Novena of Grace of St Francis Xavier 7th Day, 10th March 2010

An Act of Parliament (1571) during the reign of Elizabeth made it high treason to question the queen’s title as the head of the Church of England. Through this Act, the practice of Roman Catholicism was rendered treasonable. The Act also authorised the confiscation of the property of Roman Catholics. Between 1577 and 1603, 183 English Catholics were put to death for their faith. Between the 16th and 17th centuries, some 600 Catholics died in the persecutions; some were executed for offences as trivial as obtaining a papal licence to marry.

It is to this unfortunate period of Christian history that we encounter our Saint for the 7th Day of the Novena of Grace: St Edmund Campion—the most famous of the English martyrs.

Campion was born of Catholic parents who later became Protestants. He attended St. John's College, Oxford, where he gained renown as a lecturer and a following of students who called themselves "Campionites." When he was 26 years old, he gave a speech of welcome in Latin to Queen Elizabeth on her visit to Oxford; he made such an impression on the queen that she and Lords Cecil and Leicester tried to recruit him for her service. He probably took the Oath of Supremacy, and was ordained a deacon for the Established Church. But, the more he studied to be a priest, the more convinced he became that the Catholic Church had the true faith. He moved to Dublin in 1569 in an effort to find a place to live as a Catholic, but the Irish capital showed an anti-Catholic feeling that drove him back to London. In June 1571 he left England for Douai, Belgium where the recently founded English College trained seminarians for England.

Campion finished his degree in 1573 and set out soon after for Rome with the intention of becoming a Jesuit. Within a month of his arrival in Rome, he was accepted into the Society. At that time there was neither an English province nor an English mission, so he was assigned to the Austrian province and went to Prague and Brno to make his novitiate. He remained in Prague after he took vows and was ordained there, expecting to spend the rest of his life teaching in that city. He wrote and directed plays for his students and won renown as an orator.

When the Jesuits decided to open a mission in England, he was one of the first to be assigned to it. English spies in Holland learnt of his impending departure and informed the English ports of entry, who awaited their arrival. He disguised himself as a Mr Edmonds, a jewellery merchant. He was questioned by port authorities but managed to slip through their surveillance.

In London he wrote a manifesto of his mission which became known as “Campion’s Brag”. The intent of the mission was religious, not political. It was so well-written that copies were made and widely distributed to confirm Catholics in their faith. He moved on to Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Lancashire and Yorkshire. He would stay at a Catholic house for one or two nights or visit households where Catholics were employed. The pattern of his visit was to arrive during the day, preach and hear confessions during the evening, and then celebrate Mass in the morning before moving on to the next location. He composed a book addressed to the academic world entitled Rationes decem ("Ten Reasons") which gave arguments to prove the truth of Catholicism and the falsity of Protestantism.

His freedom to minister to Catholics soon ended when he was betrayed by a professional priest-hunter pretending to be a Catholic. He was caught with two other priests.

The three were taken to the Tower of London on July 22, where Campion was put in a cell so small he could neither stand upright nor lie down. After three days there he was brought to Leicester house, where he met Queen Elizabeth for a second time. She offered him the opportunity to renounce his Catholic faith and become a Protestant minister, with the offer of great advancement. He refused and was returned to his cell; five days later he was tortured on the rack. The government determined that he should be executed, but they needed a stronger charge than the fact that he was a Catholic priest. They cooked up the charge that he had conspired to take the life of the queen, and had exhorted foreigners to invade the country and had entered England with the intent of fomenting rebellion to support the invaders. At his trial Campion attempted to defend all the priests by pointing out that their motives were religious, not political; but they were found guilty of high treason and condemned to be hanged, drawn and quartered. The priests joined in singing the Te Deum when they heard the verdict.

Campion remained in chains for another 11 days, and then was dragged through the muddy streets of London to Tyburn. With him were Alexander Briant, a Jesuit and Father Ralph Sherwin, a diocesan priest. There they were executed.

Edmund Campion together with Alexander Briant, Edmund Arrowsmith, David Lewis, Henry Morse, Henry Walpole, Nicholas Owen, Philip Evans, Robert Southwell and Thomas Garnet, all Jesuits, belong to the group of Martyrs collectively known as the 40 Martyrs of England and Wales canonised in 1970 by Pope Paul VI. These 40 Martyrs, which the Church in England celebrates every year on 25th Oct, died between 1535 and 1679.

Is St Edmund relevant? For the matter of speaking, are the forty canonised so recently, relevant? For example, the “Rationes decem gave arguments to prove the truth of Catholicism and the falsity of Protestantism”. Such language is no longer used today, certainly not in official Catholic teachings. In fact, the Church has made great strides in ecumenical dialogue with the Anglicans and Lutherans. The polemical language of the past has now given way to conciliatory language of the present. Apart from the occasional hiccoughs, like the Declaration Dominus Iesus, [1] the general tone of ecumenical relationship is markedly peaceful.

His relevance is perhaps found in this maxim: peace is not the absence of war. His brag, even though arrogant in tone, was manifestly a declaration that his stance was religious and not political. He wanted to defend his faith in the Catholic Church which he had come to recognise to be the best representation of what the Church of Christ should be. A good way to understand this is through question. For Fr Campion, the Catholic Church is the answer to this question: “Where in history can one locate the Church founded by Christ”? Thus, you can appreciate that his defence concerns the truth. Where is it to be found?

In the context of today, defence of the faith—the search for Christ’s Church—is through dialogue. This is a primary method of reaching the truth. Ecumenism and interreligious dialogue are both instruments of the defence in the sense that we no longer need to use force to justify our stance but instead we must rely on the unforced force of the better argument. However, if we were to go deeper, truth is more than just a better argument. Where is the truth to be found? In our case, this is an important question because the truth is not an idea, it is not democratic, it is not an ideology, and it is not relative. Truth is a person because Christ Himself declared: I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. Therefore, in Christianity, Truth is a person. Truth and Christ are synonymous because Truth does not hover behind Christ. Christ is Truth. This truth comes to us in history as Man [the Incarnation] and in the new economy [dispensation] of salvation through His Church—namely through teachings [creed], governance [code] and sacraments [cult].

No less relevant to this dialogue is apologetics. The unfortunate reality is that Catholic apologetics have been relegated to the dung heap of relativism by a false notion that every expression of faith is the same as long as we declare Christ to be Saviour. Thus, there is a great need, even in the time of peace, to know why we are Catholics. Do we stand up enough for our faith because it is true? The Society of Jesus, of whom Edmund Campion was a member of, was founded precisely for that: to strive especially for the defence and propagation of the faith. Pope Benedict XVI in his allocution to the Society of Jesus at their General Congregation 35 says this: [t]he Church is in urgent need of people of solid and deep faith, of a serious culture and a genuine human and social sensitivity, of religious priests who devote their lives to stand on those frontiers in order to witness and help to understand that there is in fact a profound harmony between faith and reason, between evangelical spirit, thirst for justice and action for peace. Only thus, will it be possible to make the face of the Lord known to so many for whom it remains hidden or unrecognisable.

Thirdly, and this is where we begin to realise that there is something antithetical between faith and the world as expressed by the Evangelist John: We are in the world but we are not of the world. Thus, one must be ready to die for one’s faith. The circumstances surrounding Edmund Campion’s death may be unfortunate because the question of faith became entangled with politics and it was often settled by torture and murder. But, the fact was that loyalty to Christ and his Church was incompatible with loyalty to King. Just like the first reading, when we choose God, we will find opposition from the world. Part of life’s conversion is to come to this. Only then can we speak of martyrdom.

In conclusion, these men who died for the faith must be a challenge to each and every one of us to know why we are Catholics in the first place. Sentiments aside, there must be a determined desire to go deeper into the reason for being a Catholic. Otherwise, those who defended and died for the faith would have done so in vain.

FOOTNOTE:
[1] Every now and then the Church comes up with official pronouncement which seems to throw a spanner into the ecumenical work. For example, when Pope Benedict was the Prefect for the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Declaration Dominus Iesus created a major furore when it made the distinction between true particular churches and ecclesial communities. This in effect reduced the co-called Lutheran church into an “ecclesial community”—it was considered to be some kind of condescension.

Novena of Grace of St Francis Xavier 6th Day, 9th March 2010

From Spain we cross the Atlantic and we surf over the Andes to a country thin and long, a country quite in the limelight these days but for the wrong reason. We shall get acquainted with a man so close to us in time and yet quite far from us in spirit. Alberto Hurtado Cruchaga—the Chilean saint.

He was born in 1901; he was orphaned when he was four years old by the death of his father. His mother had to sell, at a loss, their modest property in order to pay the family’s debts. As a further consequence, Alberto and his brother had to go to live with relatives and were often moved from one family to another. From an early age, therefore, he experienced what it meant to be poor, to be without a home and at the mercy of others.

He was given a scholarship at the Jesuit College in Santiago. Here he became a member of the Sodality of Our Lady and developed a lively interest in the poor, spending time with them in the most miserable neighbourhoods every Sunday afternoon. At 16, he wanted to join the Jesuits but was told to delay so that he could take care of his mother and younger brother. He studied as he worked and graduated with a law degree from the Catholic University. When he was 22, he entered the Society of Jesus in Chile. He was sent first to Cordoba, Argentina and then to Spain. But Spain entered the Civil War and the Society was suppressed and so he continued his studies in Belgium. He was ordained a priest at 32. Armed with a doctorate in pedagogy and psychology, he returned to Chile after his tertianship in 1936.

He taught religion at Colegio San Ignacio and Pedagogy at the Catholic University of Santiago. He was entrusted with the Sodality of Our Lady for the students, and he involved them in teaching catechism to the poor. He frequently directed retreats and offered spiritual direction to many young men, accompanying several of them in their response to the priestly vocation and contributing in an outstanding manner to the formation of many Christian laymen.

In 1941 Fr Hurtado published his most famous book: “Is Chile a Catholic Country?” as he alerted to his contemporaries the grave problem of the lack of priestly vocations. The same year he was asked to assume the role of Assistant for the Youth Movement of the Catholic Action, first within the Archdiocese of Santiago and then nationally. In October 1944, while giving a retreat, he felt impelled to appeal to his audience to consider the many poor people of the city, especially the numerous homeless children who were roaming the streets of Santiago. “If Christ could come down tonight, He would repeat to you as He looked at this city, ‘I take pity on it’ and turning to you, He would tell you with great tenderness ‘You are the light of the world. You must illuminate this darkness. Who wants to work with Me? Do you want to be My apostles'?” And it was for this that he became famous: a form of charitable activity which provided not only housing but a home-like milieu for the homeless: “El Hogar de Cristo”.

By means of contributions from benefactors and with the active collaboration of committed laity, Father Hurtado opened the first house for children; this was followed by a house for women and then one for men. The poor found a warm home in “El Hogar de Cristo”. The houses multiplied and took on new dimensions; in some houses there were rehabilitation centres, in others trade-schools, and so on. All were inspired and permeated by Christian values.

In 1945 Fr Hurtado visited the United States to study the “Boys Town” movement and to consider how it could be adapted to his own country. The last six years of his life were dedicated to the development of various forms in which “El Hogar” could exist and function.

In 1947 Father Hurtado founded the Chilean Trade Union Association (ASICH) to promote a union movement inspired by the social teaching of the Church. Between 1947 and 1950, Father Hurtado wrote three important works: on trade unions, on social humanism, and on the Christian social order. In 1951 he founded “Mensaje”, the well-known Jesuit periodical dedicated to explaining the doctrine of the Church. He died from pancreatic cancer in 1952.

Within a period of 15 years, Fr Hurtado lived and accomplished all the works described above. His apostolate was the expression of a personal love for Christ the Lord characterised by a great love for poor and abandoned children, an enlightened zeal for the formation of the laity, and a lively sense of Christian social justice. Fr. Hurtado was beatified by John Paul II on October 16, 1994 and canonised by Benedict XVI 23rd Oct 2005.

At the beginning I mentioned that he was a man close to us and yet quite far away. He is temporally close to us. He lived and died within the lifetime of some of us. But he is also quite far from us. Why? Well, he is famous for his social action. In our mind we conjure up images of a man fighting to right the wrong. No doubt, with electronic media beaming images of shanty towns in the megacities of the world, we all are introduced to the immediacy and the immensity of the problem of homelessness.

But how wrong can we be? This was a man whose spirit and vision are far superior to ours and thus, the closeness of his time to ours may indeed be fortuitous but deceptive. Instead of leading us into the slums, he is actually inviting us to climb or rather to ascent the hill of spiritual perfection with our heads in the clouds and our feet firmly on the ground. What does this mean? He may be temporally near but his vision or his spirituality of social action is far superior to some of us who are involved with his type of work. His social action was centred on Christ and the Church.

In a way, his temporal proximity means that hagiography about him is more sober. But, his spirituality is neither mundane nor pedestrian. In fact, temporal proximity means that we have many of his words available to us. So, I shall let him speak to your hearts.

“There are people who wish to advance in holiness but without suffering. They have not understood what it is to grow. They want to develop themselves by chant, by study, by pleasure, but not by hunger, by anguish, by failure and by hard work of each day, nor by accepting the powerlessness that teaches us to rely on God’s power, nor by letting go of their own plans, which enables us to recognise those of God. Suffering is beneficial because it shows me my limits, purifies me, makes me stretch out on Christ’s cross, forces me to turn to God.”

There is a strong element of the Cross in his vision of life. He was never afraid of failure. In fact, “In Christian work, there is the triumph of failures! Delayed triumphs! In the world of the invisible, that which appears useless is the most effective. A total failure accepted wholeheartedly yields more supernatural success than any triumph. Sow, with no concern for what will grow. Continue to sow despite everything. Thank the Lord for the apostolic fruits of failures. When Christ spoke to the rich young man in the Gospel, He failed, but how many others have learnt the lesson as a result! And when He announced the Eucharist, how many fled---but yet, how many come running. Your zeal will seem still-born, but how many will live, thanks to you”.

And the Cross looms largely in this social vision too especially in the context of Church. In a way, he challenges many of our social workers especially when our vision is dichotomised by having Christ on one side and the Church on the other. The failure of so many people in the Church, especially the hierarchy is a cause of scandal—not in the sense of salacious smut but in the sense that scandal causes people to lose faith. As a result, there is a disdainful scepticism of Church authority as we tend to view the Church as a prime example of what structural sin is about. For example, the Church’s hierarchy by virtue of it being a male hierarchy is already suspect. But, this you will not find in Hurtado. It may explain why people are burnt out so often simply because a large part of the energy is expended due to this divided loyalty. To Christ, one is loyal. To the Church… hmmm, doubtful.

Hurtado's social vision was firmly rooted in Christ and the Church. We know that even as he loved the Church, in the end, he suffered at the hands of the very Church he loved. In his case, the Church was represented by Christians—people, priests, bishops of good standing and good intentions. We often think that pain is the result of a clash between a good person and a bad person. But, pain comes too despite good intentions from two good persons. Two persons may be armed to the teeth with good intentions and yet both end up hurting each other. From there was born a wisdom that says,

“If someone begins to live for God, in self-denial and love for others, all possible difficulties will come knocking at his door. I am often like a rock that is battered on all sides by the towering waves. There is no way but up. For an hour, for a day, I let the waves break against the rock; I do not look toward the horizon, I lift my eyes to God. O blessed active life, entirely consecrated to my God, entirely given to neighbour. Its radicalness itself forces me to turn to God to find myself. He is the only possible way out of my worries, my only refuge”.

However, what he accomplished through his social ministry paled when compared to his spirituality. As he suffered towards the end of his life, that part of his life was marked by a joyful trust in God. “How can I not be happy? I am entirely grateful to God for it. Instead of a violent death, He has given me a long illness so that I can prepare myself. Life have been given to man so that he may cooperate with God in carrying out His plans; death is only a completion of that collaboration, a return of all our powers into the Creator’s hands. Before me, eternity. I am an arrow, shot towards eternity. May I never be attached to anything here, but in all things keep my eyes on the life to come.”

So, what lessons can we derive from him? In building homes for the poor, he provided a roof, a sense of security for so many who do not have it. This is where we have something in common with Fr Hurtado. Everyone here works in order to have a roof over the head—a home. And this is where we may part ways with him. For some of us, a home is part of a good life. A good life in turn is synonymous with “life is good” and "life is good" is measured by convenience and comfort. But, a good life in spirituality is nowhere close to this. Fr Hurtado’s temporal closeness challenges us to rethink that a good life should be a life that is good—a life that is marked by goodness, not measured by convenience or comfort.

Novena of Grace of St Francis Xavier 5th Day, 8th March 2010

Yesterday we were in Spain. Today we shall linger there a little longer because the person for our inspiration is none other than John of the Cross. A brief biography will make up the first part of the homily. A more comprehensive biography is easily accessible through the internet. What is of interest to us are some of the details of his life which are relevant to the sanctity which he models for us. This will be the second part of the homily.

John was born Juan Yepes in 1542 to a poor Jewish convert family near Avila. He learnt the importance of self-sacrificing love from his parents. His father gave up wealth, status, and comfort when he married a weaver's daughter and was disowned by his noble family. After his father died, his mother kept the destitute family together as they wandered homeless in search of work. When the family finally found work, John still went hungry in the middle of the wealthiest city in Spain. At fourteen, John took a job caring for hospital patients who suffered from incurable diseases and madness. He came into contact with the new order of the Society of Jesus but it was into the Carmelites that he entered. He took the name John of St Matthias. He was ordained when he was only 25 years old. He was disposed towards solitary and silent contemplation and indicated his desire to join the Carthusians order. However, he met St Teresa of Avila (Santa Teresa de Jesus) and that was to change the course of his life.

Saint Teresa of Avila asked him to help her reform the Carmelite movement. John supported her belief that the order should return to its life of prayer—a return to the primitive rule. But many Carmelites felt threatened by this reform, and some members of John's own order kidnapped him. He was locked in a cell six feet by ten feet and beaten three times a week by the monks. There was only one tiny window high up near the ceiling. It was within this narrow confine that he had many mystical experiences of God’s closeness. After nine months, John escaped by unscrewing the lock on his door and creeping past the guard. Taking only the mystical poetry he had written in his cell, he climbed out a window using a rope made of strips of blankets. With no idea where he was, he followed a dog to civilisation. He hid from pursuers in a convent infirmary where he read his poetry to the nuns. From then on his life was devoted to sharing and explaining his experience of God's love.

The followers of Ss John and Teresa differentiated themselves from the unreformed by calling themselves the “discalced”, that is, the barefooted as opposed to the “calced” Carmelites. He died in 1591, was canonised in 1726 by Pope Benedict XIII and declared a Doctor of the Church by Pope Pius XI in 1926. He is called the Mystical Doctor.

St John of the Cross provides some points of reflexion for us today. First point is about a cynical response to life. Second, the experience of his imprisonment highlights the reality of structural sin. Third, how do we know that we are doing God’s will?

Firstly, life’s many vicissitudes have a way of reducing us into cynics. To those who are involved with the Church, this is a grave danger. Many of us have this illusion that those who preach holiness are the ones who should live holiness. But, the Pharisees are our first teachers. Christ criticised their hypocrisy because their actions did not match their words. However, our response to hypocrisy is often a heart coarsened by cynicism. Cynics are actually hurt idealists. In St John we see the contrary. His mprisonment by his Carmelite brothers did not harden his heart. Instead, it gave birth to a compassionate mystic. He asked a pointed question: "Who has ever seen people persuaded to love God by harshness?" and "Where there is no love, put love -- and you will find love." This leads us to the reality of structural sin, which is the second point.

Imagine the Carmelites Order and this young upstart reforming friar. The Carmelite friars thought that they were in the right when they imprisoned him, thinking that John’s reform disturbed the status quo. Mob mentality is no respector of status or even intelligence. So, the idea that religious life should embody everything that is of God is disabused by our long Catholic history of reform as we witness the different tides of reform that took place simply because of corruption that had crept into religious life. [1]

Long before Liberation Theology popularised the term “structural sin”, the Church already had reformers who understood the need for structures to be reformed. The Benedictine family is a great testament with their reforms: the Cluniac, the Cistersian, the Camadolese and the Trappist reforms. The Franciscans too gave us the Capuchins as one of their reforms and from the Capuchins, there is a renewal in the form of the Community of the Friars of the Renewal. Both Ss John of the Cross and Teresa de Jesus took the same path of reforming the Carmelite Friars and Nuns by embracing their primitive and stricter rules. What this says to us is this: that structures need reform because it is made up of sinful people. Structures in themselves are neutral. What make structures sinful are sinful people. And we all know the stubbornness of sin. Today’s Gospel is proof of the collective resistance to conversion. The people when pointed out their faults were indignant and they hustled Jesus out of town intending to throw Him off the cliff.

Thus, personal conversion is fundamental for any structural change. Change of structure does not guarantee that people will change. The change of state governments after the last election is a good example. Sinful structures are often protected by sinful men.

Finally, that we believe that we are doing God’s work is no guarantee that we cannot err. The detritus of history is proof enough. The more we feel inspired, the more we need to be humble. If a person feels that he or she has this fool-proof plan that God has communicated to him or her about a vision of how things are to be, it helps to think that the Devil can appear as an angel of light. The more I am convinced that I have the truth, the more I ought to be wary of the Devil’s intention. Furthermore, it is useful to know this difference: when we are persecuted, it does not mean that we are doing God’s work. It is easy to fall into this temptation when our inspiration meets opposition, that we are being persecuted for doing God’s will. Often, we are also the cause of people’s resistance.

However, what is true is the contrary. When we embark upon God’s work, we will be persecuted. The difference is very subtle. Why? There are a lot of times when we are opposed or persecuted simply because we are doing our own thing, we have an agenda, etc. But, if we persist in God’s work, know that the path will be difficult. And, only time can tell if our inspiration is of God and the only way forward is humility and deep faith in God. If I am mightily convinced that what I am doing is God’s will, then let my humility be even greater because I am nothing more than a servant and secondly God’s enterprise cannot be stopped.

Finally, I leave you with an inspiration of St Ignatius, a contemporary of St John of the Cross, whose humility teaches us an important lesson. There was a Cardinal named Giovanni Carafa who was really opposed to the founding of the Society of Jesus. He had founded his own so-called society of priests, called the Theatines. He felt that the ideals of the Society of Jesus were similar to his priestly order and was of the opinion that anyone who wanted to be a Jesuit should join the Theatines instead. As fate would have it, Carafa was elected Pope Paul IV. St Ignatius was reputed to have trembled when he heard that news. He was asked what he would do if the Pope were to suppressed the Society of Jesus. Ignatius’ answer was simply this: “I would spend 15 minutes in prayer and I will think nothing of it after”.

FOOTNOTE:
[1] Just as an aside, the health of the Church can be measured by the health of religious life. The Preface of Virgins and Religious gives a clue to why I make this assertion. It says: Today we honour your saints who consecrated their lives to Christ for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. What love you show us as you recall mankind to its first innocence, and invite us to taste on earth the gifts of the world to come. If anything, religious life is to be the embodiment of the eschatological community to come. They are to reflect, by their love, what the new earth is to be like. If you like, if you see religious life, you see heaven—as taste on earth of the gifts of the world to come. Religious life is a form of beatific vision granted not to mystics but rather to those who are caught very much in time and space. However, the truth is religious life is often hell and there is no greater scandal and a source of cynicism than brothers or sisters in religious life fighting it out. However, this is where grace comes in. Where human efforts fail, we must continually turn to God to tame the pride that separates us. The making of a religious community is truly a work of grace and not of our machination. It can only be crafted from humility and conversion.

Novena of Grace of St Francis Xavier 4th Day, 7th March 2010

Yesterday we were in Poland. Today we cross into southern Europe to the western frontier of the Mediterranean. The 4th day of the Novena of Grace allows a glimpse into the life of St Francis Borgia—the 3rd Superior General of the Society of Jesus. Who was he? On his father’s side, the great grandfather was the most notorious of all Popes, Alexander VI. On his mother’s side, his great grandfather was King Ferdinand of Aragon. In iconography, our saint is sometimes portrayed as carrying a skull. That shows us how the grace of God works mysteriously and we will come to this later. With such illustrious ancestry, one can expect Francis to be part of the Hapsburg court. In fact, he became a Duke when he was only thirty-three and he lived a happy, peaceful life with his wife Eleanor and their eight children.

When his beloved wife died, Francis did something that astonished the nobility of Spain; he gave up his Dukedom to his son Charles and became a Jesuit priest. So many people came to his first Mass that they had to set up an altar outdoors, but his Superior tested him by treating him in exactly the opposite way he had been used to all his forty-one years of life. He who had once been a Duke had to help the cook, carrying wood for the fire and sweeping the kitchen. When he served food to the priests and brothers, he had to kneel down in front of them all and beg them to forgive him for being so clumsy! Still he never once complained or grumbled. The only time he became angry was when anyone treated him with respect as if he was still a Duke. Once a doctor who had to take care of a painful wound Francis had gotten said to him: "I am afraid, my Lord, that I have to hurt your grace." The saint answered that he, the doctor, would not hurt him more than he was right then by calling him "my Lord" and "your Grace." It was not too long before the humble priest accomplished wonderful works for God's glory as he preached everywhere and advised many important people. He fostered the spread of the Society of Jesus all over Spain and in Portugal. At the time when he entered the Jesuits, St Ignatius Loyola was still alive and this meant that the Society of Jesus was still a very young religious order. He was elected Superior General of the Jesuits, succeeding Laynez. Under him, missionaries were sent all over the world and the Jesuits also grew to be of great help to the Church in many lands. Through all success, St. Francis Borgia remained humble. He died unspectacularly in 1572, was beatified in 1624 and canonised by Clement X in 1671. His body was venerated at the Society’s house in Madrid until the revolutionaries of the Spanish Civil War destroyed the residence in 1931. His charred remains were collected and transferred to a Jesuit church in another location in Madrid.

How can we connect the life of Francis Borgia to the 3rd Sunday of Lent? Here, I would like to draw a few things together. First, according to our liturgy, we are in Year C and the Gospel draws our attention to the fruitless fig tree. [I will return to this later]. Second, this week also marks the beginning of a process called the Three Scrutinies. The scrutinies are done so that the Elect, together with the baptised, may realise the power sin has over them and us, and through the rituals lead all to deepen their desire for salvation. The readings for the 1st Scrutiny are always taken from Year A and its Gospel is about the woman at the well. Through the experience of natural thirst, Christ was able to awaken the Samaritan woman’s spiritual thirst. Spiritual thirst and sin are closely related. The Samaritan woman was trapped in a sinful relationship out from which she did not really see any escape. But, more importantly, she settled for a relationship she thought was the answer to her heart’s deepest longing—her spiritual thirst.

Like her, all of us thirst for something greater than we are—that is spiritual thirst—and sin promises us that it will fulfil that thirst of ours. As mentioned above, spiritual thirst and sin are closely related because sin pretends to be the answer to our search. And the thing about sin is that it does initially fulfil that thirst but its fulfilment is like heroin’s high, in which one is left living from one high to another. A life of sin drives us from one sin to another giving the illusion that the next sin would be the satisfaction denied the present sin. [The closest analogy I can think of is “womanising”—a man who conquers one woman after another, thinking that this last conquest will be the final conquest but it is never enough…] So, in speaking to the Samaritan woman, Christ promised that He alone would quench what her heart had been searching for from man to man. It is only when we turn from sin and turn to Christ that we will find the living water to quench our spiritual thirst. Following Christ satisfies us more than we can imagine.

We now turn to today’s Gospel which is about the fruitless fig tree. The parable of the fig tree and the thirst for the water of life both direct our attention to the need to examine our lives and they urge us to seek what leads to life. St Francis Borgia is a good example of what it means to seek life—as he found his spiritual thirst satisfied.

In 1539, Isabella the Empress of Charles V died unexpectedly. Now this was where the grace of conversion took place, not that Francis was in any way dissolute in his behaviour. He accompanied the cortege of the Empress to Granada to be buried at the Royal Chapel. Francis, together with Bishops and nobles accompanied the body to the southern city. The entourage arrived 15 days later and after Mass had been celebrated and before the placing of the body in the tomb, it had to be opened for the official recognition of the body. Francis saw not the once beautiful face of the 36-year old queen but a face beyond recognition. He exclaimed: “Never again, never again, will I serve a master who can die on me”. He understood the tragic transitoriness of human life and material possessions. This is why he is pictured carrying a skull to remind him that life is more than what we are able to make of here.

Many of us are more like Francis Borgia rather than the Samaritan woman. We are not living dissolute lives. In fact, many of us might be living what we call decent lives. We enjoy life and we like a comfortable life. All these are not bad. And if you really think about it, there is really no “choice” when it comes to good or bad. We always choose the good. But, in our case, when everything seems to be good, choosing means we choose something better.

And this is where we cross path with the Samaritan woman as the rigours of Lent provide us with the chance to look beyond. The fruitless fig tree comes as a reminder to those of us who have been baptised to reflect if our lives have been fruitful or fruitless and that there are consequences beyond this life which we must take into account of. If we are living a dissolute life, it is time to change; it is time to seriously think about the trajectory of our lives and its consequence.

But, if we are not resolute and we are living decent lives, perhaps, decent is not enough. It has to be more so that, like Francis Borgia and the Samaritan woman, we come to acknowledge the source for our completion is to be found in none other than Christ Himself.