Welcome to PINS OF LIGHT!

Today's Readings

One of the few TV programs I make sure to follow is "Heroes."  As its viewers know, it’s about a strange bunch of reluctant superheroes:  young and ordinary people who accidentally discover their extraordinary abilities. 

Among them is Hiro Nakamura, a Japanese office worker who has a boring routinary 9-to-5 job.  Like the other heroes, he learns about his special gifts by trial and error.  He discovers that he can stop and manipulate time, travel through time, and even teleport—i.e., to travel from one place to another.  All he has to do is to concentrate really hard!   In one of his more successful attempts, he surprises himself when he manages to teleport himself all the way from a subway in Tokyo across the globe to Times Square, New York!

The interesting thing about Hiro is his belief that he needs something special to help him control his power.  It’s a sword--but not just any ordinary sword, but a very special and specific sword, the sword belonging to the ancient Japanese warrior Takezo Kensei.  He goes to the Museum of Natural History looking for this sword, and he finds it in a glass case on the back of the ancient warrior.   Hiro decides to steal it, not knowing that it's only a wooden replica of the real sword. 

Hiro eventually finds the real sword of Takezo Kensei.  Not only does it help him control his powers, but also it changes him and his character.  The sword in itself has no magic, but for Hiro, it has become a powerful symbol of who he is and what his mission will be.

Now, enough of Hiro.  Let’s talk about another swordsman, who is also a saint and whose feast day we celebrated on the 31st of July.   I am, of course, referring to St. Ignaitus of Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus.  This is his statue found on the campus of Ateneo de Manila University.  If you look at it closely, you will see that Ignatius is wearing a soldier’s uniform.  Also you will notice that in his hands he is holding a sword.


Actually, what’s happening here is that Ignatius is on a vigil before our Lady of Montserrat in Spain.  During that vigil he offered his sword because he had decided to change his ways and to serve God in his life.  Just like Hiro Nakamura, for Ignatius the soldier, his sword symbolized everything that he was and everything that his life meant. The only difference is that in his case, he wasn’t looking for something to symbolize him as Hiro was doing.  Instead he was giving it up.  In surrendering his sword, he was offering his past self and his past life to God because he wanted God to make him an instrument to make the world a better place.

That seems to be the message of our gospel reading today.  Our Lord saw the crowd around him, and he was moved with pity for them.  When he saw that they were hungry, he asked the disciples to feed the people, but his disciples said:  “All we have are five loaves and two fish.”  The Lord asked for the five loaves and the two fish, and the disciples gave them up, offering all that they had to the Lord.  What did the Lord do?  He broke the loaves, and distributed them along with the two fish to the crowds.  Miraculously, the five loaves and the two fish were multiplied—and not only were all the people fed, but they also had so much leftover!

Notice that at first the disciples didn’t think that their five loaves and two fish were enough to feed.  What they learned from this miracle of our Lord is that for as long as we surrender whatever we have to God, it will not only be enough to make a difference.  It will even be more than enough!

So here's a Quick Question for you today:  “Do you believe that you, given your talents and your gifts, can make a difference in the world?”  If your answer is a hesitant “No,” maybe the Lord is inviting you precisely to learn to believe more in yourself and in the gifts and talents that he has given you.  If your answer is a confident "Yes," maybe the Lord is reminding you that you need his help to make such a difference, and he is challenging you to offer whatever you have and whoever you are to him. 

Call it what you will--sword, loaves and fish--but whichever your symbol is for your self and for your life, surrender it all to the Lord.  But like Hiro Nakamura, we must first claim this--i.e., go out of our way to discover who we are and develop what we can do.  But when the time comes, like St. Ignatius and the disciples in the gospel, we must be ready to give up whatever we have—even if we don’t think it is worth much—to share who we are with others—because when we think about it, it is the Lord who will make sure that we make a difference.

Note:  Here's a music video showing highlights in the story of Hiro Nakamura. The music video is made by heroeseclipse (YouTube) to the Bon Jovi song, "It's My Life."

Today's Readings

Today's gospel reading is easy to relate to.  We know about storms, don't we?  Many of us have experienced storms in our lives, both storms caused by nature as well as those encountered in life in general. 

I remember one particularly powerful and frightening storm from my childhood.  The name of the storm was Typhoon Yoling, and although I don't recall the precise storm signal that was raised, I still remember looking out our window and watching with disbelief street signs and roofs flying in the air, uprooted by the howling wind.  That typhoon was one of the most powerful I've experienced in my life.

Lately, the world has been experiencing abnormally powerful storms--not to mention other natural calamities.   The more scientific among us say all this is the effect of global warming.  The more pious ones claim it's some kind of divine global warning.  Which is which?  Maybe both, when you think about it.

But what of the other type of storm in our lives?  The kind that often descends upon us without warning, or sometimes brews silently and secretly before it strikes suddenly?  I'm of course referring to problems and crises that we encounter.  This type of storm can be just as frightening and devastating as nature's storms. 

It can be an unexpected misfortune:  a loved one diagnosed with a serious illness, a business suddenly gone bankrupt, a valued relationship turned sour or abusive...  These storms come in many forms, but regardless of their form, they disrupt the calm in our lives:  They uproot us from whatever it is that used to ground us and they toss us with a violence many of us are unaccustomed to.  In such moments all we can do is hang on and pray the storm will pass without leaving our lives--and our selves--too much in ruins.

In today's gospel reading, the Lord does precisely what we hope and pray that he will do when we meet storms in our lives.  He stills the storm.  To the amazement of his disciples, he addresses the wind and the waves, summoning an authority that issues from who he is, and commands Nature to basically shut up. 

Yes!  That's exactly what we want him to do to the storms in our lives:  For these bewildered friends, whose formerly healthy bodies are suddenly racked and ravaged by some disease.  For those people who stay in bed wide-eyed and sleepless, worrying about how to make both ends meet for their families the next day.  For those whose hearts are wounded and shattered by people who have thoughtlessly tossed their hearts away.  When these storms rage in our lives, what else can we do but turn to him who alone can still the storm?

So Lord, why don't you then face our storms the way you did aboard the boat of your disciples that stormy night at sea?  Cross whatever lake that separates you from us, walk on our water, and all you have to do is say the word, and even the most violent of storms will miraculously die down.  Won't they?

But you don't, do you?  At least not all the time.  Most of the time, you sit by us--too often too silently--and if we even notice, we'll see you riding the storm with us.   Such seems to be your way.

I think you won't take it against us if we feel some disappointment, will you?  I suspect you'll even understand if we get upset or angry at you, or if we can't help questioning you or even accusing you the way Job, that holy man of suffering in the Old Testament, did in Scripture.

What's the point of praying for you to come and still our storm if most of the time you won't anyway?  What's the point of all the devotions, the rosaries, and the Masses and prayers for healing if you won't grant what we ask for anyway--at least not all the time?  In fact, if you do decide to stop the storm, it will be because you will it, not us.  So why pray?

But maybe just the same, we should still call on you.  Maybe just the same, we should still pray and plead with you.  Even if you don't stop the storms around us, maybe praying to you will quiet the the storms in our soul and calm the turbulent waves pounding in our hearts.  And who knows?  Maybe  in the greater scheme of things, that is the more important storm to still because only when you still our inner storm will we survive the winds and rains around us.  And only when we have your peace--the peace that runs deeper than all the troubles around us--only then can we manage to bring ourselves to pick up the pieces of our lives in the storm's aftermath.

Here's a Quick--but disturbing--Question for you:  "Do you agree that God usually doesn't still the storms in our lives?  What do you think of a God like that?"  Think about it, and if you feel up to it, share a thought, a feeling, or even a question.

Note:  Apologies for this very late post.  Although I started writing this entry early, I couldn't finish it in time for posting before an early morning flight. And for various reasons, I couldn't do this last night.  Mea culpa. :-)

Today's Readings

A line from an 80's song started playing in my head as I was thinking about this Sunday's gospel.  It goes:  "She calls out to the man on the street:  'Sir, can you help me?'"

The line is, of course, from Phil Collin's no. 1 single, "Another Day in Paradise" back in 1989.  The song, which won the Grammy Record of the Year that year, was written to call attention to the plight not only of the homeless in the US, but also of refugees all over the world.

The first stanza of Collins' song paints a much too familiar scene:  A homeless woman asks a man for help, but the man responds by quickening his pace. The song tells us, "He pretends he can't hear her, starts to whistle as he crosses the street."

Been there, done that, haven't we?  But so has the Lord!

In the gospel, a Canaanite woman--perhaps in a tone not too different from the homeless lady's--calls out to the Lord for help.  The Lord doesn't turn away from her like the man in the song, but neither does he rush to the woman's rescue!  On the contrary--and to my disappointment and maybe yours too--he seems reluctant to help!  As he later explains, the reason for his hesitation is that he has been "sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel."

That's it?!  Lord, I hope you don't mind my saying so, but while I understand that you need to keep your priorities, this woman's pretty desperate about her daughter, isn't she?  She's so desperate that to your disciples' horror, she follows you around like a dog!  And to make matters worse, that's exactly what you compare her to when you explain why you can't help. 

I don't know, but I don't like it too much when you speak so bluntly.  That's how you sounded when you spoke to your parents back in the Temple in Jerusalem when you were just twelve.  Not exactly one of my favorite scenes in your life!

I also get uneasy when you seem to withhold help as you did with your mother at that wedding in Cana when she discreetly tipped you about the wine supply.  I just don't get it!  You eventually help most of the time anyway, so why take your time?  Why withhold help until what seems like the last minute?

I think I prefer a sweeter Lord, if you please, a Savior who is always gentle and who always--and immediately--rushes to my rescue, calms my storm before it gets a chance to rock my boat.  But the problem is: Is that you?  Is that your way?

But come to think of it, we don't exactly have the right to complain about you. In his song, Phil Collins tells us to "think twice"--presumably about the lot of the homeless.  Not without irony, he says, "It's just another day for you and me in paradise."  When confronted with the problems of people and their pleas for help, that's what we usually do:  We respond by fleeing as fast and as far as we possibly can to hide away in our own private paradise. 

You didn't do that.  You could have stayed in Paradise, but you didn't.  You could have kept your distance, but you chose not to.  You left Paradise--literally--to be one of us and to be here among us drenched in our sweat and tears and stained in our blood.  Instead of complaining, I should be thanking you for leaving paradise to join us.

And we could learn a lesson or two from the Canaanite woman.  When you tell her that it's not proper to toss children's food to dogs, she surpises you--and probably herself too--when she says she'll happily take the scrap that falls from the table. 

What spunk!  But in her you see great faith.  Faith?!  The woman is just determined to get her daughter healed!  She's just being desperate!  But maybe that's what faith is, after all:  determination enough to keep praying and desperation enough to keep waiting for help.

Whatever reason you may have for taking your time and not rushing to our rescue, our waiting, if nothing else, will be our chance to show some desperation.

But you--you will call it faith.

Here's a Quick Question for you:  "What do you think of such a Lord?"  Tell him.  And if you feel up to it, post it here.

Note:  Find below the lyrics to Phil Collins' song, "Another Day in Paradise," and the song's music video.

ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE

She calls out to the man on the street
"Sir, can you help me?
It's cold and I've nowhere to sleep,
Is there somewhere you can tell me?

He walks on, doesn't look back
He pretends he can't hear her
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
Seems embarrassed to be there

Oh think twice, its another day for
You and me in paradise
Oh think twice, its just another day for you,
You and me in paradise

She calls out to the man on the street
He can see she's been crying
Shes got blisters on the soles of her feet
Can't walk but she's trying

Oh think twice...

Oh lord, is there nothing more anybody can do
Oh lord, there must be something you can say

You can tell from the lines on her face
You can see that she's been there
Probably been moved on from every place
cos she didnt fit in there

Today's Readings