Monday, 2nd Week: Forgiveness - Seeing with God’s Compassion

"Be merciful just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven" - Luke 6:36-37

We are all wounded people. Who wounds us? Often those whom we love and those who love us. When we feel rejected, abandoned, abused, manipulated, or violated, it is mostly by people very close to us: our parents, our friends, our spouses, our lovers, our children, our neighbors, our teachers, our pastors. We too, wound those close to us. That's the tragedy of our lives. This is what makes forgiveness from the heart difficult. It is precisely our hearts that are wounded. We cry out, “You, who I expect to be there for me, you have abandoned me. How can I ever forgive you for that?”

Forgiveness often seems impossible, but nothing is impossible for God. It involves seeing with the eyes of God, with the heart of Christ. It may be the most painful thing to do, to allow the pains of hurt, abandonment, and betrayal just to be. To be in God’s healing presence. We may begin to see through the heart of things, that we inadvertently place our longing for unconditional love in limited, frail human beings. We may begin to see with God’s great compassion that we are all wounded people, that we all long to live deep within the very heart of God, to be God’s Beloved. Being with Jesus forsaken on the Cross, we are not destroyed by our suffering because we suffer with God, in the very heart of God. It is not easy, but Jesus has already and is walking that path with us. With God, all things are possible.

"Lord, help me to forgive all who have hurt me. With whom are you inviting me to begin?”

inspired by Henri Nouwen

Sunday, 2nd Week: Prayer and Solitude Help Us Listen to God

"This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” – Luke 9:35
"You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased." – Luke 3:22

Many voices vie for our attention. They can be placed in two camps. One is for us; the other is against.

The first and louder kind says, "Prove that you are a good person," or "You'd better be ashamed of yourself," or “Nobody really cares about you," or “You are a nobody because you don’t have anybody,” or “You’ve done THAT! God can no longer love you!” or "The more you become successful, popular, and powerful, the more you will be accepted and loved.” This kind of voice is so ingrained in us and permeates our social climate that going against it involves a struggle against the mainstream current. It involves a kind of suffering.

Yet, beneath all these often very noisy voices a still, small voice whispers, "You are my Beloved, on whom my favor rests." That's the voice we need to hear most of all. To hear that voice, however, requires serious willingness; it requires solitude, silence, and a strong determination to listen. It may take time to get past those deafening voices telling us that our worth is directly proportional to how well we perform or to what we possess.

This is the invitation to listen to God’s chosen Son, Jesus, who reveals to each of us our belovedness. The journey of Lent involves listening to that gentle voice, in a deeper way.

That's what prayer is. It is listening to the voice that calls, "You are my Beloved." And to treat others as God’s beloved.

"Lord, help me to devote time for prayerful solitude. Help me to listen to your voice within.”

Saturday, 1st Week: God Loves What is Irritable

“You have heard that it was said, you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you that you may be children of your heavenly Father, for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust.” – Matthew 5:43-45

A Jesuit priest friend of mine has a challenging saying: “You are as Christian as how you treat the most irritated people you know.” It is easy for us to love those with whom we are comfortable, those who are nice to us, and those whom we deem good. We seldom consider loving those who irritate us; at best, we tolerate or endure them. This betrays our misconception that love is primarily a feeling. However, love is a choice. A choice: a reaching beyond ourselves to nurture the spiritual growth of ourselves or another.

Consider someone who irritates, annoys, or angers you. Ask yourself, what does this irritation tell me about myself? Could it be that the person is manifesting a defect in yourself or pointing out something in your life you are refusing to see, or not living up to the expectation that have been programmed into you by your upbringing? It is difficult for us to love the person because of the inner agitation that arises in us. Loving the person would involve accepting and even embracing parts of ourselves that are “ugly” or “unlovable.” Loving the person would involve a reaching out beyond our negative feelings. Yet, such reaching out expands our hearts and makes us more receptive to the One who is Love.

“Lord, help me to reach beyond myself and accept irritable people or parts of myself today.”

Friday, 1st Week - Forgiving Is a Healing In Our Own Hearts

“So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.” - Matthew 5:23-24

How can we forgive those who do not want to be forgiven? Our deepest desire is that the forgiveness we offer will be received. This mutuality between giving and receiving is what creates peace and harmony. But if our condition for giving forgiveness is that it will be received, we seldom will forgive! Forgiving the other is first and foremost an inner movement. It is an act that removes anger, bitterness, and the desire for revenge from our hearts and helps us to reclaim our human dignity. We cannot force those we want to forgive into accepting our forgiveness. They might not be able or willing to do so. They many not even know or feel that they have wounded us. Yet, when we reach out through forgiveness, we move forward toward inner healing and peace. We also invite those we seek to forgive to a similar conversion.

The only people we can really change are ourselves. Forgiving others is first and foremost healing our own hearts.

What forgiving have you delayed? Can you do it now, with God’s grace?

adapted from Henri Nouwen

Lenten Reflection 2010

In the past, I have sent a short, daily reflection each day during Lent. (My apologies for being late this year due to sickness).

These reflections on the Scripture of the day are meant to be a help for a daily 5-10 minute reflection or prayer. Some of these reflections are adapted from Henri Nouwen; others will be written by someone else or me. If you feel moved to write one or two, please let me know.

Let me I suggest the following format for each reflection:
1. Place yourself in God's presence, perhaps with a prayer like: "Spirit of God, please pray through me, draw me to you, sanctify, and create me anew."
2. Read the reflection slowly and be attentive to what stirs within you.
3. Speak to God or Jesus about whatever is on your mind and in your heart.
4. Listen to God's response or simply rest in God's presence with an open mind and a receptive heart.
5. End with the "Our Father" or another favorite prayed slowly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, 1st Week: God Always Gives More Than Enough

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.” - Matthew 7:7-8

Jesus reveals a God who promises to answer those who earnestly call out for help. Moreover, God doesn't give us just enough. God gives us in abundance. More than enough, more food than we can eat, more love than we dare to ask for. But if God is a generous giver, then why do many of our prayers remain unanswered?

Queen Esther’s prayer of deep reliance gives us a clue: “God of Abraham, God of Isaac, and God of Jacob, blessed are you. Help me, who am alone and have no help but you.” - Est C:14 We can only see and enjoy God's generosity when our hearts and minds are unclouded and unfettered. When we are full of demands or attachments, we narrow our vision only to those peoples, things, and conditions that we think will make us happy. When we focus on what we did not get, we miss God’s blessings, disguised in other ways. We remain distant from God and unable to experience what God truly wants to give us, which is life and life in abundance. Moreover, we close ourselves to God when we, as individuals or societies, consume more than what we need, thereby restricting others access to God’s bountiful gifts. The journey of Lent involves recognizing when our sense of entitlement, self-preoccupation, or fear keeps us from experiencing God who wants what is best for us. And seeking help for conversion of heart.

Lord, help us to live gratefully and simply, so that others may simply live.

Sharing one’s story...

A rare picture of Até Vergie who “hates” to take pictures, seeing herself as not photogenic

Since the beginning of February, I have been living in Navotas, one of the most depressed areas of Metro Manila. I am drawn back to this place because I have a strong sense of God’s presence, with the people. I am blessed to be here among God’s poor.

My first host mother is Até Vergie, a widow with four children. (“Até” means “older sister”). Her house is too small, so we stayed with her older brother and his family. One afternoon, she took much effort to share with me her story. It’s no small feat for one who never had a chance to study beyond the 6th grade. Yet, her command of English makes it possible for her story to touch my heart.

Até Vergie turns 47 this year. Her father died in an accident when she was only one year old, and her brother was two. Her mother soon remarried and had to shift care toward her new family. At twelve, she had to quit school to work as a house servant for 60 pesos a month, an equivalent of $1.30 USD. She eventually married. But her husband suffered from diabetes and kidney failure; and because they did not have money for treatment like dialysis, he died five years ago, leaving her with four children, ranging from 3-19 years old. Since then her difficult life became even harder. Cleaning, cooking, selling, making clothes were her constant work and unceasing worry. The long life of hard labor, exacerbated by intensified anxieties in recent years, took a toll on her health. Two year ago, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis and a bad shoulder. Doctors advised her to lessen her work and worries.

Fortunately, her brother intervened. He invited her and her two youngest children to live with him, to help out around the house to lessen her stress level. Soon after, she joined a prayer-based group, a non-profit organization called PPF (the acronym stands for “Offering of the Heart”). At first, she had great reluctance to share her story or her faith. For one who had to rely on herself for many years in order to survive, “to be open and vulnerable - to let God and others in - is very difficult” she admitted. Gradually, through the help of this group, her heart became “more tender and receptive.” She now looks forward to sharing and learning more about God’s love.

She pointed out a surprising reversal of roles. Whereas before women in her prayer group were the ones who helped her, now she is the one who is God’s instrument to help them. Smiling with her missing teeth, she tells of a joke she uses to console others experiencing hardships. She would respond to one who is financially overstressed, “You have no money, but you still have honey. I have no money and no honey.” After the laugh, she would continue: “It’s not helpful for me to hug my problems. I try to give my problems to God. Then I have no problems, just challenges. Trusting in God’s help, I don’t hug my worries and anxieties as tightly.”

She ended her sharing to me by thanking God. “Everything is gift,” she said. She is thankful for her brother and people in PPF. Two years ago, she could not imagine being open to share her story. There are days when she is even grateful for her hardships. Her eyes became misty with tears at this point. She asked me to pray for her and her children, for her oldest sons to have the means and finish technical school in order to find a decent job. Gratitude and hope flowed into tears.

Hearing her story and being around her for a week, I catch her trusting spirit. One that is quietly contagious. Her story and living witness becomes for me (and others around her) a gateway of grace. As she opened her heart to me, I find myself caught up in a sense of connectedness, of being one. One with my mother, who is also a seamstress and hard-working woman; one with my deceased grandmother, who died after seven years of dialysis; one with several young women I know who are currently overburdened by life’s challenges; one with Jesus, poor and humbled, who offers his gentle yoke in solidarity, as the resting place so we can un-hug our problems (Mt 11:28-30) …

Até Vergie’s story transcends the barriers of language and others of cultural, socio-economic, and personal circumstances. Her sharing not only invites me to engage my own story and connects us in a deep way. It also joins us with the larger narrative of God’s love for each of us, for all of us. It invites us into the communion of love which is God.

Take the risk to share your story, take the time to listen … to be drawn into this communion of love …

“Seeing into the heart…”

“Not as man sees does God see, because he sees the appearance but the LORD looks into the heart.” - 1 Samuel 16: 7

After King Saul fell from grace, God sent the prophet Samuel to anoint a new king for Israel among the sons of Jesse. Jesse presented his seven oldest sons, who were “lofty” in appearance, stature, and talent. Samuel was impressed. But one by one, he said to Jesse, “The Lord has not chosen him.” For God sees beyond human appearances; God “looks into the heart.” Surprisingly, God chose David – Jesse’s eight and youngest son.

We cannot anticipate the choice of God. How God ordains a person for this or that service, or how God allows earthquakes to strike an already suffering people like those in Haiti is unfathomable. God works in mysterious and often incomprehensible ways. Yet, through faith, we glimpse of a God who chooses, blesses, purifies, and transforms particular persons to fulfill specific divine intentions.

In the past month, my Tertian brothers and I have been studying the Jesuit Constitutions and other documents foundational to our way of life. In the process, we have been reflecting on how our choices and habits have taken us toward or away from this pathway to God. In varying degrees, we are humbled to a similar realization, that our limitations, weaknesses, and sinfulness leave us wholly inadequate to the ideals of our Jesuit vocation.

“I am not worthy or deserving …” It’s an admission I hear often from people. Often this awareness comes at the threshold of something beautiful or great, before the unconditional love of God or the radical acceptance by another person. “It’s too good to be true … I am not up to it,” we often react in recoil. We are caught between a desire to say “yes” to this greater offer of love and freedom and a resistance to run away out of fear.

I find myself going through something similar. Although a deep part of me wants to take another step of commitment to my Jesuit calling, another part of me just wants to freeze or flee. I often say to young people: “Don’t focus on whether you are worthy or deserving. It’s the wrong question. When it was announced that she would take a key role in God’s saving plan, Mary did not answer if she was worthy. She already knew her lack. Rather, she answered the question: ‘Will I say “yes” to God?’” In these days, I am challenged to take my own advice.

It seems like the same old lesson: learning to embrace my poverty and trust more. Yet, there is an element of newness, perhaps because I am more in touch with my own fragility and unfaithfulness. It involves another level of risk-taking in God’s mysterious design. I am consoled at Mass when I respond with everyone gathered: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word …” Without this insight and grace, any step forward seems like death rather than a leaping into life. Receiving the Body of Christ, I hope to see deeper into the heart of things …

“He descended into Hell”

Images and reports from Haiti churn my stomach and shock me. As one who is half-way around the world, without personal funds or option to go to Haiti, how can I respond? I am waiting for directions from God. Begging for greater trust in Divine Providence, I do what I can: lift up to God in prayer those who have died, who suffer, who mourn, and who are helping in Haiti; I also offer small sacrifices out of love for the above intentions. I am embarrassed to mention these minuscule acts, grossly inadequate compared to the great calamities so many people are suffering. They are what I can give of myself now, in faith.

If possible, please donate what you can. It will help! Jesuit Refugee Services is a very trustworthy organization.

The following reflection is from Jesuit Brother Jim Boynton, a part of the rapid response team of Jesuits and volunteer U.S. Marine veterans assembled to quickly get medical personnel and supplies into Port au Prince:

“He descended into Hell”…. I have said these words every time I have prayed the Creed at Sunday mass, or the rosary. I have prayed these words often, but have never understood them until now. The smell of stale death is something that until now I have only experienced in roadkill in Northern Michigan roads. Usually a raccoon or a skunk, but never a person, and never many persons. In the past 6 years I have had the honor to serve on numerous medical brigades to the garbage dumps of Guatemala and Honduras, but nothing I have ever seen or done prepared me for the sights of the last few days. I am new to Haiti, and only arrived on November 1st to work in a school. To be honest I was nervous about that, but a school in Haiti now seems no more daunting than a classroom at University of Detroit Jesuit High School, or St. Ignatius Cleveland, where I taught history for years. What is daunting now is Haiti itself. “Haiti cherie”, or “dear Haiti”, as this country is called by those who love her, is suffering. The news may report that help is being sent from all over the world, but today we are 6 days past the quake, yet at our location we were the first foreign aid to arrive. Most is bottlenecked in the airport. The only other non-Haitians I saw today were reporters from Caritas, Germany. One left his team to help us secure transportation for the wounded and in the end for ourselves.

“He rose from the dead”… is another part of the Creed so often prayed. There is hope, there is a resurrection. Good is stronger than bad. Today the Haitians triaged themselves in an orderly fashion, the most wounded getting to see a doctor first, something that is difficult to attain in any American hospital on any given night. The amount of gratitude on part of the wounded, their families, and strangers is overwhelming. Today 4 times I flagged a car off the street to take vital cases to the nearest operation room. Gas is over $25 a gallon, if available, but each time strangers said yes. Our return transportation failed to arrive. Strangers loaded us into two trucks to drive us to the other side of town, regardless of curfew, and regardless of looters.

“To give and not to count the cost”…. is from the prayer of St. Ignatius, the founder of my religious order. Somehow through a strange course of events, I have found myself with a group of men who are living these words to their fullest. In spite of the difficulties, the struggle for organization, and lack of everything medical, the team I am with is making an incredible difference. After today’s work many will lose limbs, some may not walk, but others had the first chance at life in 6 days.

The motivations for each of us on this team are different. I am here because of my faith in Jesus Christ. If you share my faith, I would ask that you pray for the people of Haiti, and pray for the men I am with. Please make both a prayer of thanksgiving, for the people of Haiti are beautiful, and the team is as well. - Brother Jim Boynton, SJ.

Laughing at myself

To err is human; to forgive is divine; to laugh at oneself creates a bridge connecting the two.

On December 14th, my three companions and I took a 15 miles trip from the Bishop’s residence in Tabuk to the village of Lubo in Tanudan where I celebrated the first Mass. It took us almost six hours since the rain had turned the road into slimy mud. Halfway up the 4,000 feet mountain, the drivers had to put chains on the huge tires of the former US Army weapons transporter, the only vehicle rugged enough to survive the journey. Even so, it could have been stuck at various junctions. (I won’t mention other dangers.) Once we arrived at our drop-off point where the truck can no longer continue, we made a steep descent on foot for another 1.5 hours to the village. I slipped and slid on my butt a few times to provide a sanguine feast for five leeches. To be honest, I was afraid and worried, especially when night began to fall. And boy, did I pray with every step I took.

(View from our steep descent to Lubo before sunset)

A previous conversation on the truck helped immensely. Among the 20 people on the truck was an elderly couple. The husband was 73, almost as old as my dad. His wife older than my mom. They are both retired teachers. Thus, they spoke excellent English. Somehow the subject of tribal conflict came up. I learned that in the past, the people from the Province of Kalinga were known to be fierce head hunters. That violent tradition has ended. However, some tribal tensions still flare up at time. If a member of a family a tribe hurts or kills a member of another tribe or family, the family or tribe of the victim would often respond with retributive violence or revenge killing. The more peaceful options would involve either compensation, by giving precious beads which are family heirlooms, or by intermarriage. When I asked about the possibility of forgiveness, the man thoughtfully replied, “Padi (Father), to err is human, to forgive is divine.” Then he laughed and his wife smiled. He continued, “We do the best we can. Pray for us Padi.”

(Despite my plea, the elderly couple was shy to laugh or smile for the camera)

As fear and worry, like nightfall, began to overshadow me on the descent to Lubo, I recalled the laughter of the elderly man. And the smile of his wife. Their image reminded me of the my experiences of the 30-day Silent Retreat in November: Jesus often smiled at me and taught me again and again to laugh at myself whenever I am preoccupied with my limitations or my mistakes. It is my perfectionist and overzealous tendency to take myself too seriously, to be hard on myself, to focus on the troubles that I face. Yet, every time I laugh at myself, I experience less tension and space is created for God. I let go and trust more. I become more patient, poised, less ruled by fear. Consequently, I can tackle difficulties that arise.

Along with the gift of God’s first love in Jesus poor and humble (and his people), I was also given the grace to trust greater in Divine Providence on the Silent Retreat. Recalling the couple’s smile and laughter helped me to relax and take each slippery step, trusting that God will take care of me even if I make mistakes, slip and fall. Laughter bridges human error with divine wisdom, human weakness with divine strength. And when we crossed a dilapidated hanging bridge with its creaking cables swaying back and forth, I focused less on my fears and more on Divine Providence. As night descended, I smiled at the flickering fireflies, reminding myself to trust that God is the light into my path.

Rampant corruption is the main reason why there are no all-weather road or sturdy bridges in Tanudan, despite hundreds of thousands of dollars earmarked for such projects. The current Mayor has been serving for three terms and is running for re-election. He created a non-existent contractor, fabricated reports of road developments, and pocketed the funds. People are bought and bullied into silence. A priest who voiced the truth and is now being threatened. I felt sad and angry when I saw the purported “road” the Mayor was building. Surprisingly, I met him soon after. He shook my hand, smiled slyly, and spoke craftily - trademarks of a slick politician. To my surprise I cordially inquired about the people and the road building project. I wished him luck on the upcoming election and encouraged him to truly serve his people by working for their good. I prayed for him when we parted. To be honest, a part of me wanted to confront and question him. But I was able to take myself less seriously and looked at him with compassion. Trust in Divine Providence and remembrance of how Jesus dealt with questionable religious leaders prompted me to act with greater love than accusation. When Jesus challenged, it was always out of compassion. It was grace that guided my attitude and action that day. On my own, my heart is not that generous.

(The Lubo bridge, hanging 100+ feet above the Tanudan River)

The lesson on that long trip with the elderly couple who laughs, of slipping on the trails, and crossing hanging bridges, shaped my experience the rest of Advent, even until now. So when I am unable to laugh at myself, I try to smile, hoping to meet Jesus smiling, beholding me with love. He frequently does, whenever I pray, especially in silence.

Falling, mistakes, laughing at oneself, bridges, forgiveness, God … somehow they are all intertwined.

God’s First Love

“And the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us …” – Jn 1:14
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.” – Jn 3:16

This Christmas has been especially meaningful for me. A friend remarked that I am blessed to experience God’s first love. That is, to experience God in poverty, in God’s poor.

In November, I made the Spiritual Exercises, the 30-day Silent Retreat envisioned by Saint Ignatius. I was given a special gift: the desire to grow closer to Jesus poor and humble. Soon after, I left for two weeks of ministry in the remote mountain villages of Tanudan, a part Kalinga Province, located in Northern Philippines. There, unknown to me at the time, I opened this gift. Rather, it unfolded.

Life in Tanundan is very different from that in Manila and light years from living in California. Most people are poor rice farmers. Many grow coffee, vegetables and raise livestock, but mainly for consumption rather than livelihood. There are little modern amenities: no roads, no electricity, and no running water. Most houses where I stayed had no toilets; the river was our bathhouse, and a place for laundry and cleaning. Everyday my companions and I hiked strenuously for 2-3 hours through mountainous terrains with dangerous footing, especially when the path is turned into mudslides by rain. Even for an experienced backpacker like me, this life was physically very demanding. And since amoebas have “befriended me for life,” imbibing strange water and food were particularly stressful on my stomach. (I’ll spare you the embarrassing adventures I experienced with eating and going to the bathroom).

I was sent to celebrate Mass. I was the only priest within a radius of 30 miles. This area has been without a pastor for almost 3 years. Each morning, I celebrated Mass around 4 or 5 am at a different barrio (village) stretched along the Tanudan River. The Filipinos have a special Christmas tradition of nine “Simbang Gabi” or Dawn Masses from Dec 16 until Dec 24, culminating in the Midnight Mass to welcome the Nativity of Jesus. These celebrations are filled with church bells, much singing, and some eating after Mass, before farmers go to the rice fields. Much of it occurred in darkness, punctuated by candlelight.

Aside from the aforementioned physical challenges, I experienced my poverty – my limitations and inadequacies - through numerous ways. Often without clear amplification, my hoarse voice had to compete with chickens crowing and dogs barking during Mass. I spoke English and sometimes in a very broken Kalinga dialect. My young guides, Fe & Ablizer, along with some adults knew English. However, communication was not easy. Although I observed some interesting similarities the people shared with some ethnic Vietnamese, such as chewing beetle nut, I was in a mostly unfamiliar culture. In more ways than I can describe, I was stretched beyond my boundaries. I had to face my own poverty - my limitations and helplessness.

Yet through this encounter with poverty, I experienced God’s first love in a rare way. The people of Tanudan were unbelievably gracious and hospitable. They took such good care of me. They gave me their best: the best place to sleep, the best vegetables and fruits; they served the best chicken, pork, and eel – reserved only for the most honored guests. I was constantly invited to eat. Everywhere I went I was accompanied by good guides. I witnessed their simple yet strong faith, especially through the dedication of the catechists and lay leaders. In many sacramental ways, through Baptisms, Anointing of the Sick, First Communions, funerals, and various blessings, I sensed the nearness of God’s love. I felt how God favors those who are poor and humble. Many times at Mass, tears flowed from my eyes as Jesus became very real through the heartfelt singing of the people and through the awareness that the communion host I was holding is one and the same as the Body of Christ enfleshed in the people. Many times on the trails, my spirit was enlivened at the realization that my very tired feet and body is God’s way of visiting God’s people, including myself. I can only poorly describe this experience. This is the homily I shared during the Midnight Mass:

“Tonight we celebrate what is most important to our faith. No other religion believes that God, creator of heaven and earth became human like us. Jesus, Word of God, Who is God, became human – one of us. He built his house next to ours, lived among us, ate like us, suffered with us, for us, to save us. He came as a child, a poor child, born in a manger, poor and humble. To a poor family. To serve and give his life because he loved us. God is in love with us. Like people who love, God wants to be one with us whom He loves …

God in Jesus came to all. But only those who are poor in spirit - who are humble, peacemakers, merciful, open - will see him. And live in his radiant light. For others, it will be just another Christmas vacation. When we accept Jesus poor and humble, our lives will change … Our Catholic faith is most special: when we look at a person who is poor, who loves, who forgives, we see God. God who is poor, who loves, who forgives. God chooses to show God’s light most clearly through human beings, through you and me. Through us who are poor, weak, and sinful. This is the glory of God’s humility. The light of God’s love.”

Today is the twelfth day of Christmas. The homily takes even deeper hold of me. I am realizing the fuller meaning of the gift I have been given through the 30-day retreat and ministry in Tanudan: a deeper longing to be united with Jesus poor and humble.

My friend Tere is on to something when she writes: “I think your Tertianship is taking you back to where God is, to touch Him again in His first love ... the poor ... the lowly ... the pure people ... the remotest part of this world. You are very fortunate to experience God in poverty. There He is most of the time.”

If grace is God’s gift, given to draw us closer to God and other people, then I have been given a great gift this Christmas: sharing God’s first love. Yet, I believe I am among many, which may very well include you. Therefore, go: spend time to serve and visit God’s poor. Embrace your poverty. Open your own gift, however strangely shaped and wrapped. Let it unfold.