ALL SAINTS' DAY: Listening is the Key

We commemorate today the solemnity of all the saints declared as such by the Catholic Church. We believe that these men and women, who lived holy lives on earth, fulfilling what their Christian calling required of them, are now bona fide residents of heaven, the “place” where we all wish to find rest for ever. I wonder if you have ever thought about why we should be celebrating the feast of all the saints. Should we be doing this? From a certain vantage point, celebrating them seems pointless. Today, we praise them, we honor them, and we venerate them. But let us face it, we are not doing them any good. The honor we give them, our praises and our veneration add nothing to who they now are. They are in heaven, enjoying the ever-refreshing presence of the Trinity. What else or who else would they need? They have God, and God is everything! Nobody and nothing can take that away from them – ever again. So why this celebration then? For whom really is this feastday?

It is for us! Our celebration today does not serve the saints a bit, but it does serve us a great deal. All Saints’ Day is a reminder of who we are as Christians: that we are men and women baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Ours is the call to tread the road to holiness, the same road that all the saints have trodden. The saints have reached the finish line, and now the crown of glory is theirs. Venerating their memory, we get in touch with our desire to enjoy the same heavenly residency at the end of our earthly walk. Our hearts are inflamed, and we are arrested by a holy envy: when will I see the face of God? Our existence here below is not an easy walk, and reaching the end is extremely difficult. But the saints present themselves as proofs that it is possible. In fact, the testimonies of their lives of faith, hope and charity stand as the road marks, showing which way to go.

Foremost of the saints is the Blessed Virgin Mary. When I think of the saints now, the Blessed Mother included, I realize that they are not different from us. Aside from the fact that they are human beings like anyone of us, we and the saints share the same calling to holiness. What differentiates us is the response we give to that calling. The difference is in the listening. And that is crucial.

When the angel Gabriel announced to the Blessed Virgin about the plan of God, she was confused. Yes, she understood that she was being singled out among all the women on earth to carry the Savior in her womb, yet she did not understand how that could be possible since she had no husband. But she listened on to the angel. Her listening led to her fiat, and she henceforth conceived the Lord Jesus. Listening is nothing else than being open and receptive. It’s like the womb. If the womb does not receive, there is no giving birth. If the Blessed Mother did not listen to and receive the plan of God, she would not have conceived and given birth to the Savior. To listen then is also to be creative. It’s giving birth to what is good and beautiful. The “yes” of Mary “created” the Lord Jesus in her womb.

This has much to say about our journey on the road to holiness. Our journey is about constant listening to God. The saints are now where they are because they persisted in listening to the will of God. Listening is the key, and there is no other. Our celebration calls us to become like the womb of the Blessed Mother, receptive and creative. Let us be open so that we can, like the saints, conceive and birth forth acts of faith, hope and charity. These will obtain for us the glory that is heaven.

To Deserve Or Not To Deserve

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a quote, which I found relationally sensible. The line went: "If one cannot accept you at your worst, he/she doesn't deserve you at your best."

Side A:

Broken-hearted people, those who have just called it quits with their partners, and even those whose break-up already belongs to distant history but are still chattel to their failed relationship, can find this somehow comforting. Comforting, when they are confident they were the better partners, better choices, and yet they were abandoned for somebody else. Abandoned, perhaps because the people who left them looked into the worst in them with bridled eyes and would not accept them for who they were; those who left failed to see the best in their erstwhile partners, proving themselves unworthy of them in their best selves.

Side B:

Exhausted people, those who had been silently screaming they wanted out of their suffocating relationship and eventually gained their freedom, those who fell out of love, those who stopped fighting for love, those who simply declared "it's not working", might consider stopping for a while and re-think what really went wrong, not so much to find a reason or two to set their feet back towards the arms that once embraced them. One of the many possible reasons could have been that they were drawn to the shadows rather than the lights, to the storm rather than the rainbow. They did not understand and accept their partners in their worst selves, and so they took flight. But by fleeing, they were calling themselves undeserving of the love of those they left behind. By fleeing, they were leaving the persons who might truly love them. By fleeing, they could possibly be missing the persons meant for them.

A piece of New York in Laoag (A Repost)

October 2. I am inside a car right now which will bring me, Fr. Joel, Fr. Nars and Lo Dennis to Niagara Falls, Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City. It is a great time to go up north when leaves start to turn yellow, orange and red. I am a nature-lover, and it has always been my wish to see North America in autumn. Although summer seems fighting to keep itself felt and green is still the dominant color, I’m just glad to be on this road where the beauty of autumn is now written on the trees.

I, together with Fr. Joel, strolled through the streets of Manhattan yesterday, as we did last year. I love New York. What makes the home of the Knicks amazing to me is that, although downtown Manhattan is a jungle of skyscrapers, tall, verdant trees stand majestically along the streets which waves of men and women in suit as well as those trying hard to live a New Yorker’s life traverse every day of rat-race. When I walk amid pairs of maple or elm trees that line busy streets, I feel I am on that spot of the world where I just want to be.

We took the subway to 96th St. to go to Central Park. That street hits the middle of the park. We could have gone as far as 106th St. in the north and stroll all the way down to the southern tip of the park, but because it is so vast a park an hour would never be enough to enjoy it, we decided to go down at 96th. I missed Central Park last year, and I was not going to let this opportunity to enjoy nature in the middle of Manhattan, including the possibility of spotting at least a couple of Hollywood stars, pass me by a second time. And there I was relishing every inch of that American parks system masterpiece. The trees, the ponds, the bridges, the cafes are exactly where they should be. No actor appeared yesterday, but being at Central Park was joy enough. I was just a tourist in New York, but something told me this is paradise for New Yorkers and even for tourists like me, a haven amid the hustle and bustle of exhausting American life so characteristic of the metropolitan northeast. It is an oasis in the desert of what would otherwise be boring buildings. It is the crowning glory of the financial capital of the world, not the New York Stock Exchange Building on Wall Street, nor the Empire State Building, although New York is called the Empire State. New York is not New York without the Central Park. Well, that’s according to me.

I sat beside, well, not too near, a young lady who lay herself on the bench. She was reading a book. Several were just lying on the green carpet. A black man was walking his two dogs. European and Asian tourists, including a Filipino couple based in California, walked past me. A pair of what seemed to me were teen couples were enjoying their walk while chatting. Birds and squirrels had their own ways of relishing their moments. Further away, the big pockets were sipping their whisky, brandy or cognac in the café. Everything was perfect.

What if the space was used to hold more buildings and not the 26,000 trees it now protects? It could have meant more money for the city and the state. But the powers that be, visionaries as they were, opted to dedicate this portion of the land for the creation of a park, thus hallowing it, for by its ponds, on the benches, along its pathways or upon its green spread, the God of creation might be encountered.

And then I suddenly felt the intense desire for a Central Park in my home city of Laoag arrest me. I wanted to see a park, a greenery, a huge garden, in the heart of Laoag where the young and old, the big pockets and those who can hardly make both ends meet, relax and just be themselves, as I was doing.

The space where I am imagining the Central Park could be is presently the site of the Central Elementary School. There are now talks about moving the school to a more conducive location. If the transfer is carried out, I’d be jumping about to see a Central Park there, and not anything else.

It’s autumn in America. The idea of putting a piece of New York in that little space of Laoag may be nothing else but wishful thinking. Be that as it may, I’m still like a leaf holding on to the tree about that wish, praying not to blown away by a heartless, tempestuous wind or to be left taken for granted until it falls. I’m not about to hoist the white flag of surrender. Autumn may turn to winter, when everything would be frozen. But who knows, there are still people somewhere whose hearts aren’t and who share my wish of seeing spring come alive on that space in Laoag.