THE ROLE OF THE PASTOR ON THE FAITH FORMATION OF THE PARISH

N.B. What follows is a talk I gave to clergy and catechists on the occasion of the Annual Catechetical Conference of Archdiocese of Guam on September 26, 2009

First and foremost, I would like to thank Reverend Larry Claros for the gracious invitation for me to give a talk in this catechetical conference. Back home in Manila, this is my bread and butter. I teach, preach, talk, write, and do a whole lot with anything that involves words, that is, educate, and otherwise, move, push, cajole, inspire, enable, empower, and energize - and, disturb – people with the power inherent in something we all take for granted – the power of words – and, let me add very quickly, the power of the Word with a capital W.

I have been teaching for the past 32 years – and counting!

At the very outset, let me be honest with you. I do not mean to take potshots at the organizers, but let me tell you that I do not like the title of my talk. I was asked to talk about “the role” of the pastor on the faith formation of the parish.

Before you bowl me out of this hall as persona non grata, let me explain.

Role denotes and connotes function. It refers, as we all know, to something we need to fulfill, a slot that needs filling in, a space that needs to be occupied. It refers also to something that needs to be done, a responsibility that, in the event the one originally deputed to do it cannot or is unable to fulfill it, can be substituted for, by someone else, by anyone, for that matter, who has the qualifications and all the titles necessary for him to do it.

The secular world is all too familiar with this. One goes through a certain number of years of studies to qualify oneself; one goes through a series of qualifying or board exams, and after all the efforts expended and the appropriate degrees or academic titles are earned, one goes through a ritual that puts one in the same league as those who have previously earned their laurels.

The title, degree, or academic achievement puts you in the same level of the literati, the periti – if if you will – or resident experts on just about any topic under the sun, including the sun itself. The three or more letters after your name, qualifies you then to stand in for another who holds an equivalent or similar degree, and automatically makes you qualified to substitute for, to stand in place of, and to represent somebody of the same caliber as you are.

Such is the way of the secular world.

But such is not the way the ordained pastor, priest, preacher, and presider in the Roman Catholic tradition follows.

If we are to speak of the former, then all one needs to do to be qualified on something is to measure up to standards and submit oneself to a formal ritual, say the commencement ceremonies, or graduation rites.

If we are to speak of the latter, however, the ordination rites go far beyond what civil rituals in the secular world can offer. We speak of something that only those who understand sacramental theology can fully fathom. We speak of something that has no parallels in secular culture, for sacramental culture, in the Catholic tradition, as we catechists know only too well, refers to signs that effect what they signify, not just on the superficial plane of diplomas and certificates that are good only for hanging on walls, but they are signs that point to a very deep change in the person who receives that sign. There is a 64 dollar word for it … we refer to such a deep inner change as ontological, not merely existential, change. I don’t mean to bore you, but it only means something that changes from deep, deep down the person, not just external, superficial, and cosmetic change that the postmodern world, unfortunately, is so well-versed in.

But I sound like I don’t address the topic at hand. I was asked to speak about the role of the pastor on the faith formation of the parish. So far, I have only succeeded in registering my dislike for the word “role.”

Let me tell you now what I like with regards to the title, before I speak more of what I don’t like.

I like the fact that “pastor” and “faith formation” are placed side by side, almost like as if to say the two are intricately related. I like this, not just owing to a mere personal preference, but because the Church that I love likes it that way. Yes … priest – and you may call him any which way you like, like ordained minister, pastor, father, etc – and faith formation are inseparable concepts. If they are inseparable, when we say priest, we just don’t refer to a role, a function, or an office. The priest is no bit player in the drama called life. The priest is not one who “struts and frets his hour upon the stage.” Whilst I submit there is an element of drama in the Roman Catholic liturgy, the liturgy itself is never just drama. The priest is not part of the “dramatis personae,” with a role to play in a mere performance that we refer to as liturgy. He does not fill-in for anyone. He does not substitute for anyone. He does not take the place of anyone. He is no mere stand-in, like a proxy at a board meeting. Yes … despite the fact that some priests behave like Messiahs, I am sorry, but the world happens to already have one … only one, and that is Jesus Christ the one Lord and Savior!

What then am I talking about?

Simply this … priest and proclamation go hand in hand. Martin Luther, who did some right things, but didn’t do them rightly, hit the nail right on the head when he insisted on preaching as the main task of the priest. But this is where his teachings get really really off the mark when he insisted that a priest who never preaches the Word of God has stopped functioning and thereby ceases to be a priest.

So let’s get things straight from here onwards.

And this for good reason ... If we claim, as indeed, we have claimed just now, that priest and proclamation go hand in hand, that pastor and evangelization are inseparable entities, then in order for us to talk about faith formation, we can neither prescind from, nor can we ignore talking about the identity of this priest-proclaimer, this priest-prophet, this priest who also acts as pastor in your respective parishes.

And I said I didn’t like the word “role.”

It’s been several years since I did a careful reading of Fr. Donald Cozzen’s book “The Changing Face of the Priesthood.” If I remember well, part of what he is saying is that the priesthood has been steadily evolving from a mere “cultic model” of priesthood that is more at home to being in the sacristy and engaging in sacred rituals, to an image of “servant-leader” who is engaged in service to the world and to society.

I don’t know about you, and what sort of theology was drummed into you, but I just don’t like the word “role.” From where I come, playing a mere “role” in the liturgy, no matter how solemn, is not my theological cup of tea. But neither does playing the role of a social worker fit my understanding of a priest exactly to a T.

The priest maybe that at times. As pastor, he may be engaged day-in and day-out in presiding over the liturgy. The priest may be servant-leader, too. He may be manning soup kitchens even on a regular basis, and doing community-organizing week-in and week-out, but the priest is more than just a cultic leader and definitely more than a community-organizer.

And although this may not be too much to people’s liking, I need to do theology with you, here and now. And mind you, theology is meant to be, and has always been, at the service of the Magisterium. I would sincerely hope that as catechists and evangelizers yourselves, I would not have a repeat of what in at least one theological center in Manila, certain students do every time a document from the Vatican is read in class … hoot, howl, heckle , and – pardon the pun – raise hell, against anything that comes from anywhere near Rome, the Vatican, the Holy Office, and the Pope!

You see, when we speak of priest, we need to speak of proclamation. For I have it on the authority of long-standing Church teaching and tradition that as ordained ministers, all priests – and, a fortiori – all Pastors, are changed men from deep inside. Yes, you guessed it right. Like all of you who received Baptism and Confirmation, priests received an indelible sacramental character that changed them – here comes again that 64 dollar word – ontologically. And if they are changed men, from deep within their person, the soul receiving a seal – a sphragys in Greek – then we cannot speak of mere roles. We cannot speak of mere function, like being a servant-leader, a coordinator, or part of a team of rah-rah boys to goad us on, and give superficial encouragement to the weak of heart.

When we speak of priest-proclaimers, priest-preachers, and priest-celebrants of the Liturgy, we speak not of someone who fits a social-functional model of leadership and whose essence of priesthood is thus reduced to service. We need no rites of ordination for social workers, house-builders, and community organizers. But in the Roman Catholic tradition, priests are ordained for ministry, and ministry, for the less Latin-challenged amongst us, as you well know, comes from the word “munus” which means task or office. From a sacramental-ontological point of view, therefore, we speak – nay, the Holy Father, following Church tradition, speaks of the TRIA MUNERA given as gifts, to men ordained as priests.

This tria munera, more properly understood not in terms of three distinct tasks, but in terms of three aspects of the same priestly office, thus points to someone who is configured unto Christ, priest, prophet, and king. Apropos this, John Paul II, of happy memory, wrote:

“If we analyze carefully the conciliar texts, it is obvious that one should speak of a triple dimension of Christ’s service and mission, rather than of three different functions. In fact, these functions are closely linked to one another, explain one another, condition one another, and clarify one another. Consequently, it is from this threefold unity that our sharing in Christ’s mission and office takes its origin.”

I understand that today’s postmodern sensibilities are loathe to accepting the concept of “power.” Whilst preconciliar theology often tended to emphasize the powers of the priesthood, in its attempt to explain the tria munera, it will be worth our while to get to the bottom of what those “powers” really were meant to convey. Maybe the word is not too pleasant to our postmodern ears, but, on the basis of our sacramental-ontological model of priesthood, the tria munera, is first understood as gift, and only then, as an office. It is also first understood as participation, before it is seen as potestas or power.

And this is where, again, we need to dig a little deeper theologically. Presbyterorum Ordinis says that “priests are signed with a special character and so are configured to Christ the priest in such a way that they are able to act in the person of Christ the Head.”

In persona Christi capitis … Writing in connection with this, Jean Galot says: “the priestly character is not added to the other two (Baptism and Confirmation). It deepens the mark already there by imprinting upon the self the project of a priestly life that is to come to fruition with the help of graces conferred during the exercise of ministry.” And this is the important point: “What distinguishes the priestly character from the character impressed by baptism and confirmation is that of a man’s being is conformed to Christ the Shepherd. The image of the good shepherd is impressed on the soul of the ordained person as a principle and basic blueprint of the ministry to be carried out … The priestly character is character in the highest degree, in its most complete realization, the most intense participation in the priesthood of Christ.” Participation comes first, as gift, not as merited, earned, and claimed. This participation stands at the basis of the priest’s power. That power is not for oneself, but for the community, for others, for the people of God. The priest acts in persona Christi, and in persona ecclesiae – a man for others.

Where, then, does all this deep theologizing lead to? Where do we go from here, then? This is the juicy part, but the juice does not come from the skin. It comes from the pulp, the center, from deep down. Getting to the core, then, lends us the luxury to go into the details with serenity, surety, and certainty. Understanding the deep theology of the priesthood allows us sufficient latitude to go into far-ranging consequences that would not hold water if they did not get down to, and spring from, the core. These consequences might sound simple but never simplistic.

Let me go to some of them …

1. A priest is a pastor and proclaimer. He cannot just be a pastor and sit idly by watching evangelization happen – or not happen, as is often the case. He has to make it happen, for, apart from the Bishop, he is the one who participates most (essentially, not just in degree) in the tria munera of Christ the Supreme High Priest. Benedict XVI speaks of the primacy of proclamation thus:

“Jesus speaks of the proclamation of the Kingdom of God as the true purpose of his coming into the world and his proclamation is not only a discourse. At the same time, it includes his action: the signs and miracles that he works show that the Kingdom comes into the world as a present reality which ultimately coincides with Jesus Himself … Word and sign are indivisible. Christian preaching does not proclaim “words,” but the Word, and the proclamation coincides with the very person of Christ, ontologically open to the relationship with the Father and obedient to His will … For the priest then, being the “voice” of the Word is not merely a functional aspect. On the contrary it implies a substantial “losing of himself” in Christ, participating with his whole being in the mystery of Christ’s death and resurrection: his understanding, his freedom, his will and the offering of His body as a living sacrifice.” (Address to the Plenary Assembly of the Congregation of the Clergy).

2. Evangelization is not an adjunct, not a value-added feature to the work of education that we do. Evangelization cannot be relegated to a department or subject-area that needs to be entrusted only to a department head or subject area coordinator. We are called to be evangelizers, and not just to give quality education. We educate by evangelizing, and we evangelize by educating.

3. The third flows from this second statement. Religion ought not to be considered a mere subject to teach but a way of life to share. For this to happen, an appropriate culture needs to be established in school and that culture needs to be a patently Christian, Catholic culture. If it is a way of life that needs to be inculcated, part of our responsibility as evangelizers is to see to it that that culture becomes the dominant culture, and not as a mere sub-culture as happens in many so-called catholic universities in the mainland. Evangelii Nuntiandi, number 20 speaks of the need to evangelize culture or cultures. But it insists that it should go beyond putting on a thin veneer on the surface. For this to happen, we perhaps may need to put a cap on the number (relative to the total number of students, of course), of non-christians admitted to our schools, especially if their aim is only to get a good education. Our goal is to guarantee that our students get to breathe and live daily an experience of Church, of getting to know first hand that it is possible to live an experience of Church even in an educational setting, where integration of faith and life happens on a day-to-day basis.

If you notice, I have been a little biased in my talk. I have to be. The topic given to me was the role of the pastor on the faith formation of the parish. This I did, by first dismantling and doing away with the word “role.” We spoke of munus, of participation that translates into potestas, and not the other way around. We spoke of integration, of faith and life, of the fact that being gifted, one is sent. We spoke of the fact, too, that being consecrated (ordained) we as priests are also by that very fact, commissioned. Our consecration leads us to mission. This simply put is what that means … We cannot just be cultic, without being catechetic in outlook and action. We are priests, pastors, preachers, managers, administrators, social workers, community organizers. But we cannot be all this alone and still think we do justice to our priesthood. We ought to be all this and evangelizers all at once.

A tall order, you say? You bet!

And this is why I would like, at this juncture, to quote Vicki Thorn, the founder of Project Rachel:

“A priest is a man clothed in tenderness, who speaks God’s mercy, who prophetically pronounces the truth, unpleasant though it might be, and who reflects God’s love to a hurting world. Sometimes he is shoring up souls and sometimes he is breaking up concrete. He’s comforting the grieving and challenging the young. He’s soothing the dying and blessing the newborn.”

And this leads me to something that up till now, you may be thinking I might have forgotten. Where does all this talk about priest, prophet, and king lead all the lay people here in this hall to? Where does all this leave you, my dear lay friends? If the priest is proclaimer par excellence, what are we to make you? What are you to make of yourselves?

Before you consider yourselves off the hook, hold your peace. Before you decide that the first speaker this morning is guilty not only of male chauvinism but also of clericalism, lend me your ears a short while more.

Your pastor needs you. The Church needs you. And you are not just needed in a selfish and manipulative way by your pastors, for want of work horses to do the dirty work for them, or battering rams to forge their way toward hostile territory (read: non catholic grounds). No … evangelization is as much your mission as ours. By virtue of the royal priesthood of the laity, to which we as baptized and confirmed individuals, prior even to our ordination, were also called to, consecrated for, and sent. We are all in it together. This is the basic and common Christian mission – the great commission, as sometimes it is referred to.

Pope Paul VI already made that clear long ago … “the primary and immediate task of the laity is to bring the gospel to bear on the affairs of the world.” Lumen Gentium teaches us that lay faithful participate in Christ’s prophetic mission when “the power of the gospel … shines out in daily family and social life” (LG 35). The laity also share in Christ’s priestly mission when they unite themselves to him and to his sacrifice in the offering they make of themselves and their daily activities (34). And they participate in Christ’s royal mission when by serving others in Jesus’ name, they spread his kingdom.

Although it sounds like a truism and a triviality, I would like to say, that it does not do much good to have a leader in the parish if there is not many willing to be led. It does not make us get too far if we have a shepherd’s voice booming out and no sheep to hear his voice. It takes two to tango. One of the big problems of postmodernity is the so-called crisis of leadership. But I would like to venture out and add, that it is as much a crisis of leadership, as a crisis of the led. We priests and laity are all called to the same goal and mission. It is no accident that the word “parish” in English, really came from a Greek word paroikos which tells us everything about the relationship between pastor and laity. Paroikos means a house beside mine. It means “dwelling beside.” I don’t know about Chamorro culture, but back home, neighbors do not just dwell beside one another. In Hebrew mentality, neighbors just don’t give a “hello and good-bye” greeting day-in and day-out. They were experts on hospitality, on walking together, on doing things together, living as they were in the midst of so much natural and man-made hostile elements, as nomads.

Vicki Thorn understood it. Mother Teresa understood it too. And so did great women luminaries and saints of the stature of St. Teresa of Avila, St. Catherine of Siena and many others. They took priests to task. They even pointed a menacing scolding finger at the Holy Father and the anti-Pope, as Catherine did. But their prophecy of denunciation eventually led them to annunciation. They did not just tear down walls. They built a Church. Together, they chose to gather and build community. They took to their roles as priest, prophet and king themselves like unto Christ the Supreme Shepherd. But without in any way insisting to become what the Lord did not call them to be, they did what they were called to, like all priests are called to prior to their being ordained for ministry – be evangelizers and disciples of the Lord. Like Mary, his mother, the first disciple, the first among the redeemed, blessed among all women, who conceived and brought forth the Word become flesh.

And if we insist on speaking about roles, this is it … all of us, whether ordained or lay, are called to conceive and nurture the word, until we reach the fullness of stature of Christ, the Word eternal!

LIVING BY FAITH, NOT BY SIGHT

N.B. This article was originally written for the souvenir program of a concert by guest priests of the Diocese of Cubao, held in December 2007.

For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven, inasmuch as we, having put it on, will not be found naked. For indeed while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed but to be clothed, so that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. Now He who prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave to us the Spirit as a pledge. Therefore, being always of good courage, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord--for we walk by faith, not by sight (2 Cor 5:1-7).


Macintosh had for long expressed what people already knew by intuition and experience for far longer. In its revolutionary GUI (Graphic User Interface) technology of yore, now taken for granted by everyone all over the world, the once cryptic statement understandable only to the early generations of computer geeks of times past, has now become more than just a standard feature, but also almost a doctrine-like mantra that actually says more than it seems to suggest … WYSIWYG … What you see is what you get.

It turns out, on closer look, that more than just computer graphics is at stake here … “What you see is what you get” stands for more than just superficial representations of what is behind the shapes, sounds, colors, and shifting images that make up the actual cyber reality of our time and age.

What you see is what you get … I have it on the authority of cognitive therapists, especially schema therapists, that one’s vision shapes one’s reality. What one “sees” in the mind is starting point of what becomes, and what takes shape in the real world. An architect first has to “see” in his mind’s eye what eventually takes shape in a three-dimensional world of material reality. What one conjures up in the inner world of one’s thoughts, stands at the basis of what one tends to actualize and concretize in the external world marked by height, width, weight, and depth. What one convinces oneself of, tends to become some kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy, known once-upon-a-time as the “Rosenthal effect.” Schemata – the type of thoughts that fill our mind – are the very realities that we tend to live out. What one can “see” is something that most likely one can also somehow “do.” What you see is what you get.

But I read more in this almost prophetic statement of Apple.

I would like to suggest that it stands for more than just what our “new age” crazed world of infotainment seems to suggest. I would like to suggest, too, that something more than just the superficial “law of attraction,” popularized by the equally popular book entitled “The Secret,” is being referred to here.

What you see is what you get … No, I don’t speak of ions that build up in the atmosphere, and which, eventually form an energy mass that “attracts” the reality that one’s mind is trying hard to think about. No, I don’t speak of the so-called alignment of planets that follow the much-vaunted laws of the “age of aquarius,” that represents and constitutes favorable conditions for harmony and understanding to reign in the world.

I speak of better things here. I speak of a deeper vision … I speak of seeing not with so-called “soft eyes” made popular by The Celestine Prophecy of more than 15 years ago.

Bishop Anthony Bloom can help us here. He wrote many years ago that too many people live in only two dimensions in a world where there are actually three. People live like reality has to do only with the “here” and with the “now.”
People who behave like reality is only the here and the now, to use St. Paul’s terms, live only by sight. They see only what is palpable, quantifiable, and measurable.

To see only rottenness and sordidness in this world of corruption is to live by sight. To see only the rapid degradation of our society in every aspect is to live only in two dimensions. It means to see with “soft” uncritical eyes. It means seeing the “right things” but not necessarily “seeing rightly.” It means seeing, and being numbed by what one sees … being co-opted by what seems normal, legal, moral, and convenient, like as if all the said terms were on equal footing.

To live by sight alone is to see reality as flat, as drab, as lacking in depth, as lacking in perspective. It actually means to see less, not more.

The conditions of our times are rife for us all to see less and less. We see less of what is right, and more of what is personally and materially convenient. We see less of what is moral, and more of what is legal and advisable, and materially rewarding. We see less possibilities to aim for the better and the nobler, and more of opportunities and potentialities to work for the higher, the greater, and the more. We see less and less of God-at-work in history, and more and more of man intervening in history.

To live by sight alone is to see less, not more.

You have in your hands a kind invitation to see more, not less. The mere fact that you are reading this is proof enough that, deep inside, there is a very deep and very real longing in you to see the right things, and to see them rightly.

In our faith tradition and history, there was a man named Paul who saw the right things and saw them rightly. He saw pain staring him in the face. He saw and felt unalloyed joy at the sight of his beloved people in the various “churches” that he personally formed and evangelized. Paul saw suffering, shipwrecks, hunger, cold, heat, lashings, and gashing wounds of all kinds. He saw the love and dedication of his followers. But he also saw divisions, disunity, squabbles, and disharmony among the people he so dearly loved. He saw all the “right” and “real” things – enough to make anyone dejected and depressed.

But Paul saw more, not less. He had perspective. He had vision. And what he saw was what he got. He lived by faith, not by sight.

The men who made it possible for you to be reading this here and now, I would like to assure you, are men with a vision. Having journeyed with them in a humbling experience of reflecting together with them about faith, life, and priestly ministry last August 2007, I can vouch not only for their worthy dream, but also of their lofty vision that is not far different from Paul’s great vision.

They live in three dimensions. Thinking of the “here” and the “now,” they have planned and worked hard to regale you with songs that speak of their dreams – dreams that have to do with very real earthly concerns – the same concerns that you and I, as human beings, have – and ought to worry about in some way. But thinking, too, of the “hereafter,” their performance aims at bringing you closer towards another dimension that we all too easily tend to forget – the dimension of eternity. They are, after all, priests of the Roman Catholic Church, serving now the needs of the Diocese of Cubao. They have gathered here this evening, not only to regale you, but to sing with you the “songs of Zion,” to sing for you songs that remind us all that, indeed, we live in a world that opens to “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined – what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9).

There are times when we are tempted to do as the exiles in Babylon did … hang up our harps by the rivers and sit down and weep (cf. Psalm 137). Times there are, like now, when we’d rather see and focus solely on all the rottenness and the corruption around us, and then worry ourselves sick and wax angry at all that we see.

But these men that you have come to see perform tonight – in varying shapes, sizes, and ages – offer you an alternative vision. Allow them, I ask you, if only for a couple of hours, to remind you in less formal and less ecclesiastical circumstances, of the same old message that Paul spoke about two thousand years ago – that we are called to “live by faith, not by sight,” and that we are all called to “see more, not less.”

11. BELIEVING AND BELONGING

BELIEVING AND BELONGING:
Religious Life as a Journey and a Message of Hope

We have come now to the final reflection of this mountain meeting with the Lord and with ourselves over the past five days. All good things must end. No, I am not referring to my talks. I am referring to my stay in this beautiful, quiet place, along with the solitude and silence, the prayerful examples of all of you, and the receptive attitude that you all have given me.

To every one who is called to speak in public, some authors would advise the following three rules. First, have something to say. Second is, “stand up and say it.” The third and most important of all is, “sit down.” In my experience of 24 years, I sometimes do not follow these rules strictly. I cut corners and stay on longer on the second rule when I see one important thing on the part of the audience. Public speakers call it “audience sympathy.” You have shown me more than just audience sympathy. I don’t know whether you are just being polite or compassionate and merciful as the Lord, but that is beside the point. But there is one more reason why I refuse to sit down. You have made me president of the liturgical assembly, and I hold the microphone, so I would like to make maximum use of my 15 minutes of fame.

I made reference to the story of Thomas the Doubter in one of my talks. I would like you to know that I am very sympathetic to Thomas and his honest doubts. The last ten talks I have given are proof positive of that. I am firmly convinced of the fact that the best believers are those who struggled a little with their belief, who have a lot of personal investment in what they hold dear, for whom faith went beyond merely tucking cold, abstract truths neatly in a hermetically sealed compartment of the mind. Thomas’ faith was precisely not that. It wanted corroboration. It looked for support. It was a case of what St. Anselm referred to as “fides quaerens intellectum”- faith seeking understanding.

In our human tendency to focus on the negative, we sometimes do not look too kindly at Thomas’ doubts. This may well be the reason why tradition has given him the undying epithet, “the doubting Thomas.”

But I see more, not less. True to the main motif of the past 10 reflections I have shared with you, I would like to focus more on Thomas’ dream, and not his doubt. I like to cast my attention on his eventual development, not on his temporary faltering. I see in Thomas the careful circumspection of faith, faith that questions, not faith that is blind; faith that looks for further support, and more strength, not less. It is faith that is, like ours, simply and plainly human, subject to the normal and ordinary challenges posed by events, and the vagaries of time and place.

In this sense, for me, Thomas the Doubter is no different from Peter the Betrayer. Both were recorded to have had their own moments of weakness. One denied the Lord. The other doubted the Lord. But I would like to hasten to add one important detail. Both may have temporarily ceased believing, but both never stopped belonging. Believing and belonging … these are two intertwined aspects of the same attachment to the Lord. One builds on the other. One strengthens the other, but the temporary absence of one does not spell the total collapse of adherence and attachment to Christ. Thomas, who ceased believing for a while, never stopped belonging. He came, despite his disbelief. He came, precisely because he was looking for support in his faith. Vidimus Dominum, the other disciples told him. Thomas might as well have answered them, Desidero videre Dominum… Veni ut viderim Dominum. I want to see the Lord. I want to see his wounds. I want to touch his hands and his side. I came that I might see.

Peter the Betrayer thought better of his denials, all of three times. The Church that we belong to, the Church that we claim we love, is a Church of compassion. It is a Church where – lest you all forget – both saints and sinners belong together.

Compassion, mind you, breeds communion. The Risen Lord was the first to show this. “Thomas, take your hands and put them on my side. Touch my wounds in my hands.” Because of Christ’s compassion, the great divide between believing and belongingness was joined. Love shown so concretely is love that needs no proofs, no litmus tests, no surveys and evidences. Presence is evidence enough. And Christ’s love rendered all proofs useless and unnecessary.

Small wonder the response of Thomas made no reference to the wounds. He did not say, “I believe for I have touched.” No … his words were all in reference to the presence of him to whom he now pledges total, complete, and unconditional surrender: “My Lord, and my God!” We know the rest of the story of Thomas the Doubter. In his turn, he spent his whole life becoming what Scriptures say of those who saw the Risen Lord – witnesses. It was in turn to tell others: “Vidi Dominum.” And we all know what his witnessing led him to – martyria.

Yesterday, I made reference to Rabbi Byron’s claim that we all need to re-appropriate our wonder-working tradition as leaders of the faith. You might be asking what I may be referring to mostly. If you have followed my thread of thought over the past ten reflections, I am not exactly referring to being the miracle workers that the apostles were, doing spectacular healings, and grandiose miracles. That type of wonder working was more proper of the early, incipient Church, during the vitality of the beginning.

I am referring to something more achievable, more realistic, more sedate, and ultimately, more necessary. I have made reference to the fact that religious life as we present it now to the postmodern world may appeal less and less to young people. If we present an anemic picture of religious life as a glorified, more intensive version of lay spirituality, then we are not doing wonders. Thousands and thousands of lay people already are living their own equally valid version of a lay spirituality that has helped and still helps the growth and fecundity of the Church. By far the greatest thing that happened in the aftermath of Vatican II is the rise of so many covenanted communities of lay people in the world, who, while living in the world, still attend to the affairs of the Kingdom. They evangelize with passion and dedication. They build houses for the poor and organize communities to help them become not only worthy dwellers, but capable builders of their own communities, and architects of their own future. In a world of cynicism, despair, despondency, growing and worsening poverty of all kinds, many lay people have, indeed, become the wonder-workers that we used to be, that we are called to be.

But I suggest that that is not primarily the type of wonder-working we are called to do now. Being social workers has never, and ought never to be the end-all and be-all of our religious life. We do not need to be priests and religious to be that. But being professional men and women living holy lives based on the evangelical counsels, while journeying with a world of poverty, ignorance, discouragement, and lack of hope is what our wonder-working ought to revolve around in.

I am referring to us being living signs and beacons of hope. Priesthood and religious life that is open to wonder-working is a life that is open to hope. It is a life that transcends the sordid reality of a sinful world. It is a life that is willing to guarantee through personal and collective witness that life could be better, that society could be better, that there is a finality to everything in this world, and that that final chapter has been written in blood by the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ.

Years ago, the great preacher and writer Fulton Sheen expressed so well what I am referring to:

Human nature everywhere, whether in the priesthood or out of it, makes one set of plans, and either God or events or someone in authority negates them. Life it seems, is like Sisyphus who pushes a stone up the mountain only to it roll down again. If other persons do not contradict our hopes, some impersonal fate seems to do so.

Earlier, I have shared with you a little of my personal passion, how others, especially superiors, may have trampled on my dreams, and left me holding an empty bag. I was in the throes of my narcissistic rage for a long while. In retrospect, even that painful chapter in my life has been a blessing. But that blessing is something one would rather not have to undergo at all.

Moltmann speaks about the very same experience in the life of Christ. Christ, on the night before he suffered, had withdrawn in order to be united in prayer with his Father. He prayed. No … he pleaded … If it be possible… Moltman says that “Christ’s request was not granted." God, his Father, rejected it. Moltman speaks of the true passion of Jesus Christ which began with the prayer in Gethsemane which was not heard, which was rejected through the divine silence; for his true passion was the suffering from God.

As priests and religious, most of our suffering really in one sense comes from God. No … not that God is the author of our pain, but in the sense that most of our pain really happens because we care for God, we care for his kingdom, and we try do His will. In the long run, we really suffer for God. We suffer because we are driven to do things with the best interests of God in mind. And in the depths of our pain, we cannot but utter with and like Christ, “My God, my God, why? … Why? Why have you forsaken me?” Moltman sees in all this the beginning of true hope.

At the point where men and women lose hope, where they become powerless and can do nothing more, the lonely, assailed and forsaken Christ waits for them and gives them a share in his passion.

This is what faith really is: believing, not with the head or the lips or out of habit, but believing with one’s whole life. It means seeking community with the human Christ in every situation in life, and in every situation experiencing his own history. Good Friday is the most comprehensive and most profound expression of Christ’s fellowship with every human being.

Beneath the cross of Christ hope is born again out of the depths. The person who has once sensed this is never afraid of any depths again. His hope has become firm and unconquerable: “Lord, I am a prisoner – a prisoner of hope."

You all have come from the plains to do this mountain-meeting with the Lord. If you remember, when the Lord is hard pressed on all sides, when crowds are literally all over him, asking to be touched, to be healed, to be saved from all sorts of maladies, the Lord would invariably and periodically go up to the mountain or to a deserted place to pray. I would like to think that he applies what some authors now call “oscillation theory.” To avoid what some others call “compassion fatigue,” the only way is to find replenishment from the Lord in prayer. Donald Messer, apropos this writes:

The danger of compassion fatigue ever threatens. Difficulties occur because of the stubborn intransigence of the evils we deplore. We tire from the constant struggle against seemingly intractable forces. To use the words of St. Paul, ‘we grow weary from well-doing.’

But believing and belonging, holding on to what is good, keeping together despite the differences that separate us, is the primary wonder-working ability that attracts followers. This is the wonder-working capacity that we need to explore and glory in – the wonder of the grace of consecrated life, a life that may not be popular, but a life that will remain valid a symbol of what, ultimately, we all long to possess – God, and His promises.

I would like to sum up all that I have been trying to tell you over the past five days (plus one). I have been talking of transcendence. I have been leading you to hope. I have been exhorting you to go on, walk on, march on, never mind if what we are going to, sounds more like the Emmaus of disappointment and sadness of two disheartened disciples. I have been inviting you to become what St. Paul finally attained: “For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance” (2 Tim 4:6-8).

Donald Messer reports about Loren Eiseley who talked about his own suffering from a dry emptiness, and a massive sense of futility, and a foretaste of annihilation. Despite this, he woke up each morning at dawn and observed shell hunters scavenge for treasures by the seaside. He spoke about “a vulturine kind of madness” which overcomes these collectors. They would scoop out living specimens, favoring starfish, and put bag loads of them in boiling cauldrons. But one morning, he saw an even more astounding sight. A man, framed by a huge rainbow at dawn, was picking up some things and then would toss them into the ocean. He was picking up hapless starfish, raised stiffly on their legs, caught out of water by the rapidly receding tide. As he picked one, Eiseley said, “It’s still alive.” “Yes,” the man said. “The stars throw well. One can help them.” Eiseley later wrote: “I nodded and walked away, leaving him there upon the dune with that great rainbow ranging up the sky behind him. I turned as I neared a bend in the coast and saw him toss another star … For a moment, in the changing light, the sower appeared magnified, as though casting larger stars upon some greater sea. He had … the posture of a god.”

Eiseley ends up “joining the star thrower on the beach, spinning living starfish beyond the danger points, beyond the ‘insatiable waters of death,” writes Messer.’ “He joins the company of the star thrower, not as a scientist but as a fellow sufferer. By loving life, even the lost ones, Eiseley points to a God who not only creates unfathomable worlds of nature but who is also the God of the lost ones.”

We are called to wonder-working. And we are called to do this by joining the company of the star thrower, who is Christ. Hope is what we specialize in. Hope is the arena we move in. We see stars, despite our scars. We proclaim new life, in the midst of death. We deliver good news, beyond the so many bad news.

I end with the few Latin phrases I have quoted for you. My own, first of all … per agrum, ad sacrum! And two more: Ad augusta, per angusta! Ad astra, per aspera. As one who has been journeying on in this adventure called priesthood and religious life, I have learned the wisdom behind the words of St. Augustine: SOLVITUR AMBULANDO … things are solved while walking.

10. WALKING ON WATER LIKE JESUS & PETER

10. WALKING ON WATER LIKE JESUS & PETER:

Working Wonders Beyond our Fears

The priest as wonder worker is all but lost in our times. The priest, like our drugs, has become generic. For the most part, he is seen, not as a wonder-worker, but as a dispenser, like the ubiquitous water dispenser found in schools, canteens, hospitals, offices, and church meeting halls. He dispenses the sacraments week-in and week-out. He preaches – or so he imagines – while doing nothing more than repeat what the readings have said, first in English, then in Tagalog or Cebuano, or in any of our more than 77 dialects. The priest is so generic that, like the proverbial chameleon, he adopts to the environment. He changes color along with the leaves, the bark of trees, and the contour of the ground. First, golf became the game de rigueur for priests on furlough on a Monday. Then it became karaoke bars, with chaste singing accompanied by a few rounds of drinks, hard or mellow, who cares what? Now it is the burgeoning badminton courts, the tennis grounds, and the country clubs of varying levels of comfort and levels of company from the old rich to the nouveaux riches, truth to say, the power wielders or the power brokers of our times and days.

An important book by Rabbi Sherwin[1] argues that, by the tradition that grew from the OT all through the NT times, the religious leader is one who “works wonders.” He writes that “the authority of the religious leader in communicating a theological and moral message that shapes behavior, ultimately depends upon the belief of his or her constituency that he or she possesses powers not vouchsafed to others. These wonder-working abilities are the ‘medium’ that allows for the ‘message’ to be effectively conveyed. Consequently, for clergy to regain their currently eroded religious and moral authority and social status, they must reclaim their role as wonder workers. Only in that way will they be able to effectively lead their communities and convey the moral and theological message that is their mission to impart. Only in that manner can they effectively influence the moral and religious behavior of their constituencies.”[2]

That says a whole lot about the embarrassing “miracle” (at least to the institutional mainstream Church) that El Shaddai leader, Velarde, is. Let us not mince words about it. He is, to use Byron’s term, no less than a wonder-worker. Whilst this is not the time to psychoanalyze either Velarde or the hordes of largely simple folks who follow his doctrine, all I am saying is that one of the many possible reasons people flock to him, from a pastoral counselor’s viewpoint, is that he is perceived to be a “wonder-worker.” This is the reason why so many flock to the evangelical sects that abound all over the world, particularly in Brazil and many places in South America. The point of commonality in all of their leaders is the fact that they are, rightly or wrongly, perceived to be “wonder workers.”

As part of the crisis of priesthood, brought to the fore by the Long Lent of 2002, as Weigel[3] refers to the onset of the clergy scandal in Boston and elsewhere, the crisis of identity of the priest has been part of the erosion of the perception of the priest in times past as a wonder-worker. One recent author I’ve read reported how, when he was invited to say Mass in a particular parish in the US, the head lay minister told him bluntly as he was giving assignments for the distribution of communion: “You Father, you distribute communion in the choir loft. This is to tell people that you are just like everybody else.” I don’t know what sort of theology was drummed into you while in formation, but I have always been, and still remain, an “ontologist.” No, the priest is not like everybody else. He is equal in dignity with all men and women, that’s for sure, but his ordination has made him different, set apart, by virtue of the power vested on him. Different doesn’t mean superior. Being different doesn’t mean you are “more equal than others,” to use that famous phrase from George Orwell’s “Animal Farm.” From the ashes of all this talk about equality and equal rights, and a misunderstood “lay centered” Church, we see rising an emasculated image of priest who is expected to preside but not to rock the boat too much, expected to do “wonders” but within strict bounds of democracy and fairness and equal opportunities. No wonder we are left only with so-called “sacramental ministers” who do their duties with dispatch, but not with panache, who preach but only about pious things and good things, politically-correct stuff that do not rock the boat too much. By trying to please everybody you please nobody. And you end up like a glorified altar boy, sashaying round the altar to fulfill a ritual, not a meaningful encounter.

But I am not about to get you off the hook just because you are different and called to do wonders. Now, I go to the most important idea that Sherwin shares with us. In many words, he simply tells us, that as clergymen, as religious leaders, we have to re-appropriate the wonder-working capabilities of the biblical religious leaders. I quote:

“For the religious teachings and the wonders of the religious leader to be considered credible and authentic, he or she must exhibit the sources of his or her authority as a religious leader, as a person of God in his or her daily lifestyle … Put another way, the mission of the religious leader is to convey a message. In order to effectively convey a message, he or she must enjoy a close relationship with the giver of the message, that is, God. He or she must have an intimate knowledge of the content of that message, that is, an in-depth religious learning. He or she must live the message, that is, he or she must live a life that embodies religious faith, spiritual development, personal piety, and moral rectitude.”[4]

This needs no further commentary. But there is more. Sherwin says that “a person with such characteristics can convey the message through the medium of various types of wonder working.” This wonder-working, according to Sherwin, quoting Jack Bloom[5] happens when the clergyperson is a “symbolic exemplar,” that is, when he “transforms a mundane moment into a sacred occasion, a routine place into a holy space.” By the power vested in him, his every word, gesture, blessing, healing, praying over people, preaching, counseling, or simply being with people, becomes his wonder working tools.

I would like to refer back to my title. Peter was walking on water[6] for a short while, on the strength of the Lord’s command. But he chickened out. He began sinking. He noticed the gales more than the guidance of the Lord. To me, this was a foreshadowing, a clue to the character of Peter, that will climax sadly with his denial of the Lord for three times. This may well be the image of many of us priests who may be losing our resolve to be the martyrs and witnesses we are called to be. I am fully one with Michael Heher[7] who in the last chapter of his outstanding book, refers to the lost art of walking on water, for the simple reason that we have lost the yen for martyrdom, for self-sacrifice, for apostolic generosity. I take this to mean we are no longer working wonders for we have decided to be comfortable. We have decided to follow the mainstream. We have become generic priests with generic jobs, delivering generic homilies, doing generic baptisms, and generic services. The other hurtful word for this is mediocrity. And mediocrity does not do wonders. Mediocrity does not rock the boat. Mediocrity does not save. Heroism does. Martyrdom does. Being up there on the cross with Christ does, or at least being down there with Mary and John, while all the rest have chickened out and went their own frightened ways.

The last time mediocrity struck me as a word was 1984. In the movie “Amadeus,” the character of the envious, scheming, and resentful Leopoldo Salieri struck me immensely. To me he is the perfect example of what not to be if we want to be wonder workers. A copy cat, and a poor one at that, he always defined himself in terms of what the boorish and upstart Mozart could do. He was always comparing himself with him. And every time, he became angrier, while Mozart rose higher in the estimation of the royal court. He was seething with inner rage at that upstart, at that impertinent and boorish young man, whom he was trying with might and main to outdo. He never succeeded, even when he stole the work of Mozart and made off with it like as if it were his own. At the end of his life, the old Salieri was pensive, repentant perhaps, but was clearly insightful when he said: “I am the patron saint of mediocrity.” Mediocrity obviously did not take very far.

I cannot but end this final reflection with a lengthy quote from Heher. I dare not “spoil no whisper, blur no expression” for I believe every word he writes:

To the extent that we are unwilling to join [Peter] there, unwilling to take the attendant risk that we could, like him, end up flailing about, looking silly and nearly drowning, we will look as cowardly and sound as whiny as we are. ‘Please, please, please, come to the seminary,’ we plead. But what do we teach them to do in the seminaries? To be as bright and creative as they can? To take chances? To be ready for a life of sacrifice? Do we train them for resilience and generosity? Do we insist they manifest a capacity to live intimately and maturely upon this planet? And why should we expect if of them if we don’t expect it of ourselves? This is my prediction: until we change our ways, the young will not see the excitement in our way of life. The dreamers, the talented ones, the visionaries and geniuses, the ones God may indeed be calling, they’ll go somewhere else with their enormous energy. Instead we will continue to attract men in early middle age, those, excuse me for saying this, ready to settle down.

‘Please, please, please, get involved in our parishes,’ we implore our parishioners. But what do we ask of them? To give out communion? To donate sacrificially? To attend one of our self-help seminars or Bible studies? To jump through the hoops of our sacramental preparation? Where is the excitement in that? Where is the call to real service, for trusting faith in troubling times? We have come to consider high attendance at anything as a sign of success; we have forgotten that, on Pentecost, the standard was a bit higher; people had to be on fire.[8]

Our normal tendency is to be rather blaming of Peter who didn’t trust the Lord’s hand. But as Heher says, we can also focus on the moments he in fact walked on water. It is possible. It is possible to regain our stature as wonder-workers. Heher asks, “Could it be that turbulent waters are in fact best suited for walking?”

Maybe we need to face our fears, our insecurities, and allow the people who journey with us a glimpse about our real selves, who, like Peter, may be struggling with our faith. Again I quote Heher:

As has often been the case in the history of the Church, the baptized trust more those leaders who let themselves be seen drowning and worse. I think our parishioners want fewer of our bright ideas and more of our empathy and honest response to life. In short, they are attracted to priests who know how to take chances – not just any chance and not simply for the sake of the thrill – but chances they perceive are prompted by the Holy Spirit; from such priests parishioners will find the guts to be courageous and docile disciples themselves.[9]

---

[1] Byron L. Sherwin. Workers of Wonders: A Model for Effective Religious Leadership from Scripture to Today. (Lanham,MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. c. 2004).

[2] Sherwin, op.cit., p. xiii

[3] George Weigel. The Courage to be Catholic: Crisis, Reform, and the Future of the Church. (New York: Basic Books, c. 2002). He attributes the phrase to Fr. Richard John Neuhaus.

[4] Sherwin, op.cit., 0. 147

[5] Ibid., p. 141

[6] Matthew 14:22-33

[7] Michael Heher, op. cit.

[8] Heher, op.cit., pp. 172-173

[9] Ibid., pp. 174-175

9. I PLAYED BUT YOU WOULDN'T DANCE: Learning to Become Joyful Beyond our Loneliness

Recent studies on priests, at least in America, show two seemingly contradicting truths. The first is that priests in their first five years after ordination appear to be “as happy and fulfilled as other American men their age.” This finding is corroborated by no less than Dolan, who, in his foreword to the book by Rosetti says the same, but goes right into the other side of this seemingly paradoxical reality. Dolan says that while “over 90 per cent report high satisfaction with their call and ministry, the public perception is that priests are not joyful, and that the priesthood is in a life-threatening crisis, and that many priest, while internally happy, come off as crabs and malcontents.”

I am not sure a similar study on priests in the Philippines would reveal exactly the same results. Given our proverbial natural propensity to be joyful and optimistic as a people, given the cultural positive attitudes by and large of our people to priests and religious, in general, I am not too sure that we are looked upon and perceived in general as sour and dour – at least as a general rule.

However, it wouldn’t be out of place in a forum such as this, to be speaking about joy. After all, we’ve heard it so often in the past, “a sad saint is a bad saint.” Consequently, if we look at our life and role and ministry as a way to sanctify ourselves and others, nothing stands in the way of this work of sanctification more than being crabby, being sore, being perpetually malcontent, like as if we have an axe to grind against the world, against everyone and everything.

The bad news is that in any given population, in any basket of apples picked at random, you have good apples and bad apples. We do a spontaneous, natural act of selection everyday at table. Although we say it’s the same banana, not all bananas are alike. We naturally pick the better one in the bunch, and the bad ones, generally remain in the bunch, till they become too ripe to eat and which will then be made into banana bread or given an extreme makeover and turned into pudding. You know that well enough.

Given our long training in the context of the seminary, serious pathology would most likely be screened out. There is a natural selection process that takes place in the wisdom of the seminary system introduced by Trent a long time ago. Rosetti, for one, claims that we have few cases of schizophrenia, psychosis, or seriously bipolar. Although it can, and, does arise, particularly from the ranks of those who more or less belong to my generation, priests are no more prone to such pathologies as the general population. As Rosetti says, priests are sick not because they are priests, but because they are human.

But I agree with Rosetti that we do need to talk a little about what we oftentimes pass off as garden-variety “sadness.” Whilst major depression is not part of the list of typical presenting problems of priests, a more subtle, low level, chronic, and milder specie called dysthymia is. This mild depression is something that few priests (and lay people) would even recognize, let alone, accept. But a trained observer just has the nose and the eye for it. Dysthymic people cannot remember the last time they were really happy. They shuffle around with a defeated look, downcast gaze (and some of them mistakenly define this as “profumo sanctitatis”). They shun the noise, the garrulity, and the legitimate joys afforded by everyday life, in the name of detachment and usually hie off to their rooms, or offices, and brood (which they call reflection).

On the opposite side of the spectrum are hypomanic individuals who seem unable to sit down for any length of time alone. They need something to perk them up all the time. They need to be at the center of the action. They need to be there where life happens. They have the chronic niceness syndrome, always available to help damsels in distress and anyone in real or imagined distress, for that matter. They are always huffing and puffing for the next sick call, the next talk, the next Mass, and the next “happening.” Take them away from that type of frenetic activity and they become sullen, withdrawn, or restless, and anxious. Whilst it is by no means pathological in the clinical sense, hypomanics may go through such a frenetic lifestyle, and can claim they do it because of their “apostolic zeal,” and “thirst for the kingdom,” but all they really do is meet an undefined need to be active, to be doing something, to be up and about, and to be saving the whole world. Cardinal Laghi’s famous quip comes in handy: “The Church already happens to have a savior.”

In my modest experience in leadership, and in my equally modest training over the recent past, and as a perpetual student of human behavior, particularly over the past 24 years of my priesthood, of which number more than half was spent in the context of formation, I cannot agree more with a recognized expert in the field all over the world – Rosetti – when he writes that the more common presenting problems of priests and religious are the following: narcissism, passive-aggression, and dependent personality problems.

I know I am treading on dangerous territory. I am walking on a mine-studded field that some of our dioceses and religious congregations in the Philippines are in. It is my educated opinion that of the three, narcissism seems to be the more prevalent in the Philippine setting. I have no hard data to present. My venturing into this field, along with the modest training I had in it, was really born more out of personal interest than on talent. But I see signs of it everywhere. The handwritings are on the wall, and all of us will be well advised to give a look, more at ourselves and less at others, and see just how much this moral and psychological evil has inflicted, and continues to inflict wounds on our communities, on our own personhood, and on the Church as a whole.

I start with the most difficult. Sadly, there is no known cure for them. These are the dashing debonairs of our society. They are talented and gifted. And they don’t just know it. They flaunt it. They make sure you know just what they are capable of, no matter if they are simply imagined. They are the narcissists in our midst. If we go by the rule of thirds that I quoted earlier on, then we should have reason to be worried, to be very worried. At least 33 per cent of clergy, not excluding us, may be in there. Narcissists are focused solely on themselves. They are the ultimate standard to anything. They are charismatic. They appear charming and kind. They know what they want. They know what to do. But you should never cross them. Once you do, you incur their wrath forever. Narcissists see the wrong thing in everybody else except in themselves. They cannot handle criticism. When crossed, their repressed anger is let loose like a dam. They burst like an over-inflated balloon and fly off the handle. They walk out of meetings in a huff, making sure that everybody gets indicted and figuratively sent to hell. They have no qualms about cursing others behaving like they are not capable of making mistakes too. They can even curse the Holy Father, the Superior General, and, if you’re just a local superior in a small community where he belongs, woe to you. You are just peanuts to this bulldozer who has no problems riding rough shod on anyone who stands in his way. All hell will break loose if you don’t do according to his plans. The narcissist’s tendencies, given enough time, is laid out in an intricate web of control, known to psychologists as “projective identification of control.” With enough time, and when (horror of all horrors), the non psychologically intuitive superior puts him in power, the narcissist will lay down a firm, and intractable mechanism of control, and everybody will have to toe the line, and literally kowtow to his every whim and wish, which usually is reinforced with a gruff, a grunt, and a growl. Weiser writes: “Narcissistic clergy operate on the force of personality, and they tolerate no real peers. They may court superiors in order to see themselves as peers of superiors, but they are not interested in genuine exchange. Narcissists are fickle in friendship, judge others in terms of usefulness, and reject people with bitter criticism, a criticism they always spare themselves. Idealization and devaluation is the technical term for their process of boom-and-bust courtship of others.”

The next in line makes a perfect fit for the narcissistic leader. The dependent personality is one whom the narcissist would simply love to have around. Such personalities form perfect part of the narcissist’s “groupie” or clique, individuals that are easily manipulated. Weiser describes them thus: “Depressed/dependent persons have no confidence in their own emotional strength or intellectual abilities. They feel powerless over events and relationships and are often willing to sacrifice anything, including their wants, needs, or themselves, for a sense of belonging equated with safety, security, and love.” Needless to say, such dependents would always love to belong to a small group because that group gives them a sense of security which they are looking for. If you are a small community and you have a clique like that, and you are the superior, you are in for a great deal of resistance. There is not much you can do unless of course you go down to their level and pander to their need for security and belongingness, in which case you would then be guilty of manipulation. Dependent personalities have difficulty asserting their own opinion. They don’t want to say their opinion because they fear being rejected or disliked. In the meantime, their resentment grows, especially if they already feel rejected or alone. Poorly differentiated since childhood, they always look for someone else to prop themselves up, someone else who could meet their nurturance and affiliation needs, someone else who could fill up what is lacking in their personality structure. These dependents are the perfect individuals to be looking for elderly matrons who can mother them, protect them, especially when, in their healthy imagination, they are not cared for in their communities. The bad side of it is, they tell sob stories to people around. The community is put in a bad light, and the hapless, unwary superior is condemned unjustly for being such an uncaring, unfeeling, and insensitive superior who does not act fatherly at all to his subjects (read: himself in particular).

The third most common malady is that of the passive-aggressive. They don’t fight openly against anyone. They just don’t do as agreed. They are not openly aggressive, but it doesn’t mean they are as meek and gentle like lambs. No… they hit you when they think it is most timely, where they think it would hurt you most. They appear to be obedient, nodding their heads in approval of what leaders tell them, but they show a pervasive pattern of passive resistance (low-key rebellion) and negativism. These individuals always feel cheated, unappreciated, and misunderstood. They are always complaining to others. The tragedy grows when they find dependent lay people, who also have very strong needs for succorrance, who literally come to their rescue supplying for what they think their poor priest or brother friend is unjustly deprived of. This includes food, gadgets, and if they are well-to-do, even cars at the poor priest’s disposal. Some even go to the ridiculous point of providing a room where they “are always at home and welcome at any time of day – or night.”

In such a setting, where “original sin” takes the upper hand in our selves, in our communities, in our congregations, religious houses, and dioceses, it becomes very hard for all to live in serenity and joy. It becomes a real challenge. Joy in the community is never to be achieved through short-cuts. Joy is never to be achieved by short-lived tactics like watching movies, and eating out, and finding time for some artificially contrived opportunity to do some backslapping camaraderie that masks an underlying river or resentment and dissatisfaction that is more intrapersonal than interpersonal. Joy, says, Kahlil Gibran, is but sorrow unmasked. Joy is something we ought to work for, sweat for, and sometimes, even cry for. Superiors are the first in the line of battle to assure that joy becomes real, genuine, and not based on flimsy props like food, parties, and gifts. Sometimes, the only way is to suffer through temporary anger misdirected at them by really helping the individuals to learn how to cope with their own issues. Sending them for processing and therapy may be painful, but mere paternalistic benevolence never resolved any big problem in the Church in history. Compassion alone will not clinch it. We also need clarity. And clarity means you have shoulders broad enough to suffer undeserved pain. I have climbed 13 Philippine mountains. I have even been held hostage in our highest peak down south for three days, together with seven others, half of whom were foreigners. You know what is the loneliest spot on earth when there is no one else to share it with? The mountain peak …

What is the use of being atop Mt. Everest if no one ever knew, if no one ever cared? What is the point in trekking alone to Mt. Pulog and then being overcome by the sheer awe and fascination of being higher than the clouds and there is no one else to hear your shouts of glee and triumph?

That is what superiors sometimes are … lonely on top. It is, indeed, lonely at the top. But you never know until it hits you in a moment of clarity that being lonely does have its joys. Joy is but sorrow unmasked. Here is a proof of a story recounted by Rosetti:

He was a seminarian during WW II. Thrown into a concentration camp, he survived. He came to America, was ordained a priest, and sent to a remote mission. He spent yeas building a church, building a community, praying and saying Mass every day. People never came. They ignored him. Years after, he resigned. The Bishop trekked all the way with him to inform people the parish would be closed. The people didn’t like the idea. When asked why despite the fact that they never attended anything, they answered: “You cannot take away the priest. If you take him away, you take away our only light.”

He was stunned. He stayed. And after that, the community began taking part.

No further commentary is needed. Joy is but sorrow unmasked. We priests and religious are supposed to be bearers of joy, gospel joy. And last thing I heard is, this joy can only happen if we take up his cross, and follow him. You better believe it.

The Gospel allusion in the title of this reflection illustrates the fact that also Jesus expressed some frustration. Referring to a game children played – some kind of “follow the leader,” Jesus complained, as children would: “I played but you wouldn’t dance.” We are called to learn how to grow beyond our loneliness, beyond our hopelessness. And this also applies to joy.