La lumière

January 26, 2009

Dear Parents,

A Happy Don Bosco Day!

These coming days lead to the 31^st of January, the Solemnity of St. John Bosco.

Beginning tomorrow, there will be a special schedule. For the details, please see the timetable given to you through your sons. Here are some guidelines that we would like you to be clear with:

1. January 27-30 are regular class days and thus, the students are obliged to come to school for the Foundation Day Activities.

2. During the Foundation Day Celebrations, the high school students are asked to bring their Student’s Handbook and ID Cards (both School and Foundation Day IDs).

3. These days, the School Uniform is to be worn by the high school students.

4. The students bring extra clothes to be worn for certain activities (outreach, manual work and games).

5. These days, our Bosconians may bring with them mobile phones and electronic gadgets.

6. The time for reporting to school and for going home will vary depending on the timetable for each day.

On Saturday, January 31, the students are not obliged to go to school for the NUV activity. On Sunday, February 1, those who are in-charge of exhibits are asked to come since these will be open to our Mass-goers. On February 2, Monday, there will be no classes. Regular classes resume on February 3, Tuesday.

We thank you and likewise invite you to come to our school and see our different activities. God bless!

In Don Bosco,

Fr. Joel N. Camaya, SDB

High School Principal

P.S. For more details on the Foundation Day Celebrations, please see the following website: http://dbcanlubang.info

To be, or not to be: that is the question….

...To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream….

- Shakespeare, Hamlet, III,i.

My love for literature was born when I was in third year high school.  It was ironic for that was the stage in my life when my self-esteem was at the cellar, when my productivity as a person seemed to be stifled by adolescence.  Yet this is not the topic I wish to develop at this moment.

I wish to dwell on that love I have for literature.  That year, we were reading selections in English literature.  Our teacher introduced to us the epic Beowulf

, the Arthurian legends, and later, the works of Shakespeare.  A reading of the Sonnets awakened the poet in me.  We also sat through an interpretation (more of a rendition for television) of Hamlet.

Days before we watched the production, I read through some of the more famous lines of this Shakespearean tragedy.  I had reported on Act 1, Scene 4, one of the ghost scenes.  But the famous soliloquy in Act 3, Scene 1 caught my eye and my heart: “To be or not to be: that is the question.”  Watching Hamlet made me yearn for one of my life’s dreams—to play the part of the tragic protagonist, Hamlet.

Today (June 19) I turn 36 and I am resigned to the fact that I will never essay that role.  (I would have to be content with reciting the lines in my private moments!)  But my reflection on this day of my birth touches this Shakespearean play.  Shakespeare was about my age when he wrote Hamlet.  Nay more, the plays (almost all) that were written after he turned 36 were tragedies: the most elevated of all theatrical forms; theatre at its most serious tone, drama at its best.  Perhaps they reflected the stage (no pun intended) that Shakespeare had reached that time, a stage that demanded more attention, when we work on the even more noble things in life.

The words from the famous soliloquy may well be the sentiments of the playwright: it is a question to be or not to be, a question that goes beyond what the character meant, as I take the license to wrench it away from what Shakespeare intended and make it my own.  It is a question of really existing, of truly living.  To sleep: perchance to dream—this particular birthday of mine, I would like to go even further.  It beckons and asks me to continue dreaming, not only for myself but for the people around me—family, school, congregation.

Today, I thank God for the gift of life, for the gift of so many people dear to me.  I thank him for the many gifts that he continually bestows on me.  Year after year, crisis after crisis, I have persevered in his grace.  36 is actually the sum of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8.  What I am right now is the sum of the many graces God  has given me since the beginning, my birth.  In joy I look back at all these and then look forward: aye, perchance to dream!

Everyday this week, from last Sunday to this coming Sunday, the masses we  celebrate take on an ambience more festive than any other week of the year.  We celebrate the Easter Octave, a whole week when at mass we sing the Gloria, reminding us that each day takes the rank of a feast.  We likewise append alleluias to the dismissal and its response: “Go in the peace of Christ. Alleluia, alleluia.  Thanks be to God. Alleluia, alleluia.”

 

Despite the stress-filled yearend decisions, information and activities, the celebration of Easter this year remains pleasantly memorable to me.  I hold it as a beautiful privilege to hold aloft the Paschal Candle in the night of the vigil and sing “Christ our Light!” and also to sing the Easter Proclamation, the Exsultet.  I have done it before—in Tuloy sa Don Bosco (2000), St. John Bosco Parish in Tondo (2001), Don Bosco Batulao (2005) and Don Bosco Canlubang (last year)—but I was still trembling this time. 

 

Easter Sunday came and the beautiful feeling of new life continues these days.  One memorable gospel passage this week was the one read on Tuesday (Jn 20:11-18).  It is one of the famous resurrection scenes, that of the encounter between Mary Magdalene and our Resurrected Lord.  One famous phrase that is often quoted from this passage (that even Rizal used as the title of his novel) is the Latin expression “Noli me tangere” (the original of which, of course, is in koine Greek) which we readily translate to “Touch me not.”  However, that translation is misleading, for it seems to be a command that is forbidding.

 

Other translations yield the beauty of the situation that was there in the encounter between Jesus and Mary Magdalene, as in the following: “Stop holding on to me” or “Stop clinging to me…”  It tells us of Mary’s joy in seeing the Lord.  So excited was she that she couldn’t help but hold onto Jesus.

 

It is this same kind of joy that we feel when we encounter Jesus after realizing the love he has for us, after a long time of suffering, or after a long dry spell of being away from him on account of our sinfulness.  We cling to him and, gently and smilingly, he would tell us, “Noli me tangere.”  For how we see and touch him today is not the end, but merely a foretaste of what is to come, when we, like him, would ascend to the Father.  May this season be full of God’s experience for all of us.

 

Happy Easter, alleluia!

The Thursday of all Thursdays has once again come with the beginning of this year’s Paschal Triduum.  These following days are the most solemn time of the Liturgical Year with the celebration of the Easter Vigil as the summit of the calendar of the Church.

As a child I have always looked forward to this time of the year, not with joyful anticipation as I do at Christmas time, but with solemn excitement over the novelties of practices: the penitents (salibatbat in our Kapampangan language)—men flagellating themselves, or carrying their crosses, or crawling on the dirt; the pasyon, the Seven Last Words at the Cathedral, the tanggal followed by the Celebration of the Lord’s Passion  and Veneration of the Cross and the procession of the Santo Entierro around the town.

When I entered the minor seminary of Don Bosco Juniorate, I had a closer look into the liturgy as we took some time learning the songs and practicing the services for the Triduum.  When I was in third year high school I was chosen as one of the apostles whose feet were washed in the Mass of the Lord’s Supper.  After the Mass we took turns to spend at least an hour of adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, in commemoration of Jesus’ words “Stay awake, watch, pray.” (cf. Mt 26:41)

This is something that I have seriously taken every year during the Paschal Triduum.  The liturgical celebration is so rich and through all of these God speaks to us over and over again, reminding us of the words spoken by his Son at the Last Supper: “No greater love one has than to lay down his life for his friends.” (Jn 15:13)

Our dialogue with God continues.  In the solemnity of these days, do not forget: watch and pray.

This is the day of La lumière, the name of my site.  The weekly newsletter of the department I am handling comes out every Thursday. As this is the most important Thursday of the year (the Thursday), it is worthwhile to look at the reason behind the special character of this day of the week.

Every Thursday, in praying the rosary, we meditate upon the mysteries of light, and thus, the name La lumière. These mysteries culminate in the institution of the Eucharist by our Lord: Holy Thursday. This Lord’s Supper the institution of which we celebrate today, begins the Easter Triduum which leads to our celebration of Easter, the commemoration of the Lord’s resurrection. Thursday thus becomes the light that leads us into the threshold of the summit of our Christian life: celebrating Life—Jesus rising again to life.

Let the ponderings that we make these days of the Triduum and throughout the Easter Season make us even more thankful of the gift of Thursday: the gift of Christ’s love and service, the gift of his presence—so vivid in the Last Supper!

A blessed Paschal Triduum to each one of you!

Ash Wednesday ushered in the Lenten Season which comes quite early this year.  All of the priests in our community were occupied with a minimum of two masses.  The six o’clock evening Mass in our chapel was jampacked, comparable with the masses held on Sunday.  It was a day of fasting and abstinence, and so yesterday’s breakfast was really a case of breaking the fast.

So what do we do the day after Ash Wednesday?  Continue the spirit of the season of Lent which has just begun—prayer, sacrifice, works of charity: done in an even greater intensity.

However, the day after Ash Wednesday means something else to me.  I do not know about our present pope, Benedict XVI, but in the time of the late Pope John Paul II, he reserved the day after Ash Wednesday as the time to meet the clergy of the diocese of Rome of which he is Bishop.

I was able to join such meeting in 2002, when I was a deacon. I looked forward to that day and prepared to wear my best.  Together with others I was admitted into the Vatican through the Bronze Door.  We were led by Swiss guards through the marble halls until we reached the hall where the Pope would hold the audience.  We seated ourselves and waited.  Then the Pope was wheeled in.  Several parish priests delivered their addresses as did Cardinal Ruini, the Pope’s Vicar in the diocese of Rome.  The Pope then delivered a written speech and then spoke spontaneously, a discourse which we all enjoyed. 

Then came the awaited moment.  We all fell in line and waited to greet the Pope personally.  I had wanted to greet the Pontiff with words like greetings from the Filipino people and the Salesians, but the moment I knelt before him, I was speechless in ecstasy.  I looked at his eyes and he looked kindly at me.  It was a moment I will always savor.  This made the day after Ash Wednesday a day for me to treasure.  It was a day when I blurted out: I can die now, for I have met the Pope!  Much like the
Nunc dimittis of Simeon (cf. Luke 2:29-32).  May this Lenten Season on the other hand draw from us the same phrase for in it we meet Christ even more closely.  God bless your 40 days!

Last January 24, feast of St. Francis de Sales, I wrote the following piece. 

I am a Salesian.  Whenever I say this to people who are not so familiar with our charism I am immediately asked other questions as follow up: "Why Salesian?  Why not Bosconian priest?  Your Congregation was founded by St. John Bosco, was it not?"  And I would have to do some further explanations, of course in the long run  naming St. Francis de Sales as as our titular patron chosen by Don Bosco himself.

When I was a student in Rome, I had the privilege to take part in a retreat traced the footprints of St. Francis de Sales.  We had as base the retreat house Centre Jean XXIII (see the website of this beautiful retreat center at http://www.centrejean23.org/main.htm), at Annecy, France (Haute-Savoie province, Rhone-Alpes region).  The region of St. Francis de Sales was picturesque.  Annecy had a beautiful lake and a panorama of the Alps served as backdrop. 

We went to places that were significant in the life and work of St. Francis.  I saw the site of the castle of Sales where he was born; the font where he was baptized; La Roche which was the district where he studied; Thonon, where he preached and converted a lot of people; the woods where he climbed a tree on which he stayed all night in order to escape from the wolves.  We went to Geneva, Switzerland, which became his See, despite the fact that it was a Protestant stronghold; Lyons, where he died; and of course, Annecy, where we prayed at his tomb.

Leading us in our pilgrimage was an amiable French confrere, Fr. Morand Wirth, who is an expert on the life and works of the saint.  He said in jest that before becoming knowledgeable of St. Francis, he was a normal Salesian, that is, one who is not so familiar with this particular patron.  He thus hit us with a sad truth: Salesians do not know much about the gentle Bishop of Geneva whose name they bear.  At the end of the retreat, he laughed saying that we were less normal Salesians for now we knew more about St. Francis de Sales.

Personally, when I was a novice, I was deeply impressed by this saint.  I was struck in particular with a book that he wrote: Introduction to the Devout Life.  It spoke of the universal call to holiness.  Sanctity is not only for priests or religious; it is for everyone.  This brand of spirituality we bring even to the young people of our schools and oratories.  Yes, the young can be saints.

Another thing which struck me were words of St. Francis that I have heard even earlier, as a high school student: "On attire plus les mouches avec une cuillerée de miel qu'avec cent barils de vinaigre." (“A spoonful of honey attracts more flies than a barrelful of vinegar.”)  Our saint is known for his gentleness.  By nature, he was choleric, but he mastered himself so that he became known for his meekness.  In him we found the sweetness of God, the divine goodness that we find comforting.

Today, as we celebrate the feast of this saint, we thank God for the gift of a great example for humanity.  May we be more Salesian by knowing this gentle soul of Sales.  God bless!

In the midst of the preparations for the coming feast of St. John Bosco, I go back to something that I have written in 2001.  It is timely that I publish it this year as I am celebrating 25 years of entering Don Bosco as a student.

 

In the Salesian world, Tarlac will always be remembered as the locality of the first Don Bosco school in the Philippines. This is Don Bosco Tarlac that I hold dear in my heart.  In the beginning it did not strike me as it does today. To the people of Tarlac, Don Bosco has always been known as the private school where the boys usually go. As a little kid I looked forward to studying there when I reached the fourth grade. My elder brother spent the latter part of his elementary years in this school. I first got to know Don Bosco from the school uniform that my brother wore.

 

My first day in Don Bosco was one I eagerly anticipated. How would it be? I had been there for the entrance examination, interview and enrolment, but I had no idea what to expect. The awaited moment arrived. It was neither a hall of cashiers’ windows nor a corridor of offices that greeted me. It was not even the sight of students lining up for class. It was the scene of basketball courts full of boys sweating it out in spontaneous games; and of the football field, with several balls flying to and fro. This was minutes before the assembly time! What a way to start the day!  I smiled and felt at ease. 

 

But it was not merely the start of a day; it was the start of another episode in life. In due time I came to know Don Bosco the person more profoundly, as also the people who bore his name—in their initials ‘SDB.’ They were all around, they, the brothers and priests who were visible among the students during breaks. They mingled with us. We talked; we played. One impressive image that recurs in my memory is that of a priest, in his cassock, in the middle of the football field, usually running and kicking the ball surrounded by the boys. 

 

In Don Bosco Tarlac I found practices unique in Don Bosco: the weekly Mass (and the daily “free Masses”), singing practices, sodalities and youth groups, visits to the Blessed Sacrament, rosary at lunch break. There was a confessor who was available all the time. And you know what? My first year with Don Bosco was made even more special because it was the year of the visit of the Rector Major, Don Egidio Viganò. On this occasion, I was chosen to be one of the emcees under Bro. Dennis Paez.

 

One thing I liked about Don Bosco was the familiar air that was all around. Everybody knew one another, from Grade 4 to the Fourth Year. The physical structure of the school was ideal: except for the gym, one could see practically the whole compound. The chapel was accessible, as were the classrooms and the playground. When the principal stood in the middle of the football field, everyone else saw him and vice versa.

 

Days, weeks, months; a year, and another. From the world of the home, I ventured into another. The school became the tambayan. On weekends, I found myself at Don Bosco—not for curricular activities, but for extras: serving mass, Boy Scout activities, hanging around the rector’s office, and so on. Before I knew it, Don Bosco had become a second home.

 

That was why when the call to be a Salesian came, it did not come as a surprise. It had been there all along. God had been paving the path so that when the proper time came, I was ready. For my assent, I needed only the amplification of His voice through the Salesians themselves, and in my youthful vigor, I entered the high school seminary of Don Bosco Juniorate, Pampanga. However, though each life story is a continuum, that is another episode and this space does not allow me to dwell on it. Suffice it then to say that one episode led to another, and yes, eventually took me to where I am now as a Salesian.

 

Whenever doubts plague me, I look back at my experiences as a student at Don Bosco Tarlac and I end up saying, “I was a boy of Don Bosco,” in the same way as Rua, Cagliero and the other Salesians of times past and present have been boys of Don Bosco. Yes, I have basked in such a Salesian atmosphere and I realize this has been God’s way of encouraging me and sustaining me all these years.

 

Once, as a young Salesian, I had the chance to visit Don Bosco Tarlac. I was given the opportunity to give the good morning talk to the student body. A surge of exuberance filled my heart; a knot made its way to my throat. Some of my teachers were present. I told the Bosconians that it was a joy for me to come home and to see reflected in them what I had been years ago. It was with nostalgic incredulity that I looked at the part of the gymnasium where I had first stood as a grade four student. “Have I really been there?” I asked myself. And I told everyone that I was now in front, something I never imagined when as a boy I looked at the Salesians who normally stood before the assembly.

 

In my 25^th year as a Bosconian, I write as how a grateful son eulogizes a parent in a celebration meant for tribute, because this is how I look at Don Bosco Tarlac: a parent who has both sired and nursed in me the incipient call to follow Christ. I cannot but make references to my own humble beginnings. I am here, a Salesian, because Don Bosco was there in Tarlac.  And to keep the paean ringing: in this school called Don Bosco lived the spirit of the man named Don Bosco. In this school lived year after year, Salesians who have carried on the task of preserving the spirit, keeping it alive, sharing it with Tarlaqueños.

 

In my good morning talk to the Tarlac Bosconians, I asked them, “Are you proud to be Bosconians? I’m sure you are.” There was an ardent wish within me: “I hope many more among them will take that step from their place to where I am.” From Bosconian to Salesian. From Tarlac to wherever Don Bosco is. After all, like them I am also a Tarlaqueño.

 

(picture shows me as a young Salesian in theology, the time I wrote this article)

Happy New Year!  I am very sure you have welcomed the New Year in your very own way, carrying on with the annual family traditions that you have been practicing—most probably with the midnight mass (which others have put earlier so as not to endanger themselves with the firecrackers that climax at the coming of the New Year at 12:00 midnight) and then the Media Noche, the beautiful midnight meal celebrated after making noise or listening to noise, the herald of the coming of 2008. 

 

I was sorry to have welcomed this year from my bed as I was down with fever, cough and colds.  I did wake up at the strike of midnight and rose to greet my parents and my brother who were in the house with me. I went back to bed shortly after and rose up the next day to celebrate mass with my family. 

 

The days before and even after the First of January, the television shows were featuring what was special for this coming year.  Psychics came to their annual appearance and gave predictions.  Much was about 2008 being the “Year of the Rat”.  Among many other things, they were saying who was lucky and who was not.  One show even featured rodents—big and small—taken from a zoo, with a zoologist giving a scholarly exposition of what rats are all about: from the different species to their habitat to their nutrition and smell.

 

I was born on the year of the rat and so I was interested a bit.  Year in and year out they present all these animals that take turns in being the highlight, as is presented in the Chinese calendar.

 

My apprehension in all this is that Christians might be too taken up by all this talk about the Year of the Rat (or Pig, Dog, Rooster, etc.) that they forget that every year is actually a celebration of the Year of the Lord—for this is what A.D. means: Anno Domini ("in the year of the Lord").  We give little importance to that short phrase that is even present in our diplomas.  The coming of Christ has split history into two: what came before him and what came together with his coming.  As we are still enjoying the novelty of writing 2008, let us not forget to dedicate our year to Christ himself.  After all, it is the Year of the Lord.

Since the time of Don Bosco, there has been a tradition in our Salesian houses to stage an accademia (usually a cultural presentation meant to instruct the boys on the upcoming feast).  It was held on the eve of the feast.  And it was so in my experience of Salesian life, even when I was a young aspirant in high school.  When I was a brother in practical training, I staged accademias at the eve of almost every solemnity. 

 

Tonight, on the eve of the Solemnity Our Lady’s Immaculate Conception, I am quite emotional.  I have just come from a play staged by our Seminarians, a play entitled Ineffabilis Deus.  As I watched, memories of my years as a brother came back. 

 

And why would it not be so when this was one which I wrote and directed for the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception on December of 1995?  It was a play done by the batch of many of those who were ordained in 2005; they did it when they were postulants. 

 

As I said, the play was entitled Ineffabilis Deus (the title of the papal document on the dogma of the Immaculate Conception).  The whole musical was actually a discussion of the doctrine.  It focused on the ideas that surrounded the debate between theologians throughout the ages on the Immaculate Conception.  It culminated in presenting the view of the ideas of the Franciscan philosopher and theologian John Duns Scotus.  The play echoed the words: Potuit, decuit; ergo fecit! (“He could; it was fitting; therefore, He did it!”)  Yes, God could make Mary immaculately conceived; it was fitting that the one who would be Mother of God be immaculately conceived; and therefore He did it!

 

We can have a lot of reflections on this celebration but I would just like to focus on the point that the privilege granted by God to Mary was a gratuitous gift.  But Mary did not just sit on this privilege. Before God’s eyes she sought to be worthy of this gift.  We may not be blessed to have that privilege of being immaculately conceived, but we are graced with so many blessings from God.  We have a lot to thank him for.  May this thought lead us to be more conscientious in what God has called us to be.  He has given us so much and so we must not be complacent; otherwise, we will be wasting a lot of the good that the Lord has bestowed on each of us.  The beauty in the privilege given to Mary was that it had fruits as lived in a life that experienced Jesus and then “treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Lk 2:19)

When I was with the Comunità Don Bosco in our Salesian University in Rome, we had a confrere from Colombia, a very good friend of mine.  His birthday fell on this day, December 6.  On that particular day, as was customary for the community, those celebrating their birthday, anniversary or name day (onomastico) give a little treat to the confreres at lunch or dinner--like beer, ice cream, pastries, spumante, or liqueur.  This particular confrere gave away chocolates in the form of Santa Claus as he explained that in his country, December 6, the feast of St. Nicholas, is a popular feast and people on this day anticipate Christmas by giving gifts to one another.

 

Santa Claus is no stranger to us for he looms as a very visible figure every Yuletide season.  When I was a little child, he was always part of the Christmas celebration for I was at that time convinced that the gifts that I found under the Christmas tree or beside my pillow on Christmas  Day were really from him. 

 

Presently, however, I feel uncomfortable with the stature that the consumeristic world has given him, for his presence seems to rival the real reason for celebrating Christmas.  More than the sincere giving of gifts, Santa Claus has become the icon of how commercial Christmas has become.  It is a case of missing the point: that the first Christmas was a paragon of simplicity, as was the saint who came to be known as Santa Claus.

 

It would be of help for us to know more about the reason how Santa Claus came into the picture at Christmas time.  Santa Claus is known as giving gifts to boys and girls during Christmas making him the friend of little children in this season.  Two things then: giving, and children.

 

Saint Nicholas is known as generous to the poor and special protector of the innocent and wronged.  His holiness of his life thus revolved on giving, and children.  And the Christmas season is indeed about giving, and children: God gave his only Son to be one among us; and this Son, the Word Made Flesh, came as a child.  This is the whole point of Christmas. 

 

This early, as we have just come to the onset of Advent, I have already talked about Christmas.  Well, with the memorial of this saint of today, we anticipate things even liturgically.  It is a preparation for the celebration of the mystery of Christ’s coming.  These days, in my present assignment as high school principal, we are immersed in days of preparation: for the coming examinations, for contests, for make-up lessons.  But we also need to prepare spiritually: for the coming feast of our Blessed Mother’s Immaculate Conception, and of course, Christmas.  This is what matters.  I salute teachers and those who work with young people: for their vocation is connected to the ideals of St. Nicholas’ life, the ideals of Christmas: giving, and children.

 

Picture: St. Nicholas was said to have raised to life three young boys who had been murdered and pickled in a barrel of brine to hide the crime.  These stories led to his patronage of children in general.

 

On January 30, 1996, we staged a play here in Don Bosco Canlubang.  I was a young brother at that time and I wrote and directed that short musical entitled Bury Me Deep, based on the book by Peter Lappin, on the life of the young Argentinian native, Zeffirin (or Ceferino, Zephyrinus, Zephyrin, whatever language base the translation uses) Namuncurá.  I opened the play with the end—the funeral scene where the company, led by Bro. Gerry Martin (now Fr. Gerry) who played the role of Bishop Giovanni Cagliero.  It was a moving scene, accompanied as it was by Schubert’s Ave Maria.  The end of the play continues the funeral scene with a Salesian saying: “Many years after his death, he indeed was buried deep—almost into oblivion.  It is indeed sad to know all about it.  Yet the name of Zeffirin will not languish forever buried…” And the reason given was that he was well way into the process of being raised to the altars.

At that time I had a strong premonition that soon this young Bosconian would be beatified.  How else would I explain that strong compulsion to put his life into a simple musical on the eve of the feast of Don Bosco?  “Soon” turned out to be a little bit less than twelve years.  It was not really a long time for me, for the 1996 production is, up to now, still vivid in my mind.

Last week, the Salesian world was in festive mood because last November 11, Zeffirin was beatified.  But not only that.  The whole Church is sharing in this joy for another young person has been raised to the altars.  It is missionary work at its best!  Even the Philippine Daily Inquirer ran the story (from Agence France Presse) about the beatification.  In other words, it is big news.

Aye, it is big news, a big deal whenever we succeed in bringing out the best in our young people.  I have told my faculty members that as teachers they are at the vanguard, at the forefront of this undertaking.  I urged them—and you likewise—to help make more Zeffirins among the young whom we encounter everyday.

I was a college seminarian when I first began to be aware of the feast the we celebrate every ninth of November, that of Saint John Lateran.  Here in the Philippines, we know it by the more popular name, San Juan de Letran, for it is the name of a college run by the Dominicans.  In his homily for the day, one of our priests in the seminary that time told us that San Juan de Letran, or St. John Lateran is not a person, but a church (a basilica).  In fact, the title of the celebration is the Dedication of the Basilica of St. John Lateran.  It is the cathedral church of Rome, the official ecclesiastical seat of the Bishop of Rome who is the Pope.  It is a temple so rich in history.

The celebration of November 9 takes the rank of a feast, meaning the Gloria is sung at mass and there are special readings.  The Liturgy of the Hours that we pray as a religious community are taken from the a special section of the prayer book called “Common of the Dedication of a Church.”

The word “dedication” in this celebration comes in very strong for me because it speaks a mouthful.  Dedication comes from the Latin word “dedo” (dedere, dedidi, deditus), a word that is much more potent that the word “do” (dare, dedi, datus) which means “to give”.  The root of dedication means not merely “to give”—it means “to give up” or “to surrender”.  It could also mean “to give up oneself to”.

The celebration thus means the surrender of that special place, that temple.  We give up something in order to offer the possibility of it being used for a nobler cause, for a greater purpose.  Taking this cue, we are reminded that dedication has always been part of our lives.  We dedicate works, writings, songs, even a game or any undertaking in order to manifest affection, gratitude or devotion.

Here in the place where I work, Don Bosco Canlubang, I am happy to see dedicated people, especially teachers: persons who have not only given, but have given themselves up—surrendered—for a mission: all because they love, they care.  Such nobility! Such inspiration for me!  It is a feast indeed.

(photo--taken August 30, 2007-- shows Fr. Joel in front of the Basilica of St. John Lateran)

This year, I went home for All Saints’ Day.  How fast one whole year has gone by!  I still remember that of last year: one reason I went home for All Saints’ Day was to drive for my parents in our visit to the tombs of our beloved departed.  Through the years, we have been visiting mainly two cemeteries—San Miguel, Tarlac City and Bamban, Tarlac.  My grandparents are buried in these cemeteries—paternal grandparents at the former (although now their remains have been transferred to San Sebastian, also in Tarlac City) and maternal grandparents at the latter.  Since I became a priest, it was an added feature for me to bring holy water and bless not only their tombs but also those of the other relatives.

 

It was not part of our usual itinerary, but at last year’s All Saints’ Day we thought of passing by Murcia, Concepcion (where my father was born and grew up) to bring some of the things that my sister had sent to our relatives there.  We arrived at past nine in the morning and saw my cousins and their father, Uncle Jesus, the husband of my aunt (my father’s elder sister) in tears.  Earlier they had rushed my aunt, Pastora (Auntie Paring), to the hospital and at 8:00am, she was pronounced dead on arrival due to cardiac arrest.  She was 85.  My father was in tears.  Though she was weak, we have not expected her to depart this soon.

 

Uncle Jesus sobbingly was saying in Kapampangan: “Penenayan ne mu rugu ing daun.” (“She seemed to have just waited for All Saints’ Day.”)  And he was relating how Auntie Paring was so strong the evening before, that she was even talking so clearly.  (Incidentally, some months later, Uncle Jesus would also go back to the Father and join Auntie Paring.)

 

Later that day, we went to Bamban (before going back to Murcia to see my aunt’s body already in the coffin) and our maternal relatives were also recounting the same thing when years ago, the wife of my uncle died—in a moment of physical strength she asked that she be brought out to see the house. 

 

A common denominator in both events was a moment of strength before the coming of death.  It makes me reflect on the fact that we really will decide to embrace death when it would come before us.  And I do believe that what gives the dying that strength before they breathe their last is not only the satisfaction of having lived their life the best they could, but also the imminent entrance into another life, the other life.  In the many funeral masses I have presided I always tell the people something I read from a magazine: “Death is not extinguishing the flame but putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”  Aye, death is a dawning and this dawning gives us reason to pray, to celebrate both All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.

Gaia Eliana… Two words of diverse languages—the first, of Greek origin (Ga,i?a) and the second, of Hebrew origin (hn[yla). 

Gaia has something to do with the earth—as in Greek mythology, she is the goddess personifying the earth, or the more familiar Mother Earth, or better, “mothering earth” as how the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins puts it.  The word smacks of life and the words connected to it—nutrition and growth, the source of food, the stuff of the universe.

Eliana, on the other hand, means “my God answered.”  It is an expression that affirms the presence of God who answers our prayers.

Gaia Eliana is the name of my niece, the firstborn of my brother Emerson and his wife Gina.  She inherited the initials of her parents, but more interesting than that are the circumstances that surrounded her birth and these are indeed described by the name that she bears.

This Saturday, November 3, the baby girl, nicknamed Iya, will be celebrating her first birthday.  Around this time last year we were all worried—Gina’s bleeding, the premature birth (six months) of the baby a few days later albeit by normal delivery, and the precarious situation of the infant for the next three months in the hospital. 

I remember that night when in hope I gave my niece a blessing as she lay in the incubator.  Her fingers and toes were shriveled as though she was the shrunken figure of an ancient person.  But if you see Iya today, she bears the beauty of life infused in every vein, every soft muscle and ligament.  Life!  God’s answer to our prayers, especially to those of Emer and Gina.  The baby is a miracle, pleasantly confounding all of us with her strength.  What can I say but the Biblical expression of wonder in “What will this child turn out to be?” (Lk1:66)

May this child continue to be a wonder, showing to us the graciousness of God.  These unique features of her birth and early life set her apart—maybe for a special mission.  This is what we actually celebrate when we talk of All Saints’ Day which we celebrate on every First of November.  The saints are those who have realized that God has indeed set them apart for a particular mission and have persevered in this till the end of their lives.  We have been given our mission and we continue to persevere in this endeavor: that we be saints!

(taken last year, photo shows Iya with her proud parents, Gina and Emer in their first family picture)

Note: the fonts for the Greek and Hebrew above (bwhebb.ttf and bwgrkl.ttf) can be downloaded from http://www.bibleworks.com/fonts.html

Today, October 27, 2007, the Philosophical Association of the Philippines (of whose board of directors I am a member) is holding its midyear conference at Don Bosco Technical Institute, Makati City, with the theme "The Philosophical Thought of Richard Rorty".  I was tasked to lead the assembly into prayer at the beginning of the meeting.  Here is the text of the invocation.

Heavenly Father,

In the wonderful account of creation, you made the human being in your own image, after your likeness—and at that moment, poetry was born, the beauty of the utterance called language came into sight, together with the manifestation of man’s creativity: music, crafts, science and the creative flow of ideas both oral and written.  You have indeed shared with us this beautiful power.

This endowment we see in your gift to humanity—in the person of Richard Rorty, a philosopher who has greatly contributed to the endeavor of searching for truth, of asking the questions that really matter, and of being one who loved leading people—in his words in the classroom, to the nation, to the whole world.

May we who gather here learn from this man who moved others through the ideas that flowed from the mind you have endowed him.  May we as philosophers, professors and students be interested in the truth and continually learn and proclaim to others the beauty of this truth.

And as was sung in the song “Est-il de vérité plus douce que l'espérance?”  Is there a truth sweeter than hope?  This search for truth we do in hope and that is why we call upon you today to touch our minds and hearts through this man.

We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

The whole afternoon of yesterday I was with our aspirants (seminarians from first year to third year college).  Having been invited last week, I was conducting a workshop which was part of their semestral break seminar on public speaking.  The topic that was assigned to me was “Conquering Stage Fright.”  I told them right off: I was not very comfortable in accepting the topic assigned to me since I myself have not conquered stage fright.  And indeed, it was a statement made sincerely and not just to be modest.

Yes, stage fright is still very much around in my life and I feel that it will never leave me.  It is manifest even in the things that I regularly do—saying mass, preaching, giving the talks in our morning assemblies, conducting meetings, giving seminars (exactly like the one that I gave yesterday).  The bottom line of all this is what stage fright is all about: fear.  Fear will ever be present in the most familiar acts that we do.

But yes, we can conquer stage fright.  One thing I told my young audience yesterday was that fear can actually help us in the things that we do.  Fear makes us shun complacency and pushes us to do better. I gave a familiar quote: “What will push one to drive the car better is to have realized that his license has expired.”  Besides, although fear makes our bodies tremble, it adds sparkle to our eyes and puts more color to our cheeks.  In other words, it makes us look better.  This will make us forget about our stage fright!

Then I gave the young men practical tips in order to handle stage fright: think that you are good, pretend that you are just chatting with close friends, remember happy moments, be prepared, anticipate hard questions, put a picture of your loved ones with your notes, and so on. 

Finally I gave them that time tested advice: practice, practice, practice!  It is in being familiar with what we do that we feel so much at home with it.  In our first attempts at doing something, in this case public speaking, we may stumble and fall and this surely will make us fear in our next attempt.  But as what Friedrich Nietzsche said, “What won’t kill you will make you stronger.”  Speaking in public, reading in the liturgy, conducting meetings, teaching in front of a class—even though these actions may give us the jitters, we will still come out unscathed and the experience will make us even better persons.  As our young people of today would say: stage fright rocks!

Yesterday, we celebrated the feast of St. Luke, evangelist.  As I was meditating on what this person has contributed to Sacred Scripture, I got my copy of the Bible (New Jerusalem Bible version) that I have been using for the past nine years, the one that I used during my theology years.  Many of the pages have passages that are highlighted with fluorescent ink; the margins likewise have given way to very small notes written in either pencil or ball point pen ink.  And then I turned to the pages of Luke—both the text and the introductory part.

Luke was the author not only of the third gospel but also of the Acts of the Apostles, immediately following the four gospels.  It is interesting to note that the gospels, and many other books of the Bible for that matter, have different sources and receive their final form only after the authors have chosen what to include in their account.  This is the explanation for the synoptic gospels (Mark, Matthew and Luke)—they are very similar in outline since they have common sources.

Therefore, it is important to know what makes Luke distinct.  From what I have studied, I can enumerate off-hand some of the unique elements in his work: the infancy narrative, the portrait of Jesus as gentle, loving and forgiving, predilection for the poor and severity to the proud, the importance given to prayer, and the numerous passages on Mary.

Knowing this makes us think of how great a treasure this gospel is.  These distinct elements are values that we uphold.  More than that, what gives life to what the apostles and evangelists (and every follower of Christ) wrote and preached is the experience they had with Christ. This is a truth that resounds to this day—in the tasks that God has entrusted to us.

It may very well be that one of the most popular classical musical pieces is Canon in D Major by the Baroque composer Johann Pachelbel.  I remember being a part of the Seminary band (I played the trumpet) when we played this sometime in 1995.

Purists may not actually be happy about it but this musical gem has already been rendered in its electronic form—a step that goes even further, beyond its rendition in the pop, jazz or rock genres. 

So popular it is that its ubiquity seems unmatched: we hear it almost everywhere.  More often than not, it accompanies the bridal entourage at wedding marches.  Once I was looking for CD’s in a shop and I saw one on Pachelbel’s work.  I picked it up and read further.  It was Pachelbel’s Canon with ocean sounds—an entire CD solely on this short musical work!

One thing interesting about this subject on Pachelbel and his masterpiece is that even with Canon alone, this particular composer has become famous.  He is even jokingly called a one-hit wonder.  Yet, even so, Pachelbel has weathered the passing of the centuries and his music remains ever new, freely adapting itself to the ever changing tastes of generations of listeners.  It is ever relevant because its simplicity allows everyone—even those who are not musically oriented—to carry the tune.  The different parts, though very different from one another, all blend into a single moving effect, a pre-established harmony in Leibnizian parlance.

Likewise, the simplicity of our life, together with how we blend with our family, neighbors, colleagues, or charges will make us relevant throughout the years in this world that is ever in flux.  Like Pachelbel’s Canon, we will remain long after we’ve gone.