We are God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live the good life as from the beginning he had meant us to live it.

These words from St Paul to the Ephesians were part of the Readings for last Monday’s Eucharist. In the past few days, I have been pondering on them as I continue to dialogue with my sister about her pregnancy.

Paul's words speak to me in a special way of the gift of the first born son my sister, Geri, and her husband, Ken, are eagerly anticipating with great joy. Indeed, so too are all of us in the family for he will be the first of a new generation. Truly, his anticipated birth in January will herald a time of joy, love and hope. It will also be an invitation to accompany him as he grows up in the coming years.

Till he springs forth into our world from his mother’s womb, probably, with a squawking yelp and a hearty chuckle, we await patiently, hopefully. In the meantime, both Mummy and Daddy to be continue to deliberate on his name, with added suggestions from my Mom, aunts and brothers. (I wouldn't be surprise if Geri and Ken's friends have not also proposed names for the young one.)

As I write this, Michael, Zachary and Aidan are on the shortlist. No matter what his chosen name finally is, it will be a name that speaks of God’s blessing and goodness. His name will remind us of God's wondrous gift that he truly is to Geri and Ken, to the family and the world.

Indeed, whenever we call his name, or, however he is before us, be it crying or laughing with joyful glee, if not, indeed, when he does finally stand before us, who will be old and grey one day, as the person he will become and living the life he is called to live, how else are we to think of this boy’s presence in our midst but as God’s work of art, created for the good life and for the good of others.

And so, what a sight it will truly and happily be for all of us to finally behold this new born babe—son and grandson, grand-nephew and nephew, cousin and friend—who is nothing less than the God of Love’s delightful gift of love itself!

It is all done: the orals are over; the marks have been submitted. Now, there is time to rest. For the next three weeks, there is time to return to the simpler thing in life, to just be.

Indeed, the semester has ended well. Teaching Philosophy has been rewarding, as it always is. The hopeful work the formation team and teachers have been engaged in to put in place a new juniorate programme is beginning to bear fruit: the juniors, and others in the house too, testify to the positive difference it is making in their lives. Their comments remind me how often I find myself humbled, enriched and inspired as I accompany them each day in this regency assignment and see them growing. In the social ministry I do twice a week at the Marcel Van Project, I’m learning to be patient and flexible as I journey with young men released from prison to begin life anew.

Yes, there has been so much learning and growing these past months, much more than I’d ever expected when we began in June. At the beginning, I was tense, uncertain and anxious about being a regent with the many assigned works and responsibilities, not to mention the expectations superiors and others had of me. I was also gingerly trying to accustom myself to the new role of being a formattor while staying on in the same community where I’d been a scholastic-student for the past three years in Manila. Without doubt, challenges abounded in this time. These tested me; they stretched me, opening me to new horizons of what it means to live my vows and be a Jesuit, as they also helped me continue my discernment about staying on in religious life.

I’ve no doubt all of these, and the many blessings gratuitously and unexpectedly received, are helping me to grow up, not only as a Jesuit but, more fundamentally, as a person and a Christian. Indeed, it is mysteriously comforting that for whatever little and imperfect that I’ve poured out in being there for others, they have filled me beyond the brim of my being, they who are fitter vessels of God’s graciousness and goodness in teaching and forming me for whatever I do not really know but am certain is good and part of God’s plan.

Writing this on this bright and sun-lit morning, I’m laughing. I’m laughing in sheepish embarrassment as I look back on the semester that has been so good because I find myself forgetting what I so often share with others in their anxiety and worry, and this is the sound and wise advice of the 14^th century mystic, Julian of Norwich: God’s faithfulness never fails for he does make sure that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

:)

photo by david niblack

After 17 weeks of classes, papers and projects, we have come down to this in the Ateneo: examination week.

Like many lay students, our brothers in Arrupe are in the midst of their final oral and written examinations in the various subjects they study on this campus. As our community finds itself in the midst of serious studies, and, sometimes, last minute cramming, there’s a certain sobriety around the house, and a hush too that permeates our waking hours. The silent, empty television room and the almost untouched billiards table during daylight hours remind us of the present times we are in.

The juniors are also sitting for a series of tests in English Language and Mathematics this week. These will help them and their teachers evaluate their progress since their academic studies began.

For us formattors who teach on campus, this is an exacting time. Like so many Ateneo faculty, we’re presently in the midst of conducting oral examinations and correcting term papers. When all the marking and oral exams are done by the end of this week, we’ll be tallying the marks and attending to end-of-semester administrative matters; indeed, the paperwork will inundate our lives. While we do this, our students will be out enjoying themselves!

In this time that Ateneo students call “hell week,” we, in Arrupe, find ourselves swept along by the feverish rush that is the examinations. Like them, we too yearn expectantly for the coming holidays (just a few days more). After all is said and done at the exams this week, there will be time, once again, to enjoy the simpler things in life that we have sacrificed these past few weeks: watching television and playing games, reading a novel and catching up with friends over coffee.

Perhaps, these challenging times when we are tested offer us this insight: the many hours of rigorous and diligent study help us to relish and cherish more gratefully the simple things in life that we so often take for granted. Now, isn’t this true too of the rest and relaxation so many of us long for after the daily grind of working life?

photo by adrian danker, sj

Today is the Feast of St Teresa of Avila. Happy Feast Day to the Carmelites and the Carmelite family!

When I left the Novitiate for Manila to begin my studies in Philosophy, a good companion in the Novitiate, Mark (who is now in Jakarta reading Philosophy) shared with me Teresa’s prayer, Nada te turbe. In English, the prayer is entitled, Let nothing trouble you.

It is a beautiful prayer that speaks of the total dependence and trust one can have in God:

Let nothing trouble you.
Let nothing frighten you.
Everything passes.

God never changes.

Patience obtains all.
Whoever has God wants for nothing.
God alone is enough.

I have often prayed these lines and have come to learn Teresa’s insight that God is indeed constant and true, as God alone is surely enough for daily life and more.

artwork: detail from the sistine chapel by michelangelo

Today is the Feast of St Francis of Assisi. Happy Feast Day to the Franciscans and the Franciscan family!

As a young boy, I remember singing his Peace Prayer often at Sunday Masses; the standard version we sang then was the rendition by Sebastian Temple. Growing up, I realized how comforting this prayer is for so many people of different faiths. Though it is increasingly being appreciated as a prayer Francis did not compose, it is characteristically Franciscan in spirit. It is a prayer in which many have found an honest and hopeful means to renew the face of our often brutal and pained world wherein so many suffer unnecessarily and violently, a renewal that begins with little steps we take in the ordinariness of each day.

The following is my favourite translation of the prayer by the Jesuit composer, John Foley.

Lord, make me a means of Your peace.
Where there’s hatred grown, let me sow Your love.
Where there’s injury, Lord, let forgiveness be my sword.
Lord, make me means of Your peace.

Lord, make me a means of Your peace.
Where there’s doubt and fear, let me sow Your faith.
In this world’s despair, give me hope in You to share.
Lord make me a means of Your peace.

Lord, make me a means of Your peace.
When there’s sadness here, let me sow Your joy.
When the darkness nears, may Your light dispel our fears.
Lord, make me a means of Your peace.

Lord, grant me to seek and to share:
Less to be consoled than to help console,
Less be understood than to understand Your good.
Lord, make me a means of Your peace.

Lord, grant me to seek and to share:
To receive love less to give love free,
Just to give in Thee, just receiving from Your tree.
Lord, make me a means of Your peace.

Lord, grant me to seek and to share:
To forgive in Thee, You’ve forgiven me;
For to die in Thee is eternal life for me.
Lord, make me a means of Your peace.

On this joyful feast of this remarkable saint whose love for Christ Poor in all of Creation profoundly inspired Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, to find God in all things, there is much that we can begin anew in our world if we, both you and me, but heed the longing of another like ourselves to be blessed by our peace, even as we yearn to receive peace.

And so, let me begin: “peace, my friends.”

photo by david niblack