“Father, can I have a confession?”

“Father, puwede ho ba akong mangumpisal sa inyo pagpunta n’yo rito sa Tarragona?” The voice was so soft and pleading. A mixture of timidity and determination to do what she longs to do for a great number of years could be perceived in it. “Oo ba. Sige, pagdating ko d’yan, bago mag-umpisa ang misa”, was my response.

I go to Tarragona twice a month this summer (July and August) to celebrate Tagalog mass with the Filipino community there. Before the mass starts, I always make an announcement encouraging those whose wanted to make a confession to approach me or the community officers. But oftentimes, I get no reply.

This time, the reply comes through the phone. And the lady is calling from Tarragona to Valencia, in a parish where I stay this summer. Indeed, when I arrived in Tarragona two Sundays ago, I had three penitents waiting in line. Praise the Lord!

* * *

What a change of reaction! I remember in my two years as newly-ordained priest in Davao, how I have greatly desired to receive the faculty to hear confession immediately after the ordination. But out of obedience, I had to adhere to the bishop’s custom of delaying the grant of such faculty to newly-ordained. After a few months, I received the faculty to hear confessions only of little children.

Then, as I was assigned in the seminary, I was given permission to exercise such faculty to all the faithful in the archdiocese. I remember how I stayed hours, together with other young priests, hearing the confessions of retreatants from colleges and universities, teachers and students alike, of religious sisters, etc. And with the long lines of penitents, how I had wished it would soon be finished.

Indeed, a priest needs supernatural sense to feel immense joy at the sight of endless queues of penitents. I had prayed hard for this grace because the immediate human reaction is to say “Oh God, how long it would take me to finish this!” And the physical and psychological fatigue was unbearable. But now, what a joy to find even three penitents!

* * *

When I was a seminarian, I observed that in every parish a signboard reads: Confession, every Friday, 5-6 PM, (or other day, depending on the parish) or upon appointment, which means, as the penitents call on a priest for confession. Yet I noticed – now as a priest – that a few penitents follow this last one. Those who really have the custom to confess regularly would prefer to follow the given schedule.

Now, when they would present themselves on the given parish schedule, hardly they could find a priest in the confessional. Where’s the priest? “In his room,” the sacristan may answer. “Just call him if someone wants to confess”, he would add. “Why would I stay in the confessional if no one wants to confess?” would be a seemingly justifiable cry of the parish priest. Besides, he has a lot other parrochial concerns: meetings, reports, invitations, emails, homily preparation, etc.

I think, the priest’s presence inside the confessional is a great encouragement for penitents (especially those who are still in doubts if they’d go or not, or those who are timid to ask the priest who is still in his room) to finally decide to receive the sacrament. I have proven it myself recently.

* * *

This summer, in one parish I am helping, I usually come 30 minutes before the mass. In other days, I would stay and prepare for the mass at the Adoration Chapel. But one day, it occurred to me something different. I put on an alb and a violet stole. Then, I sat in the confessional. There were only five persons in the church.

As soon as I have taken my seat, one old woman approached, kneeled down and started her confession. She was followed by two others. At other times when I was at the chapel, it seldom happened that one would approach and request for confession. How much more if I were confined in the comfort of my room!

* * *

One last consideration: the use of confessional. Aside from the fact that this is the prescription of the Church as the ordinary place to dispense grace – the court room of Christ’s mercy, I think the use of confessional is both prudent and catechetical.

If psychologists and psychiatrists, medical doctors and dentists attend to their patients in designated places – have you seen a doctor operating a cancer patient outside, even if the operating room is just nearby? – and whenever we want to open up some intimate truths to someone, we always go a private place, why can’t we do with more reverence whenever we dispense God’s grace in the Sacrament of Confession?

Besides, it is the penitent’s right to be confessed privately. If he wants anonymity, he should not be denied of it. How many people I know who are inhibited to confess because they are ashamed of their parish priest!

Confession outside the confessional is done only in extra-ordinary circumstances. But I think, in a parish, not having a confessional is not an extra-ordinary circumstance where it is very possible to construct one or two.

On this Year for Priests, we are told how St. John Mary Vianney spent up to 18 hours hearing confession. But we should not forget that before he reached this mark, he also spent hours inside the confessional without hearing the words: “Father, can I have a confession?”

Jesús es nuestra fuerza

(Reflexión sobre las lecturas de hoy, domingo, 09 de agosto de 2009)

Nos cuenta la Primera Lectura que el Profeta Elías estaba cansado y desesperado en el desierto después de tanto caminar, huyendo de la persecución. Pero Dios envió un ángel que lo despertó para darle comida. Y “con la fuerza de aquel alimento caminó cuarenta días y cuarenta noches hasta el Horeb, el monte de Dios” (1 R 19: 8).

¿Cómo no vemos en la imagen del Profeta nuestra situación de peregrino en este mundo? Nosotros, los cristianos, caminamos día y noche hacia la Patría definitiva – el Monte de Dios: el Cielo. Muchas veces nos vienen el desaliento y la desesperación. Tal vez, por alguna persecución del ambiente que poco a poco se vuelve hóstil a los principios cristianos.

Cada vez que proclamemos estos principios, sobre todo, afirmando nuestra convicción acerca de la importancia de la vida, de la libertad religiosa, del verdadero significado del matrimonio o del derecho de los padres en la educación de sus hijos, nos sintimos perseguidos por parte de los que no los comparten con nosotros. Como Elías, no sólo que estamos caminando fatigados, sino también peregrinamos perseguidos hacia la patria celeste.

O tal vez, el desaliento proviene de nuestro propio cansancio espiritual. Es que el pecado poco a poco absorbe la energía del alma hasta dejarla muerta. ¿No es cierto que después de enfadarnos nos sintimos tristes, débil y sin ánimo? Por experiencia sabemos que la amargura, el odio, la envidia y cualquier pecado nos quita la paz del alma. Por eso, dice San Pablo en la Segunda Lectura: “No entristezcáis al Espíritu Santo de Dios, con el que fuisteis sellados para el día de la redención. Toda acritud, ira, cólera, gritos, maledicencia y cualquier clase de maldad, desaparezca de entre vosotros” (Ef 4: 30-31).

Pero el Señor nunca nos deja en estas situaciones: Él nos envía un alivio – una prueba, una vez más, de su infinita misericordia y gran amor para con nosotros. Prueba también que si nos alejamos de Dios, no es porque Dios nos ha dejado sino porque hemos decidido nosotros mismos alejarnos de Dios. Porque el Señor siempre nos anima, nos empuja a seguir caminando como diciéndonos: “Ánimo, hijo mío. Que estoy contigo.”

“Levántate y come, porque el camino es demasiado largo para ti”, (1 R 19: 7) nos dice el Señor también a nosotros. Y nos ofrece su Cuerpo y su Sangre en la Sagrada Eucaristía como alimento en nuestro caminar. La Sagrada Eucaristía nos da fuerza para realizar el viaje de vuelta hacia la casa del Padre. Por eso se llama también “Viático”.

“Yo soy el Pan de la Vida”, dice Jesús en el Evangelio (Jn 6: 48). Jesús es el Pan que nos da fuerza. ¡Jesús es nuestra fuerza! Su Cuerpo y su Sangre que recibimos en la Sagrada Comunión nos da vida. ¿Cómo se realiza este milagro? ¿Cómo nos da vida la Eucaristía?

Los Santos Padres de la Iglesia nos proporcionan la respuesta. San Juan Crisóstomo nos dice: “Nos unimos a Él y nos hacemos con Él un solo cuerpo y una sola carne”. El gran papa San León Magno también lo afirma: “No hace otra cosa la comunión del Cuerpo y la Sangre de Cristo sino convertirnos en aquello mismo que tomamos”. Pero San Agustín es más categórico: “Yo soy el Pan para los fuertes. Ten fe y cómeme. Pero no me cambiarás en ti, sino que tú serás transformado en Mí.”

Este es el efecto propio del Sacramento: transformar al hombre en Cristo de tal modo que pueda decir con San Pablo: “Vivo yo, más no yo, sino que vive Cristo en mi” (Gal 22, 20). Con la Sagrada Eucaristía, nos vamos pareciéndonos cada vez más a Cristo en nuestra manera de pensar, de sentir, de actuar, de hablar, de amar… ¿Cómo piensa Cristo? ¿Cómo habla? ¿Cómo ama Jesús? Así serémos también nosotros.

Pero es una verdad lamentable que hoy, hay personas que se alejan de Cristo: que no quieren parecerse a Él. Es más, rechazan la manera de ser y de actuar del Señor. No aceptan sus enseñanzas. Es más, las atacan. Se sienten fuertes y suficientes en su caminar que ya no necesitan ni a Cristo ni a la Iglesia. Es más, los consideran como istorbo. Viven como si Dios no existiera. ¿Qué sería de nosotros, de nuestra vida, de nuestra familia, de nuestro país, si nos alejamos de Cristo?

Pidamos ahora a la Virgen, cuya Fiesta de su Asunción al cielo en alma y cuerpo celebraremos el sábado que viene (15 de agosto), que nos acerque a su Hijo. A Ella que ya ha llegado antes que nosotros al Monte de Dios, pidamos que nos otorgue la gracia de poder caminar con esperanza hacia la patria celeste. AMEN.

La Transfiguración de los cristianos

¿Qué significa que el Señor se transfiguró? Simplemente que tras su figura se veía otra realidad: su ser Hijo de Dios – su Divinidad. Su cuerpo deja de ocultar el verdadero sujeto. Su Humanidad deja traslucir su Divinidad como una vidriera que transparenta la luz. Nosotros los cristianos, tenemos que dejar ver también lo hay tras nuestra figura: nuestro ser hijos de Dios. Como vidrieras, tenemos que transparentar la vida de Cristo dentro de nosotros. ¡Necesitamos también una verdadera transfiguración!

“Acláranos la parábola”

(Reflexión sobre las lecturas de hoy, Martes, 28 julio 2009)
Ex 33, 7-11; 34, 5b-9. 28; Mt 13, 36-43)

Jesús se fue a la casa y allí sus discípulos se le acercaron para pedirle un favor: “Señor, acláranos la parábola de la cizaña en el campo.”

En primer lugar, podemos ver la cercanía que los discípulos gozan con el Señor. No sabemos de quien fue esa casa, pero la escena de una casa con Jesús y sus discípulos evoca una cierta sensación de intimidad. Encontrarse uno en la casa del Señor – más bien, estar en la casa con el Señor – es tener una relación íntima con Él.

Esta intimidad, en segundo lugar, que los discípulos (el Evangelio no dice “apóstoles”, que es un grupo aun más íntimo) tienen con el Señor se hace más patente en el hecho de que ellos pudieran acercarse a Él, sin titubeos, y pedirle un favor: “Señor, acláranos la parábola”.

A veces, la vida nos resulta llena de enigmas y dudas que nos quitan la paz. A veces no entendemos bien las cosas que nos pasan y la solución de nuestros problemas parecen nula. Necesitamos hablar con alguien para desahogar un poco y el primer interrogante que nos sale es: ¿por qué me pasa esto? ¡Cuánto nos gustaría decirle al Señor: “Señor, por qué permites que me pase esto?”!

Es una manera de pedirle un favor: “Señor, acláranos la parábola”.

Pero, ¿a dónde irémos para pedirle ese favor? A la casa del Señor! En los tiempos de Moisés, esa casa se llama “Tienda del Encuentro” donde él “tenía que visitar al Señor” y sólo él podía hablar con Dios “cara a cara, como habla un hombre con un amigo”. El pueblo se quedaba en la entrada de sus tiendas en el campamento. Los israelitas que veían la columna de nube a la puerta de la “Tienda del Encuentro” se levantaban y se prosternaban mientras Moisés hablaba con Dios.

La “Tienda del Encuentro” es una figura de la realidad de esa otra “tienda” en la que encontramos al Señor y podemos hablar con Él “cara a cara, como habla un hombre con un amigo”. En el Sagrario, todos y cada uno de nosotros – no sólo el sacerdote – ya tenemos acceso al Dios-hecho-hombre para entablar una relación íntima con Él, pedirle cualquier favor y hablar con Él sobre cualquier cosa que nos pasa.

Al entrar en una iglesia, podemos observar muchas personas que se quedan de pie delante de las imágenes de los santos, moviendo los labios, dirigiéndose a las imágenes de piedra o madera. Sabemos que estas imágenes simplemente nos recuerdan a los santos a los cuales mantenemos una piadosa devoción. En el Sagrario, lo que encontramos no es una imágen que nos recuerda al Señor: es Jesús mismo, en su Persona – en su Cuerpo, Sangre, Alma y Divinidad – que se hace presente bajo la apariencia del pan. Los santos no se hacen presentes bajo la apariencia de las imágenes de piedra o madera. ¿Por qué no hablemos con Jesús cuya presencia es real y sacramental en el Sagrario? Sólo Él nos puede ayudar a dar sentido verdadero a la parábola que es nuestra vida.

A priest’s testimony

“Llegas muy temprano”, (You’re too early!”) was the sacristan’s greeting as I closed the door upon entering the Assumption church here in Carcaixent, Valencia. It was 7:20 PM and the weekly mass is at 8:00 PM. I purposedly came earlier for I intended to make the usual 30-minute afternoon meditation there before the mass.

“José, why is there no electric fan in the chapel?”, I casually asked him, as I was heading towards the Blessed Sacrament chapel, with my backpack full of groceries (I bought some provisions earlier). Outside the church, the temperature reached up to 38 degrees Celcius and I was sweating like a pig.

“Es que tampoco no hay nadie que viene a estar allí” (Because nobody comes and stays there) was José’s less apologizing but poignant reply. What follows was his comment that left me pensive since then until the writing of this reflection:

“Casi no hay nadie ya que entienda lo que hay allí. Piensan que es un cajón, un ‘armario’ donde se guardan las ‘hostiacillas’ para la comunión. La gente reza delante de las imágenes y no delante del Sagrario porque ya no entiende qué es aquello” (Almost nobody understands what is inside there. They think that it is just a box, a kind of “container” of the hosts for communion. People pray before images (of a saint or Jesus) but not before the Tabernacle because they don’t understand anymore what is it).

* * *

It is very sad to think that people do not understand nor believe anymore that inside that “box” we call Tabernacle is Jesus Himself, in His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. It is Jesus Christ in Person, under the especie of bread. Jesus Christ – the same Lord and God that the angels, saints and all heavenly powers adore – is sacramentally present in the Tabernacle. He, Whom no angel would dare to look at directly without absolute reverence, is there inside the Tabernacle, ignored by people.

When we say sacramental presence, it simply means Jesus is really present, but under the mode of presence (appearance) of the bread. The “bread” is not anymore bread in its essence but only in its appearance. Its essence (its “whatness”) is the Body of Christ. But neither it is a symbol of Christ’s presence, like some Protestants claim: it is Christ Himself present, alive. He looks at us; He listens to us.

We may not perceive Him with our physical eyes (like we see the person next to us), but His presence there in the Blessed Sacrament does not depend upon our perceiving Him. “Blessed is he who believes even without seeing.” Our incapacity to perceive His presence physically does not negate such presence. Only he who has the “eyes of faith” can perceive Christ’s Real Presence in the Tabernacle. “For what is essential is invisible to the eye” (The Little Prince).

* * *

We, priests, should be the first to give testimony to this truth – not so much in words as in deeds. To give witness to Christ’s Real and Sacramental Presence in the Tabernacle, no argument is more convincing than the living testimony of the parish priest who visits frequently the Blessed Sacrament Adoration Chapel. Once again, St. John Mary Vianney is exemplar in this respect.

I can’t understand why a parish priest would construct an Adoration Chapel, adorn it marvelously and yet, is seldom seen praying inside it. Frequent visits to the Blessed Sacrament during the day is not only a pious practice strongly recommended by the Church, but something that the priest should feel the need to do if he aspires for an efficient and meaningful priestly ministry.

I think, every pastoral activity – seminars, constructions, visitations, social care, etc. – should take its go-signal after various consultations with the Lord in the Adoration Chapel. After all, every parish project or activity does not – if we come to think of it – belong to the parish priest. It is the Lord’s initiative, don’t you think?

* * *

Of course, I am not insinuating that, perhaps, we are not praying for the success of our parish activities. What I am trying to say is that the order we are following is a mistake. Most of the time, we proceed with the activity; then, we pray for it. We should reverse the order: we consult first the Lord in prayer; we even offer sacrifices to ask for the His enlightenment; then, we proceed with the activity or project. (Prayer, sacrifices, action).

I’m sure, for whatever parish project or activity, the Parish Council is consulted. Why not consult the Lord also in the Adoration Chapel a talk to Him personally? An activity or a certain parish project alone already entails frequent visits to the Adoration Chapel. If we want parishioners to believe in Christ’s Real Presence, we, priests, should be the first to give testimony to this truth and show our conviction through our action.

* * *

José’s last comment struck me like a lightning: “Es que tampoco los sacerdotes aquí vienen para estar allí. Nadie da testimonio. Por eso, la gente no sabe con quien pueden identificarse” (Because our priests here neither come to stay there. No one gives testimony; so people can’t find an example to emulate).

Sembraré mientras es tiempo

“Disculpa, lo que dijiste ayer en la homilía que ‘el que camina en la mano de Dios, cuando se cae, se cae en la mano de Dios’, fue muy bonito” (Excuse me, what you said in the homily yesterday that “He who walks in the hands of God, if he stumbles, he stumbles in the hands of God” was very touching).

The one speaking was an old woman who sat beside me at the Blessed Sacrament chapel, while I was doing my 30-minute afternoon meditation, just before saying the Mass. Oblivious of the possible disturbance she might have caused in other persons present, the woman proceeded with a comment that encouraged me more to do what is not customarily done in weekday Masses here: give a short homily.

She said: “Ya soy vieja, pero así aprendo poco a poco cada día más” (I am already old, but, in this way, I learn a little more each day). I said to myself, if we, priests, would cease to give even a very short but substantial exposition of the Gospel reading, then, old women like her, would be deprived of learning ‘a little more each day’.

* * *

However, a short but substantial homily is easier said than done. Especially if the presider is not well-prepared, though he has fervent desire to shed light upon the readings of the day, he could just be ‘roaming around the bush’. As a result, instead of learning ‘a little more each day’, old women would grew more confused.

I remember the recommendation my professor in Pastoral Theology gave us regarding homily preparation. He said, if we are to deliver a 30-minute homily, we should prepare it for three days; a 15-minute homily, one week; a 5-minute homily, two weeks.

Exaggerating a little, his point was clear: the shorter (and, of course, substantial) is the homily, the more time is necessary for its preparation. The reason is quite easy to comprehend: to impart substantial truths needs painstaking preparation. Metaphorically, it’s like the case of a young suitor (who is truly in love), who takes a great deal of time searching for the exact words to express his affection, and even rehearsing it many times in front of the mirror.

* * *

But the real time for preparation is not the days or weeks allotted when the priest’s turn to preach comes. The preparation starts in the seminary when the candidate to the priesthood begins to immerse himself in the meditation of and living the Word of God. We cannot give what we don’t have. What we preach in the homily is (should be) truths that – at least – we, priests, are struggling to live by.

That is why more often I preach to myself. Or at least, I am reminding myself of some truths that, if silenced, would be neglected. As I listen to myself preaching, (I hope priests reading this understand what I mean), the Gospel presents itself to me in a new light. Better said, I begin to see anew my life and my priesthood – a new vision or perspective – in the light of the Gospel.

In this sense, the practice of giving short but substantial homily during weekday Masses is beneficial not only to daily Mass-goers (here, a dozen of sexagenarian and some octagenarian women), but also to us, young preachers. I, for my part, am also learning ‘a little more each day’.

* * *

Taking advantage of the fact that during funeral masses, the church is almost full, I begin to prepare a 3-minute homily, planning carefully what to say, considering the occasion, but always trying to slot in – like the prophets of old – the call to conversion, expressed in modern language. Most of the time, I have the sensation that my words simply fell on deaf ears and I am like a ‘voice in the wilderness’. But the Lord knows how to cheer me up discreetly. Sometimes, He would use an unsolicited comment of an old woman as an instrument.

Nevertheless, with or without results (usually we don’t see the results of our efforts so as to keep us from getting proud), I resolved to keep on sowing few seeds as I walk along this field or that vineyard. One day, I got inspired by a line of a Spanish hymn that we usually pray in the Liturgy of the Hours, which goes: “Sembraré, mientras es tiempo, aunque me cueste fatigas” (I shall sow, while it is still time, although it would cost me weariness).

Proclaim the Gospel of Life

Jesús and Amparo, a Spanish couple from Alicante, were like our parents during our seminary days in BIDASOA. When we were still deacons in 2005, Fr. Eugene Hechanova and I stayed in their house for three days, before going back to the Philippines. It was a gesture of deep gratitude towards this generous couple for the support – not only economic but especially spiritual – that they have extended – not only to us both, but to the entire BIDASOA International Seminary – even until the present.

Just recently, they attended the ordination of 14 new deacons (only one from the Philippines) of BIDASOA last April 25. During their stay in Pamplona, Fr. Eugene and I had the opportunity to accompany them and relive the old times together. Both are pharmacists, who used to own and manage a pharmacy in Alicante.

We’ve learned that a few years ago, they have decided to close the pharmacy. The motive? Every year, they receive complaints from clients and suffer a lot from court battles. The reason? Quite easy to understand: the clients complain simply because the pharmacy does not sell contraceptives (like condoms, “morning-after” pills, etc.). And the law requires that pharmacies should include these products in their list.

As good Catholics, trying to live coherently their faith, Jesús and Amparo decided to follow their conscience, a clear echo of what St. Peter said to the Sanhedrin: “It is better for us to follow God than to obey men.” And in doing so, they simply fulfill Jesus’ exhortation in this Sunday’s Gospel: “Go to the whole world and proclaim the Gospel.” In other words, they become living witnesses of the Gospel of life.

* * *

How many Jesuses and Amparos could we find in our neighborhood right now? In our parish, in our archdiocese, in our beloved City of Davao, can we still find Christians and Catholics who would prefer to have their pharmacies closed rather than help propagate an anti-life mentality by selling anti-life products? (Effectively, “contraception” is a contraction of two words: “contra” – against – and “conception” – engender life; hence, against life).

Speaking of anti-life mentality, one day, a Spanish friend of mine, nicknamed “K-sus” (real name is Jesús), asked me candidly why the natural method of family planning that involves doing the marital act during infertile periods if the couple does not want to have a baby, could not be considered an anti-life mentality. Simple, I said.

It cannot involve an anti-life mentality, although the couple does not want a baby, because, in the first place, it’s the natural law itself (as expressed in the fertility cycle of the woman) that does not grant the possibility of engendering life. Since God’s will is made manifest in the natural law, we can say that during infertile periods, it is God’s will that no life yet could bloom. And the couple’s desire not to have a baby is only secondary to God’s will. They simply cooperate in God’s design, so to speak.

* * *

In the use of contraceptives, this cooperation in the will of God cannot be found. Why? Because there’s no decisive consideration of the natural law (the woman’s fertility cycle). What is decisive, instead, is not reason but the sexual appetite that tends to dominate the couple, robbing them of the opportunity to exercise their will through self-control. In the use of natural method, a person exercises his reason and will. In doing so, he becomes truly human and rises above and has dominion over his animal instincts. In the use of artificial method, a person is dominated by his lower appetites; thus, is more likened to animals than to humans. What makes man truly human is the exercise of his higher faculties (reason and will).

It does not mean suppression of the lower faculties (like sexual appetites) but dominion over them, thereby integrating them into the person’s own good. The irrational exercise of man’s sexual appetites, for instance, contributes to his dehumanisation. When I say “irrational exercise”, I mean, the use of sexual faculties for mere pleasure, without considering its two inseparable objectives – expression of love (unitive) and procreation (procreative), and its fundamental context: marriage. All sexual acts done outside these parameters are simply “irrational exercise” of one’s sexual faculties, hence, degrading to the person.

* * *

My friend, K-sus, once again insisted with his question: “Are we not separating the unitive and procreative dimensions, in the case of a couple who does not want a baby yet, and performs the marital act during infertile periods?” Of course not, for a very simple reason: they don’t have an anti-life mentality.

As we can see, what the Catholic Church teaches is not simply a set of prohibitions – a list of DO’s and DON’T’s – but a pro-life mentality. I cannot understand why some people – especially those who promote contraception to curb the population, those who support the RH bill and even those who want to establish RH clinics in Davao – would prefer an anti-life to pro-life mentality. I cannot understand WHY THESE PEOPLE PREFER DEATH TO LIFE.

“Choose life and not death”, Moses said to the Israelites before they set out to the promise land. The Church is now exhorting us in the same manner: She is proclaiming the Gospel of salvation, promoting a “culture of life”, and condemning an “anti-life mentality”. She does this to fulfill the command of Jesus: “Go to the whole world and proclaim the Gospel.” Catholics and non-Catholics alike – if we prefer life to death – why not join Her voice?

Alone but not lonely

“Get used to it for it is just a foretaste”, was my priest-friend’s short but substantial advice as I shared to him my situation during the coming two-month vacation here in Carcaixent, Valencia, Spain. For the months of July and August, I am staying in San Antonio de Padua Parish, one of the three parishes that constitute the town of Carcaixent. Together with another two valenciano priests, my pastoral assignment consists simply in celebrating the Holy Eucharist in three churches and the Confession.

With the word “foretaste”, my friend, Fr. Carlos, a Peruvian priest (who is going back to Perú this month as he has finished his licentiate in Philosophy already), was referring to the fact that I am residing alone in the parish. I have to do my own laundry, cook my own food, do a few household chores and follow my own schedule.

As a visiting priest, I am not given pastoral responsibility like Catechism, etc. Besides, activities in the parish here are reduced during summer due to various reasons: less people come to the Church (as many are on vacations in other places), the scourging summer heat (one day it reaches up to 40 degrees celcius), etc.

* * *

“Most of the time you will be alone. This is our life,” Fr. Carlos added. And I agree. A priest’s life, although it is a public life (which means, it is a life directed towards others, a life for the service of the community), is basically a life of solitude. And by solitude, I am referring to the practical existence of living alone. The deeper this truth is understood, the better it is embraced and lived.

In the first place, solitude is not synonymous to loneliness. Hence, the famous saying “Alone but not lonely”. Why? Because solitude here is simply physical and apparent. Being alone here simply refers to the fact that physically, I have no other human being to interact with.

But I can always evoke the presence of God in my aloneness. I can always talk to Him and, although I can hardly feel physically His presence, by faith, I am sure He is with me (as He promised He would). Therefore, never I am all alone. My solitude is simply apparent.

* * *

Besides, loneliness is a matter of choice, in the same way that one is happy is he chooses to. Loneliness does not spring necessarily from being alone. There are people who enjoy being alone that with others. Moreover, there are lonely people who are surrounded by lots of company.

I’d say loneliness is a temptation, and as such, it is an opportunity. When one experiences a heavy heart upon realizing that he or she is alone, or upon reminiscing some joyful experiences in the past, he or she is given two options: (a) let oneself be weighed down by such sadness, or (b) employ such affection as a means to do something good.

In my experience, I have learned to employ the feeling of loneliness and melancholy (that sometimes haunt us without desiring it) as an “alarm clock”. For instance, the melancholic feeling of missing my friends could be a reminder for me to pray for these persons. One “Our Father” for that friend, or a “Hail Mary” for this fellow, not only would help me ease the loneliness, but also gave me the joy of having prayed for them.

I call it human industry, not just a defense mechanism. The feeling of loneliness and melancholy is simply temporary and does not actually linger for a long time. Hence, we can make good use of them as our “alarm clock”. Whenever they occur to us, we are given the opportunity – we are reminded – to evoke the presence of God, to pray for the people for whom we want to pray, and to realize that, in fact, we may alone but never lonely.

Love for priests

“¿Nunca te pasó esto en Filipinas?” (Never did it happen to you in the Philippines?) There was a tone of surprise in my Peruvian priest-friend’s voice. “No, nunca. Gracias a Dios,” I said. (No, never, thanks be to God.)

He was referring to what happened just a few minutes before he made such query. The two of us were walking towards the Polideportivo (gym) of the University of Navarre, to greet some friends who attended the Eucharistic celebration on the Solemnity of Saint Josemaria Escriva, the founder of the said university, last June 26.

As we approached the underpass, we heard a loud scream coming from the approaching car opposite to our direction. Four young men howling at us with foul words like “Hola, curicas, hijos de p…” (Hey, priests, sons of a b…!).

At first, we did not pay them attention. But not yet contented with the first, they made a U-turn and came near to us uttering more four-letter words. We could only sigh in pain at the thought that here in Spain, some young people have reached the point of even insulting priests that they see on the streets. On what grounds? We never know!

* * *

But what we know is that something seriously wrong is going on in this country. And as I was sharing to this companion of mine, in the Philippines, I’ve never heard (yet) of similar case. (Although, of course, I’ve heard of a politician insulting a priest on TV. But of a priest being insulted without apparent motive on the streets is, to me, something new and very unfortunate.)

Yet to us priests, insults and experiences like this should never catch us in surprise. Why not? If Jesus Himself was not even spared, why would we, His priests suppose that we’d be exempted from such affront?

I remember one priest-professor of mine in the university who was about to deliver a speech during an academic gathering. After an impressive introduction, he immediately commented: “I don’t know what I have done to deserve this ‘mistreatment’ (he was referring to the excellent compliment) because if our Lord and Master had been criticized and condemned, why would I – His unworthy disciple – deserve such a brilliant presentation?”

* * *

Little by little, modern society loses the admiration of the grandeur of Christ’s priesthood. It is a logical consequence, parallel to the “loss of the sense of sin” that years ago, Pope Pius XII denounced as “the greatest sin of this generation”. Once the society loses the sense of sin, it loses the sense of God. It does not need Christ and His salvation anymore. It does not need priests. That explains the devilish delight of those who like to insult priests, whether on the streets, on TV or any other arena.

I think, the loss of the sense of sin is a consequence of the loss of the sense of love – true love. Sin is nothing else but failure to love. Not just any kind of love, but the love that we – creatures – should have towards God – our Creator.

When God created us, He has willed that we live in eternal communion with Him. But such communion requires that we “know and love” Him freely. To know and love God means to do what pleases Him and to avoid what keeps us apart from His will. If we really love someone, we are more than willing to do whatever pleases that person and avoid whatever causes him or her pain, or whatever separates us from him or her. It is the same thing with God.

* * *

Pope Benedict XVI, in his Letter to the Priests, emphasized that "the priesthood is the love of the Heart of Jesus". Pointing out the relationship between priesthood and love, the Pope – I believe – suggests that at the core of our priestly ministry we find love as the motor and the guiding principle of every activity.

In his Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation, Pastores dabo vobis, the Church’s document on the formation of priests, Pope John Paul II says: “By virtue of this consecration brought about by the outpouring of the Spirit in the sacrament of holy orders, the spiritual life of the priest is marked, molded and characterized by the way of thinking and acting proper to Jesus Christ, head and shepherd of the Church, and which are summed up in his pastoral charity” (PDV, 21).

I think, this Year for Priests is an opportunity for all of us to renew our “love for priesthood” – that is nothing else but our love for the Heart of Jesus. It is an opportunity for us, priests, to rekindle once more our pastoral charity, and for all members of the Church to revive once again that love for the grandeur of priesthood – that love for priests – that our society today is found wanting.

The Priest

They say that the first five years in the priesthood is crucial because it is a period of adjustment and of “going into the bottom”, that is, discovering the deepest meaning of priestly life and ministry. Others also say that it is like a “honeymoon” stage, in which a newly-ordained, full of idealism and enthusiasm, relishes the joy of serving the Lord.

Just a week ago, I was looking at my priestly ordination photos in the computer and sharing some with my priest-friend from Perú. Two things caught his attention: the beautiful garden-altar of the St. Francis of Assisi Parish Church and a pool of water on both sides as I lay prostrate in front of the altar during the Litany of the Saints.

Viewing these photos brings into my introspection, not only the joyful memories of that blessed day of December 2005, but the various experiences that transpired during these first three and a half years of my priestly life – very poetically described in the song, The Priest by an unknown author.

* * *

“To live in the midst of the world without desiring its pleasures…”

The first part is easier: to live in the midst of the world. But joined with the second, it becomes radical and demanding; difficult but not impossible, because the strength comes from above. To be in the world without being of the world is a great challenge for a newly-ordained. But Jesus’ prayer is consoling: “Father, I pray not that You take them out of the world, but that You preserve them from evil.”

“To be a member of each family, but belonging to none…”

When a man takes a bride, it is said that his parents never lose a son: they win a daughter. When a son is ordained priest, his parents never lose him either: they discover their long-lost relatives! Literally, it happens. But in a deeper, more spiritual sense, a priest becomes a member of each family because the family is a “domestic church”. But “belonging to none” simply means that in the heart of a priest, everybody has a place. No one owns it exclusively except He to Whom it is offered wholly. But to a newly-ordained, it is a gift and a tough conquest.

“To share all sufferings, to penetrate all secrets, to heal all wounds…”

It is not for mere empathy. Neither it is for sheer solidarity that a priest is called to share all sufferings. But to experience it himself – in flesh and blood – the crown of thorns, the nails, the cross. Little by little, because God is not a sadist. But He does not exempt either, for He did not even spare His own Son. Only when a priest becomes one with his Master in suffering can he truly penetrate all secrets – even the mystery of suffering itself, caused by wounds of sin – and then, he can truly bring about healing. In the Sacrament of Confession, God revealed the mystery of His mercy and the greatness of His love: the instrument that He employs to heal is itself in need of the same. What a consolation for a newly-ordained!

“To go from men to God and offer Him their prayers…”

What a great joy for a newly-ordained to be able to celebrate his First Mass! But what a great responsibility also because he is bringing all the petitions of the people. In the name of the Church of God, he stands before the throne of the Great Majesty. But he could not have stood it, had he not received first the dignity of being alter Christus, ipse Christus (other Christ, Christ Himself). In reality, it is Christ Himself offering these prayers to the Father through the instrumentality of the priest.

And for the first time, a newly-ordained does it: what an honor! That’s why, he prepares well for it: he thinks about it the night before, he imagines it with excitement and nervousness, with great sense of unworthiness. He prays a lot, even goes to confession before saying his First Mass.

The time comes and he follows the rites with great care, not even adding a word or two because he respects the rubrics – because the Mass is not his: it is the Church’s, that’s why he should not add or omit anything at his own caprices. He follows every rubric: with great sense of reverence he executes every movement and gesture. Every genuflection is genuinely done with adoration.

But little by little, this fervour – if not well taken care of, if not fomented with daily prayer and devotion to the Holy Eucharist – will soon die down. And the daily masses of this newly-ordained will simply become a fulfillment of canonical obligation. With lots of reason, Blessed Mother Teresa exhorted all priests to celebrate the Mass “as if it were your First Mass, your Last Mass, your Only Mass”.

“To return from God to men, to bring pardon, peace and hope…”

How can a priest return from God to men if, in the first place, he has not been to God or with God in his daily meditation and prayer? How can he talk about God to people if he himself has not talk with God first? He is to bring pardon, peace and hope but “he cannot give what he doesn’t possess”. To bring pardon, a priest has to experience repentance and conversion first (regular confession) and to give peace and hope, he has to receive the same first (in his regular spiritual direction). A newly-ordained might think that in returning from God to men, he brings God to them: God is already present in them. But by showing that he is in communion with God, he lets them discover God’s presence in them.

"To have a heart of fire for charity, and a heart of bronze for chastity..."

These are not two different hearts but one human heart: the same heart with which we love our parents, our friends -- all our loved ones. It is same heart with which we love God. Charity and chastity are two sides of a coin. One does not exist without the other. Pastoral charity, for a newly-ordained, is understood as an effort and a fervent petition to God "to make all our human affections pass through the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary". It is because the heart, if not guarded with seven locks, would tend to attach itself to human affections -- attachments in things and in persons. And if a newly-ordained is not careful, these attachments would tend to detach himself from God.

"To teach and to pardon..."

Apparently, these are two different aspects of a priest`s life: the prophetic and the sacramental dimensions of priestly ministry. Indeed, a priest is a teacher. But more than just "mere teaching" Catholic doctrines and dogmas, a priest gives testimony. Pope Paul VI rightly noted, "modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses".

In the Sacrament of Penance, the priest pardons. But in reality, it is Jesus Himself - through the instrumentality of His minister -- who gives pardon. The priest`s instrumentality becomes more profound if he himself experiences from the bottom of his heart the same pardon that God has bestowed on him for his own sins. A priest who experiences in his flesh and bone God´s pardon can readily and more meaningfully bring the same pardon to other souls. The priest should teach how to pardon. And he teaches it by giving witness through his own experience.

"To console and to bless always..."

A blessing is always a consolation. Oftentimes, out of humility (perhaps), a newly-ordained would refuse to extend his hand when an elderly woman would try to take it to ask for a blessing (pagmamano). The priest thinks he is too young or too unworthy to do so. But he should think that when people ask for a priest´s blessing, they are actually asking Christ´s blessing, not the priest´s.

And Christ´s blessing brings consolation. The channel for such blessing, for such consolation, is the priest. But oftentimes, it is the priest himself that longs for such consolation. He can only be a channel if he himself enjoys such divine consolation. But such consolation can only be experienced through an intimate relationship with Jesus. Yet, as St. Teresa of Jesus once said: "search not for the consolation of the Lord, but the Lord of the consolation."

"My God what a life, and it is yours..."

A priest does not belong to himself anymore, but to Christ and to His Church. Hence, his personal plans and projects in life are geared not towards himself, but towards Christ. His plans are the plans of Christ. His projects are the projects of the Church of Christ. His life is not anymore his, but God´s.

Priesthood is never one´s personal life project: it is Christ´s plan that is unfolding in every moment of a priest´s life. Everyday in a life of priest is an unfolding of such divine plan.And the most that a priest can do is to say YES to every moment. Everyday is an opportunity to say YES to God. It is an everyday YES: Serviam! (I will serve).

"Oh, priest of Jesus Christ! Oh, priest of Jesus Christ!"

The greatness of priesthood! St. John Mary Vianney could only describe it in these words: "O, how great is the priest! ... If he realised what he is, he would die. ... God obeys him: he utters a few words and the Lord descends from heaven at his voice, to be contained within a small host". Pray for the sanctity of all priests!