YOU ARE MY PASSION: A CONVERSATION

"Love is stronger than death. That’s the triumph of the cross.

We were only radically redeemed on Calvary. The triumph of the cross has to take place in each one of us."

Text taken from the homily of Fr. Tito, September 2014.

Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner: A conversation between Jesus and the soul.

"Yes, Lord, you saw me. But what am I in the crowd of this world? And have you looked at anyone else besides me?"

Jesus said, “I saw you alone.”

"Then no doubt you saw me with a distant look, like a vision that vanishes like thousands of others. Tell me when you had the thought of me."

Jesus said, “I have always had it.”

"Lord, tell me this, too. During those hours, from what have you suffered the most?"

Jesus said, "From you."

"Alas, Jesus you bore the sins of all. Their weight was increasing. But tell me, with what thorn did I pierce your forehead?"

Jesus said, "With all of them."

"And it is I, too, who scourged you? I, too, who nailed you? And I who killed you? Then, Lord, what did the others do?

Jesus said, "You are my passion."

"My saviour, my soul was distressed and afraid. Tell me what did you fear the most?"

Jesus said, "To lose you."

"Yes, Lord. I know that the loss should make your passion useless. But tell me, are there many who are lost? Is it true that their number is greater than the elect?"

Jesus said, "If I lose you, I lose all."

"But again Lord, what did you want? What did you desire most at that moment?"

Jesus said, "To save you."

"You were dying for all, and you thirsted to save them all. When you wanted also ardently, could one alone quench your thirst?"

Jesus said, "I thirst for you."

"Lord, how mysterious is this? How is it that if I am lost, I make your passion useless? And if I am saved, I take from you all regret from having suffered? And what share will the others bring to your victory?"

Jesus said, "Be my victory."

SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT

The Nativity by Filipino artist, Manuel Baldemor.

Silent night. These words sung around the world to celebrate Christ’s nativity (or the more secular gift-giving, eggnog-sipping, onesie-wearing holiday) never quite resonated with me. My whole life, Christmas was all but silent. Christmas was the promise of being in a house full of families and relatives whose names you don’t remember. It was the joy of dining tables and kitchen counters filled to the edges with overlapping plates of potluck food. It was the grace of mildly intoxicated uncles singing 80’s hits on the karaoke. It was the hope for anything but another hoodie from that awful store where 14-year-olds spend all of their allowance money. It was the eve that was interrupted by an extra long midnight mass, where you were awoken by too many confused mumbles of “and also with you” and “let us give Him thanks and praise”. It was as holy as the perpetual ringing of Salvation Army donation bells while terrible two-year-olds wail in a crowded outlet mall.

Then it got lonely. Suddenly, I didn’t have all of the above to look forward to. Moving away from home took a real hit this holiday. I’ve been away for about four months now, and I’ve grown to enjoy all the uninterrupted, quiet time available to me. Christmas Eve, however, was particularly silent - a sorrowful silence. No last minute gift shopping; no stressful preparations until the guests arrive; no crowded home celebrations; no gift wrappers to clean off the living room floor; no sipping on mom’s homemade hot cocoa by the wood-burning fire; no spoiled beagle trying to dig out the rattlers from his new stuffed chew toy; no little brother sleeping with all his new toys under his blanket. And where was my usually unstifled spirit to have Michael Buble’s Christmas album on loop? I was homesick. My heart longed to be with my family, all cozy, messy and noisy in our tiny house.

Sweets. This was all I had left from past Christmas traditions. Apparently, chocolate consumption until your tongue hurts keeps the comforts of home closer. Still, I couldn’t eat my feelings away.

Thank God for Holy Mass. On Christmas Day, I chose to go to St. Mary’s Cathedral in downtown Calgary. I avoided the smaller churches. I didn’t want to be that single soul sitting in between families who also happen to be neighbours. I figured the large Cathedral congregation might have more individuals attending solo. Surely I wasn’t the only one holding back tears of painful self-pity while singing a shaky “Oh Come All Ye Faithful”.

My eyes were still puffy from a night of crying. I’m not one to cry myself to sleep, but sometimes, I just am, okay? I was frustrated because I couldn’t find comfort in recognizing just how much better I have it than many. My distance from home is temporary - for some, loved ones are a mere memory. My heart was heavy from indulging in my sadness. The choir of trumpets filled the cathedral with a festive joy that got everyone singing louder. I sang along in hopes of ridding my gloom.

The priest delivered a simple homily. His message was clear, and it was on joy: 

“J is for Jesus. O is for others. Y is for you.” 

In the style of a nursery rhyme, it was just what I needed. With child-like simplicity, I was reminded how much of a helpless child I was without truly, devoutly and sacrificially loving Christ, just as He loves me. Put Jesus first, others second, you (me) last.  

It echoed something Pope Benedict XVI once said:

“If you follow the will of God, you will know that in spite of all the terrible things that happen to you, you will never lose a final refuge. You know that the foundation of the world is love, so that even if no human being can or will help you, you may go on, trusting the one that loves you.”  

Regardless of the damage others or we do to ourselves - like digging ourselves a deep hole of self-centered agony, our Heavenly Father will be there to dig us out - if we allow Him.

I needed the kind reminder that Jesus Christ was born for me. With all His Godly power, he worked, he suffered, and he prayed as Jesus of Nazareth for 33 years. All of this so he can be treated unjustly, mocked, and crucified on a cross. He endured all of this, in his human weakness, just to show how much He loves us. Now, I already knew this. But I'm stubborn, proud and forgetful. What a great gift repetition is in our faith! Us silly humans are so neglectful of the things worth remembering. Blessed are we that we have many who are willing to tell us again and again.

Still, it continues to surprise. He continues to surprise us with the ways in which He loves us. Hearing about God’s constant and unconditional love for me at the time I felt most alone filled me with great peace. There is a reoccurring, yet ever-new mystery in God’s love - it is too complex, too beautiful and too perfect for me to comprehend. Yet, despite the number of times I reject his truth, doubt his mercy and forget His love, it is still me (and you) whom he loves so deeply, so simply.

"So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you. On that day you will ask nothing of me. Very truly, I tell you, if you ask anything of the Father in my name, he will give it to you. Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete." - John 16: 22-24.   

Jesus was fighting for me on my lonely Christmas Day. He wanted so dearly to put joy in my heart. God humbled himself to take human form, so he could save me from myself; that I may find joy on that silent and holy night. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS

“When the angels announced the birth of the Redeemer to the shepherds, they did so with these words:

“This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” (Lk 2:12).

The "sign" is the humility of God taken to the extreme; it is the love with which, that night, he assumed our frailty, our suffering, our anxieties, our desires and our limitations. The message that everyone was expecting, that everyone was searching for in the depths of their souls, was none other than the tenderness of God: God who looks upon us with eyes full of love, who accepts our poverty, God who is in love with our smallness.” - Pope Francis 

Nativity of Christ, El Greco, 1603.