Monday, May 26, 2008

Fiat, Stabat, Magnificat: A Homily for the Final Vows of RVM Sisters, 2003

As the month of May--a month traditionally dedicated to our Blessed Mother--comes to a close, and as the profession of first vows of seven of our Jesuit novices draws near, I thought of sharing a homily I preached five years ago at the final vows of RVM sisters, most of whom had been my former students at Loyola School of Theology. In this homily, I tried to share something about Mary and something, too, about the vows that religious make. May i request those who take the time to read this long-ish homily to pray especially for religious in the Church, especially for the young who, despite everything, still dare to make and strive to keep these promises.

 

In preparing for today’s celebration, I read through Mother Ignacia’s 1726 rules, your revised 2002 Constitution which you call Landas, and Sr. Annie Co’s wonderful book A Lamp to our Path. I found many rich and inspiring passages in what I read. For example, in Mother Ignacia’s 1726 rule, I found this rule: “On the streets, Sisters should walk with religious decorum . . . observing modesty of the eyes, meditating on how Jesus carried the cross out of love for us.” Immediately, I thought of Sr. Rose—because she is the living opposite of this rule! Also, in Sr. Annie’s book, I read about how Mother Ignacia founded the Beaterio under the guidance of her Jesuit spiritual director Fr. Paul Klein. Immediately, I remembered Sr. Norma and myself—para pala kaming Mother Ignacia and Fr. Klein of the new millennium! The only difference is, of course, Fr. Klein was older than Mother Ignacia, but Manay Norms is older than me!

  More seriously though, the one sentence that struck me most was in Chapter Three of your Landas. In discussing your religious consecration, NO. 15 says this: “The example of the Blessed Virgin Mary in her complete surrender and dedication to the Word of God is the principal inspiration of our religious and apostolic consecration to the Lord.” And so this morning, on this feast of the Annunciation, I invite you to a two-part reflection. First, let us contemplate your inspiration, our Blessed Mother. Second, let us contemplate her daughters who will be specially hers today, our sisters professing final vows.

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  I think one can summarize the life of Mary in three Latin words connected to her life: Fiat, Stabat and Magnificat.

  First, Fiat. This is the first Latin word in Mary’s response to the Angel in today’s gospel: Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. “Let it be done to me according to your word.” Fiat speaks of Mary as a woman of faith and surrender, pagtuo ug pagtugyan sa kaugalingon, as we say in Visayan. The British spiritual writer Caryl Houselander writes that, before Mary, humanity was like a closed, dark, house without light or air. For centuries, the Spirit was tapping on the closed windows of the house.  Finally, a little girl named Mary said Fiat, and the doors of the house were flung open, allowing the sweet wind of the Spirit to sweep through the airless house, allowing seas of light to flood the house, and the light remained, for in that house a child was born and the child was God. Mary was a woman of Fiat, of total surrender and openness and availability to God. Her life was like a blank check given over to the Lord to fill out, even when her pilgrimage of life brought her to moments of pain and incomprehension: while in labor in the stable at Bethlehem, as a refugee fleeing violence in Egypt, at the foot of the cross. Surely, in those times, she repeated: Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum.

  Second, Stabat. This is the first Latin word in the medieval hymn sung during the feast of the Sorrowful mother: Stabat Mater dolorosa, iuxta crucem lacrimosa dum pendebat filius. It means: “Stood.” “The sorrowful mother stood by the side of the cross weeping while her son hung on it.” It is a word that speaks of Mary as a woman of compassion and fidelity. Wherever there was pain or need, she stood there, was present in compassion and service:  with her aged cousin Elizabeth, with the couple at Cana who ran out of wine, with her Son suffering on the cross, with the disciples waiting in the upper room.

  The third word is Magnificat, and it is, of course, the first word in Mary’s great hymn of thanksgiving during the Visitation. Magnificat anima mea Dominum. “My soul magnifies the Lord.” Magnificat is a word that captures Mary’s identity as a woman of joy and hope. The sword pierced her soul many times, yet do we not know Mary as a woman of joy? What was her secret? It is there in the words of the Magnificat: she was a woman who felt the eyes of the Lord look upon her in her poverty and littleness, and who was, thus filled with thanksgiving for the great things the mighty and merciful Lord had done for her.

  Fiat, Stabat, Magnificat: words that, in a simple way, tell us who this peasant woman of Nazareth, whom we honor above all saints, is: Mary, woman of faith, of compassion, of joy.

Fiat, Stabat, Magnificat: they are words that tell us too who our sisters who are making their vows today are or desire to be.

My dear sisters, today, you say Fiat. By your vows, you make a breathtaking act of surrender to your God. The most elemental, primal, urgent longings of your heart—of loving, of having, of deciding—today, in freedom, you hand over to the Lord as you pronounce your promises of perpetual chastity, poverty and obedience. Today, you say to Jesus in the spirit and with the heart of Mary: “No love but you. No wealth but you. No will but yours.” Totus tuus: I am completely yours. Fiat.

  Today, too, you promise to be women of Stabat, who will stand beside the poor and the suffering, as Mary did. By giving up having a “special someone” and a family of your own, you free yourself to love all those who are in need of God’s compassion and service. By embracing poverty, you free yourself to give service without seeking reward and to be in solidarity with the little ones of the world. By promising obedience, you choose, in the words of your Constitutions, “to make the irrevocable sacrifice of our your life, will and talents for the good of the community and the service of God’s people.”

           Finally, and most of all, I hope today you experience yourselves as women of Magnificat.

  My dear sisters, last night, as I was thinking of you and what you are doing today, a word that I often hear young people today use came to my mind: Exaj! It is short for “exaggerated”—and it is used to say sobra naman, too much! And I could not help thinking, exaj talaga ang ginagawa ng mga madreng ito. These vows are too much, too radical, too total a gift of self to this God who sometimes feels so distant or so absent, and to this Church, that can sometimes be so ungrateful and unkind. Part of me wanted to ask each one of you: Ito ba talaga ang gusto mo? Higit sa ibang maaring maging buhay mo? Higit sa pagiging asawa at ina, higit sa buhay na may kayapap? Higit sa buhay na ikaw lang ang boss, na hindi ka ipapadala sa Africa o sa Indonesia kung ayaw mo, malayo sa pamilya at bansa? Higit sa komportableng buhay, na napapaligiran ng rangya at kayamanan, na, kung tututusin, ay kayang abutin na mga bright and beautiful katulad ninyo? I wanted to ask each one of you: sure ka na ba? Sure na ba kayo na gusto ninyong mapabilang sa mga kamadrehang ito: na may mababait, may sweet, may inspiring, pero may maarte, mataray, at malakas ang dating din?

  You see I was overwhelmed by how exaj your vows are, how imprudent and unreasonable an offering they are from a human point of view. And then I remembered a favorite scene from the movie A Man for All Seasons, about St. Thomas More. His daughter Margaret asks Thomas to compromise, to be less radical and generous, to save his life: “Haven’t you done all that God could reasonably ask of a man?” she asks in frustration. And Thomas More answers simply: “Finally, it’s not a matter of reason, it’s a matter of love.”

I recalled the excitement and joy I felt when you invited me to preach on this day. And I realized: yes, exaj, unreasonable nga ang vows nila, but in the end, it’s not a matter of reason, it’s a matter of love; and today, we face a group of women in love. Frightened, unsure, struggling still, but in the end, women who have, like Mary, been overwhelmed by God’s generous, merciful love to them, and today, are responding, in the gratitude, joy and hope of Mary’s Magnificat.

 

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Friends,  the promises of poverty, chastity and obedience you make so boldly and dramatically today must be lived in the ordinary days that follow from today; and that daily fidelity to these vows will not always be easy. And so allow me to close with a story and a final word of encouragement for the journey ahead.

There is a lovely story told about St. Teresa of Avila. In the old days, as you know, sisters chose special names when they made their vows. Teresa had chosen the name "Teresa de Jesus, Teresa of Jesus." The day after her vows, she met a young boy of about twelve in the cloister, where those who were not members of the community were forbidden. Before she could ask the name of the intruder, he asked her: “What is your name?” She answered, “Teresa of Jesus.” “And you,” Teresa asked in turn, “Who are you?” The boy smiled and said: “Jesus of Teresa.”

My dear Sisters, my point is simply this: you are not the only ones making a commitment today. The Lord of love, our heart’s deepest desire, also and even more deeply commits himself to you. Today, by your promises, in a radical way, you will forever be Miriam, Charlette, Leah, Sheila, Norma, Rose, Fatima . . . of Jesus. But as you put on your rings, hear him say to you that he is Jesus of Miriam, Charlette, Leah, Sheila, Norma, Rose, Fatima . . . as well. And so my final word is borrowed from the greeting of the angel Gabriel to Mary at the annunciation: "Do not be afraid!" God bless you all!

March 25, 2003

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Come, South Wind: A Poem for Pentecost

Mr. Eddie Calasanz emailed me this truly lovely poem by the American poet Jessica Powers as a Pentecost gift. Powers is also known by her name in religion, Sr. Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD. She died in 1988 and is buried in the Carmel of the Mother of God in Wisconsin.

This poem calls forth my own poorly expressed but deeply felt prayer for myself and for us this Pentecost:

Come, Love who awakens love. 
Come, burning Fire of God's own infinite love. 
Come South wind, blow warmth into the sterile and wintry inscapes of our hearts,
provoke sudden springs and lush summers, 
that we might become sanctuary and pasture, 
home and nourishment, 
for my beloved Shepherd's hungry flock.


COME, SOUTH WIND

        'By south wind is meant the Holy Spirit who awakens
                love.' St. John of the Cross

Over and over I say to the south wind: come,
waken in me and warm me!
I have walked too long with a death's chill in the air,
mourned over trees too long with branches bare.
Ice has a falsity for all its brightness
and so has need of your warm reprimand.
A curse be on the snow that lapsed from whiteness,
and all bleak days that paralyze my land.

I am saying all day to Love who wakens love:
rise in the south and come!
Hurry me into springtime; hustle the winter
out of my sight; make dumb
the north wind's loud impertinence. Then plunge me
into my leafing and my blossoming,
and give me pasture, sweet and sudden pasture.
Where could the Shepherd bring
his flocks to graze? Where could they rest at noonday?
0 south wind, listen to the woe I sing!
One whom I love is asking for the summer from me,
who still am distances from spring.

              --Jessica Powers

Friday, May 9, 2008

Trusting in the Slow Work of God

This morning, a friend struggling with various problems shared with me that his spiritual director had given him this piece of advice: Trust in the slow work of God.

The sentence is not original. My friend's director had borrowed it from one of the writings of the great Jesuit scientist and thinker, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.

The spiritual director, with a touch of humor, had continued: God's work is slow, because you are a slow learner.

"We all are," I told my friend reflectively. "We are all slow learners. Besides," I added, "maybe God's work is slow because it is meant to go deep. Work that goes too fast tends to be superficial, to remain on the surface."

I felt this morning that that single sentence of Teilhard was a word from On High for me too.

Especially during this last month of my term as Provincial, as I try to resolve problems quickly--perhaps too quickly-- for the sake of sparing my successor additional burdens; as I find myself perhaps rushing solutions because of an imminent deadline; as I become more aware of all that I have left undone or done poorly because of my considerable limitations and weaknesses; as I catch myself reviewing and questioning the rightness or wrongness of decisions I have made, especially about people;  as I occasionally wonder about the significance and enduring value of what I have tried to contribute these past four years; and as I find myself surprised by anxieties about the family, especially the mother, I will leave here in Manila when I move to Rome, Teilhard's words hit me with a kind of deep resonance and liberating clarity.

So here are the words of that wise Jesuit, Teilhard de Chardin. May they bear God's wisdom and a share of his infinite peace to those who read them:

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
And yet is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability--
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you . . .

Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

--Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ