

While reading about classical argument for the existence of God, this question crossed my mind: can earnest employment of reason lead us astray? Just what does a Christian have that an agnostic (for agnosticisim is the best conclusion an erroneous reason could lead to) could not have in life? Hope. Hope that there is more for our souls than what earthly tribulation exacts from our bodies. A skeptic could say, if there is God, He has a funny way of introducing Himself. Why allow evil to exist in the world when He is omnipotent and could have easily got rid of it? But God's folly is greater than our wisdom. His ways are not ours, and God's logic, saves us at the end.

Friendship: that bittersweet cup

Friendship, is a notion that I took so much for granted that frankly, at this point of time, I cannot remember what it should mean. What does friendship mean? What does being a friend entail? Many times the mention of "Friend" leaves me cold, or jaded, or cynical. How many times do we say "friend" to conceal a more particular nature of our relationship with someone (whether it means closer or further)? For me, too many times.

I guess the reason why I wrote this post is that, being in friendship is not easy. Two reasons: expectations and fragility.

I recall with some sadness, several occasions when I had been let down, very much let down, by people whom I thought were friends. Part of this, naturally, has got to do with mismatched expectation. For a certain friend, being friends means you just have to be available 24/7 whenever they need a shoulder to cry on. For others, that's too much to ask even in a close friendship. In my better moments, I thought to myself, that if _that_ much (or rather, that little) is all that person has got to offer me, I'll take it up gladly anyway. "Give until it hurts," Mother Teresa once said, and nowhere do I feel this more keenly than in some friendships.

After all, it's not easy being a good friend! Another thing I associate with friendship, is both always having to, and, being able to say sorry! I have lost count of how many times I have to precede a conversation with "Sorry", simply because life or some other Passing Interest in my life, had taken up so much time that I forget this or that particular friend for many months or even years... So, for each time that I feel disappointed with a friend, I remind myself that there must be many more friends I am disappointing!

Few "self-improvement" atention is paid to developing friendships.. it is as if the world takes it for granted that everyone innately knows how to make and sustain friendships. Magazines publish articles on how to succeed better at your workplace, how to eat better, how to shop better, but hardly anything on how to be better friends. Perhaps it's true that as children we make friends naturally, but adult life definitely takes toll on friendship; and without much attention paid to our friendships, perhaps someday we may literally wake up to find we don't have real friends.

Another reason for this thread of thought, is that our life very much depends on our friendship with God. Even this relationship gets neglected in the same way that I decribe my neglect of mortal friends. How we treat our friendships is a reflection of how we treat our friendship with God. May there not be a day where we meet Our Lord and found that He does not recognize us as His friends!

Waiting in hope

My favorite liturgical season is about to start, we've just celebrated the feast of Christ the King, and there are just a few days before Advent is here. I used to think that Advent 'snucks' up on us, catching us unaware of how fast the year has gone by before Christmas arrives, and a new year follows. Often lost in the pervasive Christmas-y decorations that have gone up in department stores way before Advent is even here, is the idea that Advent is a period of waiting.

From the Old Testament, we learn that our elder brothers in faith, the Jews, are people who knows the meaning of waiting. From Abraham, who waited until his old age to see the Lord's promise of innumerable descendants, to the Isralites under the yoke of Egyptian slavery, to those who wander (and perish) in the desert for 40 years before they set their sight on the promised land, the Jews are People who wait, a People of hope. And so are we, the people who live after our Lord entered time, we are a people who hope to see behold His countenance one day.

In our daily lives, there are many moments when we hope and long for the arrival of something: birth of a child, liberation from tyranny, recovery from a long sickness, or even, an end to a long, arduous project at work. It is in these moments that we labor to bring Christ into the world. In yesterday's feast, we are reminded that Christ is King, and His kingdom, while not of this world, is in this world, and we, His soldiers, need to conquer ourselves to spread His kingdom. It makes no sense to suffer, to sacrifice and to love, if we are not people of Hope. Christ had come to redeem us, and Christ will come again.

Every year Advent comes upon us, reliving the anticipation of the drama of Incarnation, where God truly becomes one of us. Isn't this Truth something that all human heart secretly longs for? Saints lead their entire lives in anticipation, and sometimes they even lead a foretaste of an eternal life with God, where our souls no longer suffer under the yoke of the world's trials, where God wipes every tear from our faces.

Let us contemplate the humility and the majesty of our God who enter into our life as a mere child; He who could appear anywhere, anytime as anyone, chose not to reveal His glory, but to live His own obscure Advent for thirty years! Every Advent we are reminded of the ethereal nature of our lives here on earth, and it is but one lifelong Advent period to prepare for the coming of God into our lives.

(Written for a newsletter)

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?

I believe in Love

If I should ever find myself in doubt and darkness, I shall read again this short but profound reflection on Mercy, drawing from the writings of St Therese of Lisieux, St Paul and the life of Our Lord as written in the Gospels.

The good God would not inspire unattainable desires; I can, then, in spite of my littleness, aspire to sanctity.—St Therese of Lisieux

This page is taken from the 2nd chapter of a personal retreat volume "I Believe in Love" by a French priest, Rev. Jean C. J. d'Elbeé, who wrote it based on St. Therese's 'teaching about confident love'. It may not be unfamiliar to most, but encountering it at this point of my life is nothing less than a caress, an oasis in the desert.

A sampler is here:

I am not telling you, "You believe too much in your own wretchedness." We are much more wretched than we ever realize. But I am telling you, "You do not believe enough in merciful love."

We must have confidence, not in spite of our miseries, but because of them, since it is misery which attracts mercy.

Oh, this word, mercy — misericordia — "miseris cor dare," a heart which gives itself to the miserable, a Heart which nourishes itself on miseries by consuming them. Meditate on this word.

St. Thomas says that "to have mercy belongs to the nature of God, and it is in this that His omnipotence manifests itself in the highest degree."

Little Thérèse perceived this when she wrote these lines which complete and crown her manuscript: "Yes, I sense that even if I had on my conscience all the sins which can be committed, I would go, my heart broken, to repent and throw myself into the arms of Jesus, for I know how much He cherishes the prodigal child who returns to Him. It is not because the dear Lord in His provident mercy has preserved my soul from mortal sin that I am lifted up to Him by confidence and love."

Again, shortly before her death, speaking to Mother Agnes, she said, "You may truly say that if I had committed all possible crimes, I would still have the same confidence; I would feel that this multitude of offenses would be like a drop of water thrown into a flaming furnace." All possible crimes, a multitude of offenses, a drop of water in an immense furnace: that is the proportion.

Six years later

I was watching "United 93", the first movie I've seen about September 11th 2001, just a few days before the memorial of six years after this tragedy. The movie is in general well written, and for the first time in my video-watching history, I actually checked out the 'Extras' at the end of the movie. In it (the DVD version), there are many families featured, who have lost someone in that flight, and how they were involved in the making of the movie. That was, I thought, the most touching part and telling, too!

One mother, interviewed in 2005, a year before the movie was released, said something to the effect that she did not know what kind of person her daughter really was until after her death. In a way the tragedy 'opened' her eyes, but she was still grieving for what could have been, what life they could have led together. Many lives were cut short that day, and I too was reminded to count on what really matters in our brief lives. May they rest in peace.