Sunday, April 13, 2014

Servant Song


FORMER US President George Walker Bush (yes, the senior) once told a story that I feel was very revealing of his self-deprecating humor. He was at a home for the elderly and he met a very senior man. Attempting at a conversation President Bush asked the man, “Do you know who I am?” The man retorted, “No. But if you go to the people at the front station, they’ll tell you who you are.” President Bush tells the story, I guess, to underline the fact that we can be so puffed-up about ourselves that our ego could easily break into shreds when we discover we are not that important to others. The Servant of the Lord had no illusion of this kind for he was accustomed to be a man of suffering so easily taken for granted and dismissed. But part of his character is that together with being a man of suffering is also a mission to save others by his suffering, his sacrifice ending not in failure but in exaltation.
The Servant Will be Exalted in a Manner Unheard of: a Hint at the Resurrection? (Is 52-13-15)
The fourth Song of the Servant of the Lord begins with the end, not defeat but victory for a suffering person or personification. “See, my servant will succeed; he will be exalted and highly praised. Just as many have been horrified at your disfigured appearance: Is this a man? He has no human likeness. So will nations be astounded, kings will stand speechless, for they will see something never told, they will witness something never heard of” (Is 52:13-15). Suppose you ask one of your children in high school to go with you to his brother’s oath-taking as a new lawyer. As you stand in pride looking at your older son going through the ceremonies, you say to your younger son, “Look at your brother now, how he has overcome. You can also be like that if you also study and work hard.”
Verses 13-15 are like God’s fatherly remarks foreseeing the Servant’s eventual triumph over his enemies and the realization of his goals. But he would have to go through untold suffering, as can be gathered from the words “many have been horrified at your disfigured appearance”. If the Servant imagery is applied to Jesus, as we Christians naturally do, it is easy to associate it with the Transfiguration experience where the vision of the triumphant and glorious Jesus, presented right before his suffering and death, is actually a word of encouragement to the apostles and Christian disciples. They would soon see Jesus going through terrifying suffering and death by crucifixion. The sight of him transfigured is meant to highlight his eventual triumph over suffering and death by his resurrection. It is so easy for a Christian to see this in Isaiah’s prediction of the Servant’s exaltation. “What’s the point of me watching you win this tournament?” a little boy asked his older brother, a tennis player. The answer: “If I win this thing, that means you also win.” The point of our initial meditation on the triumph of the Servant is that he will share it with us. By our Baptism, we share the Servant’s death in order to share in his resurrection as well.
The Servant, Because of his Suffering, is a Man of Unattractiveness and Rejection
“Who could believe what we have heard, and to whom has the strength of the Lord been revealed? Like a root out of dry ground, like a sapling he grew up before us, with nothing attractive in his appearance, no beauty, no majesty. He was despised and rejected, a man of sorrows familiar with grief, a man from whom people hide their face, spurned and considered of no account” (Is 53:1-3). We remember that for Jews the figure of the Servant refers to a group of faithful Jews during the exile who suffered for the sake of the nation, with a suffering so revolting even to their fellow Jews. For us Christians, it is so remarkable how similar even the physical description of the sufferings of the Servant to those of Jesus (Acts 8:32, quoting Is 53:7, “Like a lamb led to the slaughter or a sheep before the shearer he did not open his mouth”; or 1 Pt 2:24, quoting Is 53:5, “For by his wounds we have been healed”). By these words some have concluded that Jesus was unattractive; of course, a suffering, crucified man, as he was, would never be physically pleasing the eyes. The bruises and blows, the buffets and spitting alone would have ruined a handsome appearance.
The film The Passion of the Christ tries to make that point. More than once, Mel Gibson the director emphasized that he wanted to shock people into realizing what a real crucifixion was like. Reflecting on this, we must also remember how we in our day and age have worshipped at the altar of physical beauty. How much have we been enamored by the processes done by a Dr. Vicky Belo, how many skin-whitening substances are making a killing in the market, how many ‘artistas’ are treated like gods and goddesses by our physical-beauty-crazy society. The result is we have beautiful people with no substance, unable to deal with life’s ordinary trials and problems, whose petty childish ways we broadcast on national television and print in newspapers or cause ‘trending’ for through the social media. The Suffering Servant is not attractive in appearance because, as the first book of Samuel puts it, “The Lord does not judge as man judges; man sees the appearance; the Lord looks into the heart” (1 Sam 16:7). God’s standard of beauty is, unlike ours, not skin-deep.
The Servant’s Sufferings are a Source of Redemption
“Yet ours were the sorrows he bore, ours were the sufferings he endured…It was for our sins he was wounded, it was for our wickedness he was bruised. Through his punishment we are made whole; by his wounds we are healed” (Is 53:4-5). These words have ambivalent consequences. On the one hand, if the Servant is Israel, an ideal group of faithful Jews or the prophet Isaiah himself, we will tend to agree to the idea of the power of sacrifice for others. The sacrifice of a Rizal or a Ninoy Aquino went a long way in uniting our nation. For Jews, the sacrifices of a Moses, David and the prophets also galvanized the unity of the Chosen People. On the other hand, we ask: Can sacrifices by human heroes be enough to earn forgiveness of sins. This is where only a divine-human Savior figure could fit into the role of the Servant. This is our bias as Christians. And it is understandable because the figure of the Servant as Redeemer through suffering in the sense of his life being “made an offering for sin” (Is 53:10) is beyond comprehension if the Servant is only purely human.
Human heroes may offer their lives for their particular nations or for their causes but only a divine-human Servant hero can fit the characterization by Isaiah the prophet of his value, i.e., “my servant shall take away their sins” (Is 53:11). I once challenged a group of boys who loved Spiderman and other superheroes: “Do you know that  priests and bishops have power greater than Spiderman over evil?” They were incredulous. Their eyes were asking: “Why do you say that? How?” Then I told them the powerful truth: “Bishops and priests can do something over evil greater than the superheroes. Superheroes can rescue you from physical evil. But only a bishop and a priest can forgive your sins through the Sacrament of Penance. They can forgive because it is Christ acting in and through them who brings us the forgiveness of sins.”

The Servant Shuns Violence
“He was harshly treated, but unresisting and silent, he humbly submitted. Like a lamb led to the slaughter or a sheep before the shearer he did not open his mouth” (Is 53:7). Martin Luther King, the acknowledged hero of the American Civil Rights Movement, helped achieved so much for the equality and brotherhood of the many races in America and the world through Active Non-Violence. He confided many times that he and his followers were inspired by the Indian hero, Mahatma Gandhi, who led his nation to final independence from Britain by Active Non-Violence. But Gandhi himself confided to many people that his real inspiration was Jesus Christ who never retaliated with violence the inhuman violence he went through by his Crucifixion and death. The image of a Lamb is what we Christians use to remind ourselves of the sacrifice of Jesus that gained for us eternal life: “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world…” The Lamb faithfully and completely reveals the humility, willingness and gentleness of the Servant. He is at the receiving end of so much violence, but he himself would not inflict it on others, even his tormentors. But is our violent world listening to his witness?

The Servant’s Rescue is From Within      

“For the anguish he suffered he will see the light and be satisfied. Through his knowledge many will be justified; my servant will take away their sins. Therefore I will give him his portion among the great, and he will divide the spoils with the strong. For he has been counted among the wicked and surrendered himself to death, bearing the sins of many and interceding for sinners” (Is 53:12). I notice two models of movie hero rescue in Hollywood: one, the Superman model; and, two, the Die-Hard model. The Superman model has the hero coming to a person in distress from without (or from afar). The Die-Hard model has the hero coming from the inside, among the victims themselves, and from there stages the rescue. This second model is more in accordance with the Servant model. The hero is “counted with the wicked” and this we see in Jesus becoming a human being, sharing in our weak sinful nature without sinning, and as a human being with all the weaknesses of human beings in him together with his divinity, rescues us through his Crucifixion, death and resurrection. In a word, our human nature is not entirely hopeless, if only because the Savior, even in heaven, retains his humanity together with his divinity. Although we cannot forgive our own sins, human as we are, yet fellow humans like the priest or the bishop are used by the Savior to continually impart the fruit of his work of redemption—the forgiveness of sins.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

A lingering Lenten memory of an unlikely hero

HE was Albert Einstein’s namesake. Admittedly, I thought he was no less a hero than the genius whose name he bore. But to anybody who was somebody in my hometown Albert was a nobody. I would have been deeply honored had he been someone I knew. But when I did meet him it was too late. He was already in a coffin, waiting to be buried.
            It all started when I came home to the rectory from two Sunday Masses and two sick calls. I just wanted to take a nap and forget the world for a while. But I heard some gentle knocking on my door. I wanted to say, “Please leave me alone for a while. I have to get some rest.” But I found myself dragging my feet to the door. It was then that I saw this lady who behaved rather strangely.
            She left her slippers at the bottom of the rectory stairs. I realized it was a gesture of courtesy. Simple barrio courtesy. “It’s just about Albert, Padre,” she said. “Please allow us to bury him today. We couldn’t afford to have him embalmed for the nine-day wake (as is the local custom). Neighbors contributed pieces of wood and slab for his coffin. Please, Padre. We only have two hundred pesos. May we have a Mass for him, please?”
            “Of course,” I said. Actually I just wanted to get back to my siesta. “Bring him at two o’ clock this afternoon.” Then she haltingly started to tell a story that woke me up the rest of the day.
            Albert was her fourteen-year-old nephew from Barangay San Mateo. He was the eldest of five children. His father, a rice farmer, didn’t come up with much in this year’s harvest. And while his mother also does other jobs, such as washing laundry and selling vegetables, the family income was not enough. So he did what he thought best. He stopped schooling and got himself a job in a local bakery. He ended up mostly by the firewood-fed oven. It was tough and the heat could sometimes be unbearable. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t complain. He was glad he could work and help the family. But his body was not superman’s. Recently he ran a fever and felt weak. He asked to be excused. But his employer threatened to dismiss him if he missed work, especially that it was two or three days before the month’s end. Albert naturally didn’t want to lose his job and decided to go on working. He made it to payday. He brought all his money home and having given it to his mother, said: “Now I just want to rest and sleep…”
            Albert never woke up again.
            As I presided over his funeral I was both angry and depressed. “How could any human being threaten someone not even qualified yet to work to fire him just because he was sick?” But other deeper questions were raging in my mind. How could a young man with such obvious love for his family, a young man with such promise fall into a fate as cruel as Albert’s? How could his parents be powerless to even consider seeking for justice? I searched the faces of Albert’s mother and father. I saw in them anything but protest. Both have now accepted Albert’s fate as inevitable. Both now eyed me with profound gratitude for refusing their two hundred pesos but nonetheless giving Albert a sung funeral Mass. “It’s the least I could do, Albert,” I said under my breath. “What I did is nothing compared to what you did.” Never have I felt more depressed over a funeral of someone I was not related to.
            But I found myself continuing my homily. “Albert expresses, oh yes, Albert continues the sacrifice of Jesus on Calvary. And we are all witnesses to this. The world, let alone his country, has no idea that he did. But we do. God does. And it’s all that matters. Albert has made it clearer to us what the sacrifice we celebrate during Lent is all about. May his sacrifice bear fruit in a better life for his family the way the sacrifice of Jesus brought us a sharing in the life of God.”

            I glanced at the faces of Albert’s brothers and sisters. They appeared calm and taking my words in. But one thing bothered me. Their eyes also seemed to say to me: “Father, we know Lent. When do we know Easter?”