"Forgiveness, Faith, and Hope" - A Reflection on the Resurrection

G.K. Chesterton once said,

“Forgiving means to pardon the unpardonable,

Faith means believing in the unbelievable,

And hoping means to hope when things are hopeless.”

If that is the case, then, Easter is nothing else but a celebration of forgiveness, of faith, and of hope.

Through his death and resurrection, Christ achieved redemption for humanity.

In his suffering, he took upon himself the burden of sins. He who was innocent took place of sinners to endure the consequences of the world’s sins. The unblemished Lamb was slaughtered to become the one and everlasting sacrifice for the remission of offenses against God. Through his complete obedience, Christ redeemed what was lost through Adam’s disobedience. Through his resurrection, he conquered the ultimate enemy – Death. From being the gravest consequence of Original Sin, death becomes the pathway to eternal happiness. Hence, Easter, first and foremost, is the celebration of forgiveness – the reconciliation of heaven and earth.

It is also an event of faith for it throws all human reason into confusion. Without the eye of faith, the event of the Resurrection would make no sense. It would be complete illogical for a man to die and then come back to life three days later. It would not only be illogical, but indeed impossible. But did the Angel Gabriel not say, “Nothing is impossible for God” (Luke 1:37)? We believe in the Resurrection because, in faith, we believe in the impossible, because we believe in God with whom everything is possible.

Finally, the Resurrection is the event of Hope – the hope beyond all hopes.

One of the most beautiful symbolism of the Easter season is the Paschal candle. During the celebration of the Vigil, when the church is filled with complete darkness, the only source of light is that of the Paschal candle. It symbolizes Christ who is the light of the world. He who is light is our hope in the midst of the darkness of our lives.

This darkness takes on many forms. It can be the darkness of addiction, of sins, of anger, of resentment, of sadness, of despairs. Whatever it is, it naturally generates fear and a sense of imprisonment.

Christ’s resurrection is the seed of hope. That is as he has conquered the darkness of death and the imprisonment of the tomb, he will liberate us from our own darkness. We need not to be afraid for he has conquered the world (cf. John 16:33).

Jesus Christ, the risen Lord, is our hope. He will dispel the darkness which imprisons us just as the Scriptures have said,

The people walking in darkness
   have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
   a light has dawned (Isaiah 9:2)

Christ is our forgiveness. He is the reason for our faith. He is the source of our hope!

Alleluia!

The Lesson from Holy Week

This Holy Week was one of the busiest ones that I have experienced so far. There was at least one activity that I was expected to be at every day, and these activities seemed to drain me, an introvert, off a great deal of energy. In addition to that, the heat was rather unbearable. As a result, I found myself exhausted so easily. Whenever I tried to sit down quietly to rest, pray, and reflect, there would be someone who came up and asked for something. Being a bit disconcerted, I thought to myself I should just join a religious community; there, I would have more time to pray and reflect.

Last night, I was on my way back from serving the Easter Vigil, dead tired, when some thoughts crossed my mind which seemed to infuse me with new strength. I suddenly recalled a young altar server who came up to me after the Good Friday Passion liturgy. He and I had a conversation about a year ago in which he told me he wanted to be a missionary when he grew up. His eyes showed a amazing determination that I was sure he would definitely be one. I told him to pray to the Blessed Mother every night with a Hail Mary so that she would help him fulfilling his dream. I also told him to say one Hail Mary for me every night. I since had forgotten about our conversation, until Friday when he rushed into the Sacristy to see me. His mother followed with a proud smile; she told me that he still prayed for me every single night. I was touched beyond telling.

I also recalled the meeting with a young friend who has been considering the possibility of joining the seminary. We had lunch. The conversation was great. I have great hope for him as he seems to be a gentle, kind, and lovable young man.

Then my mind suddenly cast back to the summer before I joined the seminary. I remembered the little boy with some serious heart conditions whom I met one day at my home parish where I was working. He was with his grandmother. I sat down and had a talk with her to find down that he came from a very troublesome family and his poor health had been preventing him from many activities, even from eating hard food. At the end of the conversation, I took off the miraculous medal I was wearing and gave it to the boy. He then handed a little pin which said WWJD, which stood for What Would Jesus Do. Then, all of the sudden, the boy dipped his finger into the baptismal fond and traced a sign of the cross on my forehead. It was his sending-off blessing for me. I still have the pin he gave me attached to the tie which I wear every Sunday for Mass at the seminary. It is a reminder for me to pray for the boy. It is also a reminder for me of what my vocation should be all about.

I then realized why the Lord wanted me to remember all these things that happened. Indeed, in the midst of the weariness and exhaustion of many works that I had to do; Christ wanted me to remember the reason why I chose to do the works and why I chose to live this life in the first place. It was, it is, and it will always be for the people of God.

Reflecting on this, I found myself serenely smiling and quietly telling the Lord: “Thank you for allowing me to live such a beautiful life.” And that night, I wrote in my journal, “Lord, as sinful and weak as I am, I love this life. I beg you to grant me the grace necessary to live it and remain faithful to it.”

I also came to understand more deeply what St. John Bosco meant when he said, “For you I study, for you I work, for you I live, and for you I am willing to give my life.” I want these words to be the motto of my life as well. It’s worth it all.

"God's Choice" - Reflection on Good Friday

Once there was a switchman who sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. The switchman had an 8 year-old son who, everyday, after school, would come to help his father. They sat together in the shack.  The man would explain the whole mechanism of the bridge controls, and the boy enjoyed learning all about it.

 One evening as the switchman and his son were waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off into the distance through the dimming twilight and caught sight of train lights. He stepped to the control and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance when he was to turn the bridge. He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, he found the locking control did not work. If the bridge was not securely in position it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto it, causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with many people aboard.

The little boy volunteered to go over to the bridge to see what the problem was while his father stayed at the shack trying to regain control of the switch. This was a dangerous task, and the father kept insisting that the son should not go. But the brave boy went anyway.

Upon coming up to the bridge, the boy found out that one of the screws was loosed. He bent over to tighten it as his father had taught him.

The closer the train approached, the more nervous the father became, but he had to keep holding on the lock lever, or else the bridge would part and the entire train would fall into the water. He shouted for his son to come back, but the boy was still busy tightening the screw. The train was too close now; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left his shack to run and snatch up his son and carry him to safety.

But he realized that he could not leave his position. Either the people on the train or his little son must die. He took a moment to make his decision. The train sped safely and swiftly on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the onrushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train had passed.

They did not see him walking home more slowly than he had ever walked: to tell his wife how their son had brutally died.

That was a long story – a long sad story. But I chose it for this reflection on Good Friday anyway, because, in many ways, it is similar to what happened on the hill of Golgotha two thousand years ago.

On that day, the Son died and the Father wept.

Much had been spoken of the redemptive value of Christ’s suffering and death; little had been said of how God the Father must have felt seeing his only beloved son endure such a brutal death.

But like the man in the story, God the Father had to make a choice: either the people or his little son must die. And The Father made a choice, so did the Son - All for the sake of love.

He was despised and rejected by mankind,
   a man of sorrows, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
   he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

 Surely he took up our pain
   and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
   stricken by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
   he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
   and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53: 3-5)

The author of our story did have a few final words which I find to be a good point to ponder and which serve as a conclusion of this brief reflection:

Now if you comprehend the emotions which went on in this man's heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of our Father in Heaven when He sacrificed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life. Can there be any wonder that He caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? How does He feel when we speed along through life without giving a thought to what was done for us through Jesus Christ?

"Serve rather than be served" - Reflection on Holy Thursday

We are well acquainted with today’s Gospel reading – the washing of the feet. We are also relatively familiar with what we celebrate on Holy Thursday at the Last Supper of our Lord. Yes, aside from commemorating the Institution of the Eucharist, we also remember the Institution of the Priesthood. And, it is precisely for this purpose that the Church chooses this Gospel passage from St. John’s. For in this passage, Christ displayed a beautiful lesson for true service of others. He demonstrated in action what he had previously taught in words, “I have come to serve, not to be served” (Matthew 20:28).

In the course of the Passover meal, Jesus rose from his seat, poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet. What a shocking action! It is incomprehensible to the mind of his followers. It was evident from what Peter said, “You will never wash my feet.” Peter had all the reason to speak out incredulously; in the time of Jesus, only slaves would wash their masters’ feet because the action was in many ways very degrading and humiliating. 

Yet, here we find our Lord Jesus, the Son of God, bending down to wash these common men’s feet which certainly were not well-kept and nicely pedicured, and, as I imagine, didn’t smell too “pleasing.”

What a scandal! What a beautiful and touching scandal!

The Son of God Most High humbled himself even below the rank of his creature’s status so as to serve them. He did so because he wanted to teach his disciples a lesson. He himself said after having washed their feet:

“You call me ‘teacher’ and ‘master,’ and rightly so, for indeed I am.
If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet,
you ought to wash one another’s feet.
I have given you a model to follow,
so that as I have done for you, you should also do” (John 13:13-15)

This is the lesson we all need to learn. But in a very particular way, it is the lesson that the Church wishes her pastors to be reminded of.

It is undeniable that the life of a priest is marked with many sacrifices, and the people of God are aware of that. So, in many ways, they try to, for the lack of a better word, “comfort” their priest – that is to say, they take very good care of him.

This in itself is a wonderful thing for it speaks of the love of God’s people for the priesthood of Jesus. But it also presents a disadvantage. Because such goodness is shown to him, the priest can run the risk of thinking too importantly of himself. He can run the risk of turning into a master, rather than remaining as a servant. I have come across, more than one instance of such “masters” who enjoy such shocking luxuries and comforts when many of his flock have so little to live by. It is a sad reality. They seem to have forgotten the lesson of the washing of the feet. Or maybe, Christ’s teaching has become so unfashionable that it is too inconvenient to carry out.

I must not be too quick to judge and condemn for I, though, still am a seminarian, am still subject to the temptation of thinking too highly of myself. Even as a seminarian, I need to remind myself many times, if not every day, of the lesson of the washing of the feet.

The call to service in the priesthood of Jesus Christ is radical. It is radical because Jesus himself is radical. He desires nothing less from his followers. He himself had washed his disciples’ feet. He wants us to do the same. We are never too important to serve someone.

I recall the example of a wonderful priest. He was a well-known Franciscan Father who ran the largest Catholic religious house in the world. He supervised 650 friars. He was in charge of a publishing house which published magazines and religious articles for more than one million Poles. His name was Maximilian Kolbe. Renown as he was, Fr. Maximilian Kolbe chose to die in place of a nameless prisoner at Auschwitz. Fr. Kolbe had chosen the Savior’s path. He had not thought highly of himself. He was called to serve, and so he chose to give it all, even his very life to the lowliest of his brothers. That is the story of St. Maximilian Kolbe.

We must not romanticize today’s Gospel. It is beautiful, that is not questionable. But, like all teachings of Jesus Christ, it is also radical and challenging.

“If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet,
you ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:13).

The demand is clear, what then will be our response?

"Which procession?" Reflection on Palm Sunday

Once upon a time there was a wise old man who lived in a cave at the top of one mountain. He was so wise that he was able to give the people who live at the nearby valley all kinds of helpful information
Unfortunately, there were some boys in the village who found the wise old man to be overbearing. He was always telling them what to do and people wouldn’t listen to anyone else. So the boys decided to trick him and prove that he could make a mistake and that he really didn’t know anything. One day, one of the boys ran up to the others and said, “I’ve got it. I know how we will prove that the old man doesn’t know everything. Here, in my hands, I have a baby bird. We are going to call him out. Then I am going to ask him two questions: ‘What do I have in my hands?’ and ‘Is it alive or is it dead?’ The old man will know that I have a bird in my hands. He’ll say ‘You have a baby bird’. But right when he answers the second question - if he says it’s alive, I push my hands together and the bird will be dead- if he says it’s dead, I’ll open my hands and the bird will be alive.
The boys thought about it and they all agreed. So they ran up the mountain to the old man’s cave and they called, “Old man, old man, come out.” The wise old man came out into the sun and said, “Yes, my sons. What can I do for you?” And the boy with the bird in his hands holds them out and says, “Old man, we have two questions for you. What do I have in my hands? And is it alive or is it dead? The old man looks at the boy and then at the boy’s hands and says, “Why, you have a baby bird in your hands.” The boy says, “Yes. Is it alive or is it dead?” The old man looks at the boy’s hands and then at the boy and says, “My son, the answer is in your hands.”

I find this story to be a good illustration for the reflection I am preparing for this Palm Sunday.

Today, we, of course, celebrate Christ’s entrance into Jerusalem to endure suffering and death. Not many of us, however, are aware that there were in fact two processions occurred on that day. The one, as we all know, was Christ’s procession through the Eastern Gate of the city. The other was the procession of the Roman governor – Pontius Pilate.

The Passover is the commemoration of the deliverance of the Israelites from the Egyptians. As the people of Jesus’ time celebrated it, they also secretly hoped for the deliverance from the Romans as well. During this time of the year, protests against the Romans occurred inevitably. Therefore, the governor decided to ride into Jerusalem through the Western Gate of the city with his imperial cavalry so as to reinforce the riots.[1]

What a contrast between two processions!

On one side, we find Jesus humbly entering Jerusalem. The Messiah, the Son of God, sat on a donkey to enter into the Holy city with a group of mismatched men as his disciples. On the other side, we find Pontius Pilate proudly sitting on his warhorse and marching with his well-trained, highly disciplined, and powerful Roman soldiers.

The Prince of Peace and the prince of the world.

 What a contrast!

The two processions of Palm Sunday represent two approaches to life for each of us Christians. As one of my professors at the seminary would put it call it as the fundamental options - the hermeneutic of gift or the hermeneutic of theft. The hermeneutic of gift enables us to see life through the lenses of love, while the hermeneutic of theft looks at the world through the lenses of power and violence.

Applying this to our reflection, we can say Christ’s entrance into Jerusalem represents the hermeneutic of love, for he, God-made-man, came to his people not with majestic glory but in humility. He, the Messiah, came to liberate his people, not by power and violence, but through sacrifice and love.

Pilate’s entrance into Jerusalem speaks of the hermeneutic of power, for his entrance was majestic and powerful. His warhorse was admirable. His cavalry was fearsome. Yes, Pilate’s procession was a manifestation of supremacy. It generated fear, great fear.

The two processions which today’s Gospel presents also challenge us to look carefully into our life and to ask ourselves, “Which of the two approaches is the aim of my life? Jesus’ or Pontius Pilate’s?”

History is filled with examples of those who have made their choices:

Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Osama Biden, etc, stood out as well-known figures. These were powerful men, very powerful and fearsome men indeed. They walked the face of the earth revered. Because of them, many lives were lost. They were men who had chosen Pilate’s path.

On the other side of the spectrum, we find Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Maximilian Kolbe, Corrie ten Boom, the Trappist monks of Tibhirine, and so on. These figures were not powerful. Some of them were in fact victims of the first group of people. No, they were not powerful because they had chosen the Savior’s path. They chose to love. Because of their choice, they suffered injustice and persecutions, even death. But they chose to love anyway.

Our choices in life will often not be as radical as these examples. Nevertheless, whether a life is noteworthy or not in the eyes of God depends on the conscious choices of our life.

In whose procession do we choose to follow? Pilate’s or Christ’s? Do our hands hold the palm of praise or the sword of death? Does our life inspire love or generate fear?

The answer is in your hands.

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[1] Rev. William Bausch, Once Upon a Gospel, 113.