He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. Mark 6:31-34

Something happened in the street. Actually it was really nothing. The street is like that. Not everything is what it seems. The homeless youth need some excitement in their lives. There is nothing more fun than good gossip. The brouhaha was about someone getting murdered where they were hanging out. Some version claimed that some of the youths attempted to rob and ended up killing their victim. I knew enough not to react immediately to this type of news. If you wait long enough, the facts will emerge. No one died, but some one was badly injured. However, even this was a little suspicious. The truth was, thankfully, less dramatic. There was a scuffle between two drugs addicts and one person sustained superficial injury to the head. Everyone was fine but it attracted lots of unnecessary attention. The gang which controls the area decided that enough was enough. They made a new rule. No one is allowed to use drugs within the vicinity. This works out to our benefit. The youth will definitely listen to the gang. Maybe this is the reason why everyone’s imagination was active. There was no chemical substance dulling it. However, something did happen; something unexpected and spectacular. All the homeless youth are completely vaccinated. This has never happened before.

Usually, the homeless are the last in line to receive any benefits including health care. However, the local government received a lot of vaccine requiring only one shot. They decided it would be best to administer it to the homeless population. Our kids were first in line. They were briefly oriented about the side effects before receiving their shot. Most of them did not experience anything, except a few that sensed a slight discomfort. Thankfully, this pandemic has bypassed the homeless population in our city. This is quite a significant population where we live. In our neighborhood which includes the area where the kids stay there are about two thousand homeless adults and a couple of hundred children and teens. Most recently these numbers include families too. These is a very conservative estimate; the reality is much higher. It is amazing that the most of them have received their vaccination.

I got my first shot, too. I have some immunity now and my second shot will be administered in mid September. I decided to venture out to our usual spot where we met the children before the pandemic. It has been a long since I used this phrase, “on the steps of the cathedral,” in our reflections. I stood in front of the steps for a brief moment. Now it is occupied only by the homeless. The cathedral looks a little lonely. Eventually things will be back to some sort of a new normal. As I approached the area where the teens and children were, I was feeling a little apprehensive. It has been more than a year since we have been in that location. We haven’t seen most of these young people for a long time. I wondered what the reception would be like. Just before the Pandemic, we were cultivating some deep relationship with the newer arrivals to the street. We had many good conversations and moments. However, our time with them was brief compared to the time we spent with Felipe and Bruno or even Wallace. These young people we have known for more than eight years. These new ones, perhaps, only a few months prior to the Pandemic. I wondered if we needed to start from ground zero.

To be honest, I was feeling a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t afraid or anything of that nature. It is just that I am an introvert. Once I am comfortable in a situation, I tend to be more outgoing. Whenever I am faced with a new circumstance, I have a tendency to retreat within myself. I was really hoping for vestiges of the old in these new circumstances. We had carved a place for ourselves among the homeless teens. It took us a long time to build our identity among them. Now, I was afraid that this place is no more. Then I saw a familiar face. He waved to me. It was Rone. I have seen him periodically during the Pandemic. He called me over. Before I could say anything to him, someone ran up to me and gave me a big hug. Something which is unheard of in this time. No physical contact between friends for almost two years. The hug was accompanied with these words, “We are now all vaccinated so there is no danger!” Obviously, they haven’t received the best of orientations. However, the hug was most welcome. It was Kawanna. Then Erica came and hugged me. They were beaming. They asked about Mary and I told them she was making her way back to the ministry too. We were all coming back full force but slowly. It was Kawanna that was most expressive. She was the one we had started to get to know before the Pandemic. She had so much to say and managed to blurt everything in a brief moment. She wanted me to know that she missed all our conversations and just sitting and being with us. She wanted me to know that we were really special to her. She missed us and was anxious to see Mary again. She asked all kinds of questions. To be frank, I didn’t get most of it. I was too elated to pay attention to all her words. Her smile was sufficient. It was more powerful than her words. It told me that our space was still intact. Rust and moth have not corrupted it. Some might think that I was being worried over nothing. This is not entirely true. There is no guarantee that our place is always reserved for us. The streets operates on a different beat.

Our homeless youth live in a constant survival mode. They have to adapt to new situations constantly so that they don’t have the luxury to stop and reminisce about what they lost. It is quite a tragic state. They can’t afford to go to a deserted place and reflect. Perhaps, this period of Pandemic has given them this deserted place. The whole world stopped during this time. We have been in this state longer than most countries. We are still not anywhere close to the end. We are just figuring how to move forward as best as we can. However, for the past year, we have felt a little lost. Our foundations were shaken. There are many who pretend nothing has changed. For these, they will continue making the same mistakes and taking things for granted just like before. However, moments like these are meant for us to stop and evaluate our lives. They are our desert moments to ponder about Life. I guess that Kawanna might have done this. She realized that she treasured our friendship even though it was just in its initial stage. We realized that we loved our place among the homeless youth. It is the place where we sense the presence of the Good Shepherd strongly. It is the place where we feel like we are not lost sheep wondering around in search of a pastor. I know that “hug” might make some people cringe at this present moment but I have to say that it was most welcome. It wasn’t just a hug. It was divine touch. It was the Good Shepherd reminding us that we did not carve this space for ourselves. He prepared it for us. It is His space and He invited us to occupy it. He kept it for us. The evidence was in the face of Kawanna. It was spoke louder than a thousand words. It gave us the courage to return to the new normal. We are going back full force, one step at a time.

Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:30-34

I mulled over this text at the beginning of this week. I thought to myself that this will be a perfect story to share with our children. It is quite straightforward in a way. The poor woman suffered a grave infirmity which isolated her from the rest of society. According the Jewish traditions then, she was considered unclean due to her constant bleeding. She was marginalized from the rest of society due to her condition. Our children share her fate with a major difference. They were born marginalized. This is a complex word and one which is often thrown about whenever the subject of abject poverty is discussed. All the complex problems and experiences associated with it are reduced to one term, albeit an inoffensive one. We have been with our children a while now. Most of the children and teens we met when we first came here are adults now. Our relationship has gone beyond superficiality. Now, they ask profound questions deserving an appropriate answers. They want to know why they are marginalized. For first of all, they want to know it means. They don’t understand this term. I admit it is confusing. It is also strange that we have terms to designate people whose significance is foreign to the designee. When I considered explaining this term, I realized that there was a certain arrogance attached to it. I am assuming that I do not share their marginality. I have no evidence to support it. I can argue that I have a voice in society. Unfortunately, this is just an illusion. No one really listens to my voice. My friends and family might humor me. They might consider the things I say seriously. Our children and teens will say that they have this too in their lives which is true. I can claim that I have wealth compared to them of course, but nothing impressive in the eyes of the world. After all, we don’t own a home nor a car nor anything that someone can point at and say, “that’s a successful person!” I can say that I have a blog where I can express my reflections. In reality, it is only for a handful of kind-hearted faithful readers. Thank you, nevertheless, it is a joy to know that you exist. It still doesn’t prove that I am not marginalized. Before anything else, I still need to define this term, at least for myself and our young people.

The best way to do it is with a piece of paper. I tell them that a story is written in the middle of the page and the margins are left empty. Those who find themselves in the margins don’t play a role in the story written in the center. Therefore, they are invisible. This does not really help. There are many unanswered questions. Who is writing the story? The most important one, whether it is a story that is appealing enough to draw someone out of the margins into the center of it? Well, there is a story being told in every society and presently it doesn’t seem like an appealing one. It is one filled with strife and hatred. Therefore, the margins seem to be a better place. The reality is that a vast of majority of us are not part of the main story. We could be spectators cheering those in the center but spectators are not part of the story. History books will never record our existence. The historical narrative is reserved for a select group of people and most of the time, they are not necessarily the most interesting ones. The truth of the matter is that almost everyone lives in the margins. Once I asked Felipe and Edson, “Do you want to be part of the history of this world?” They just shrugged their shoulders and asked me if I heard about a new mammal that was discovered in Vietnam. Apparently, my question did not perk up their interest. It was irrelevant. They are quite content living in the margins. To be honest, I am quite happy not being in the center page of this world’s story. The margins seem to tell a more interesting story. They have the most colorful characters like this woman in the gospel.

We know nothing about her and yet we know her story. Any place in the world where there is church present, her story is told. She has touched many hearts despite being anonymous. Felipe was curious about her. Her life spoke to him because she came from his reality. Well, she came from our reality. We are both marginalized. Although, Felipe and I are not the same in our condition. I have more privileges which may or may not be blessings. However, it is sufficient to say that we are both not important to this world. This is fine as long as we know our true state. Then we don’t have to waste our time trying to get into the center of the page of society’s story. We have our story to tell and we tell it to those who are with us in the margins. However, I don’t want to give the impression that life in the margins is wonderful and great. It is usually brutal, unjust and extremely difficult for many. The woman suffered for many years. She lived in isolation and loneliness. She needed healing. This is the most important thing. We need healing, not recognition. Once she received her healing, she was ready to go back to her anonymous life. Jesus, for one, did not stand in her way.

He called her out to relay a powerful message. “Your faith has made you well.” This woman had spent most of her wealth seeking for a cure on the outside when she had the cure within her. She lost everything she possessed, maybe because it never belonged to her in the first place. Jesus gave her back something that truly belonged to her. Something she did not expect.

All she wanted was healing and then, to leave discreetly after she received it. Most likely, she thought that she was undeserving of it. This is the problem of those who live in the margins. They don’t believe that they are worthy of anything. It is hard to convince people otherwise. No amount of education nor conversation can impress someone to believe that they deserve mercy and grace. On the other hand, there are many on the other side of the spectrum too but we won’t comment on them. Jesus did not tell her that she was worthy of healing. Instead He told her to listen to her faith. It informed her to touch the cloak of Jesus. It would have sounded strange if she had expressed this opinion to others. They might have accused her of being idolatrous. To suggest that Jesus’ clothes had divine healing power would also suggest that Jesus was divine. At this stage of the gospel narrative, this would have been a preposterous concept. However, this woman’s faith told her otherwise. She believed something about Jesus that was miles ahead of all his disciples. Jesus advised her to listen to her faith. It would bring the healing that she needed to live life to the fulness in the margins. Besides there is no evidence that being in the center of life’s history is fulfilling.

The next difficult question is the one about faith. I asked Felipe and Mary at one Bible study if they could describe the nature of faith. There was complete silence. This was the best answer. It would be wrong if they gave me some cliche response. The silence meant that it is something that is real in us but we still haven’t found to words to express it in an adequate manner. It is there present in us. Sometimes, the people who suffer in the margins hear the voice of faith clearer and louder than others. Our task is to pay attention to this voice. It is not an object. It is not a theory nor a doctrine. It is something living and dynamic. Sometimes I see it more clearly in some of my friends who have given up religion and embraced the label of atheism. Despite their unbelief, they are manifesting faith in their words and actions, much more than religious people. Faith is a gift from God and when we listen to its voice, it will bring us the healing that we need in this life. It can do more than any efforts to bring us out of marginality. Faith makes our life colorful in all sorts of conditions. We need to learn to discern her sweet healing voice in our souls.

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.
Mark 4:33-34

Our friend died from Covid last week. He was only 46 years old. Many of his dreams were left unfulfilled and his only nightmare came true. He left behind his wife and three children. His young ones hoped that one day their father would baptize their children. Now, everything is over. The church where he faithfully served for almost fifteen years will feel a little more empty after the Pandemic. He served in my first parish, where we met. Back then he was a seminarian who helped me on the weekends. We spent many hours over coffee. He was just eccentric enough to be unintentionally comical. We used to reminisce about his peculiar habits and have a good laugh.
Now, even that is taken away from us. He is no more here in our existence. He hasn’t been part of our lives for a long time. However, we shared many things in our history. We served in the same church, we lived in the same parsonage and we shared meals together. We have enough memories to sense his departure deeply.

During the same week, a famous TV evangelist contracted the same illness and had similar symptoms as my friend. This man was much older and definitely less ethical. In fact, he is a scoundrel. Recently, he sold bottles of water personally blessed by himself for an exorbitant price, claiming they had powers to heal and protect from Covid. Unsurprisingly, when he was ill, he rushed to the hospital instead of taking his own medicine. Even though he suffered the same symptoms as my friend, he recovered within a week. Immediately, he exploited his situation and alleged that God send him back with more miraculous powers. Nothing changed. He remains a scoundrel. One can’t help wondering.

By no means do I desire the death of this man. He is not my problem. I can’t understand why people like my friend just die so easily and scoundrels who actively seek to do harm to others go through life unscathed. I understand that I may not know everything that occurs. I am also aware that I am perhaps being judgmental. Let’s say that I want to explore a little bit. I want to shake off restraints and ask some serious questions. I am not really interested in this man. I am more interested in understanding why one had to go and the other was allowed to stay. We do believe in a God who is involved in our lives. My friend did many things to help others. He wasn’t perfect but he did desire to be saintly. Yet, it seems like life doesn’t care one way or another. It just doesn’t make any sense or perhaps there is no sense in it at all.

“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late” All Along the Watchtower, Bob Dylan

I have come far enough to be convinced that this is not a joke. At the same time, I cannot ignore these impending questions. We minister to children and young adults who are faced with the brutal realities of life. They have seen and experienced things which many people will never confront. If I am going to say anything meaningful to these young people about God, I have to confront some tough questions. Not just once or twice but every time they show their face in our pilgrimage in this life. I shared my thoughts with a friend who is a psychologist. I asked his opinion. “Maybe God has a strange sense of humor,” he said. He knew this sounded almost blasphemous but sometimes it is hard to avoid such thoughts. He believes in God and His goodness. However, there are many things which cause him to be perplexed. One can’t make head nor tails of this situation. Personally, I like the word, “perplexed”. It gives a philosophical license for us to feel confused and disturbed without throwing up hands and saying, “…..with it!”

My friend told me that some argue that God only takes those who have fulfilled their purpose back to heaven and those who remain still have a task to fulfill. This response seem unsatisfactory. It appears that God is taking away all the people who make life bearable for many and leaving behind those who make it unbearable. Again, I don’t want to urge God to remove anyone. I am just trying to understand. It just doesn’t make sense when someone who labors for overall well-being dies and one who actively cheats and lies and exploits the gullibility of ignorant people survives. Why can’t they both survive?

I asked another friend who left the Christian faith many years ago. He always identified himself as an agnostic. He gave me a surprising answer. He thought that perhaps God is so infinitely different from us that we can’t comprehend His wisdom. This is quite a strange answer from someone who has adopted his position. However, there have been some serious changes in his life. His younger brother recently discovered that he has terminal cancer and now it’s just a question of time. My friend has been finding some solace in silence and prayer even though he is unsure if he believes. Life is full of paradoxes. His major problem is that he doubts that God is actually personal. I thought maybe we are just confused about how He acts personally in our lives.

I finally asked Felipe what he thought about this. Actually, I asked him if he ever wondered about such things. These past year has taught us not to assume that our youths in the streets have the same concerns as us. They grew up in a different environment and consequently they learned to ask the same questions in a different way. He said that he just accepted life has such. He never considered God’s involvement in the death of a certain person, nor their survival for that matter. For him, life is full of chances and God is not directly involved. He feels that God plays a different role although he can’t really explain it. He doesn’t connect these life’s mysteries with God’s presence.

I consider myself a blessed person. I have friends who are nothing like Job’s friends. They don’t resort to pat answers or religious cliches. They share honestly their own doubts and perplexities. Everyone including Felipe agrees that there is no definitive answer. However, it does not mean that we should stop asking the questions. The only people who do that are atheists. They don’t believe that anyone would answer their questions. However, for us who believe in God, we have someone to whom we are able to direct our doubts. I would say that it is our bounden duty to ask these questions. There are the mysterious parables of our lives and we need someone to clarify them. Thankfully, we have Jesus as our advocate. He is the One who will stand between us and God the Father and intercede on our behalf. Something Job yearned for when he was plagued by overtly religious people. We might get an answer. I am quite doubtful. Most of the time, there is just silence. Maybe this is because the answer is already there and I just don’t see it. I am just going to keep asking. The liberty to ask such questions in itself is a sign that God is personal. If the contrary was true, then we should just continue with Life without any concern about Him. All the people I talk with on this subject, including myself, are on different parts in our journey. We each receive an answer that helps us to take a step forward. This is all we can handle for now. We just can receive what we need to take a step forward.

I told Felipe that there is no answer to cease all questions. However, we need to persist in searching for responses in these difficult circumstances. The Truth is always present and Jesus tells us that God is Truth. The more we discover His Truth, the more meaningful our lives we become. However, the answer may not be what we expect. Nevertheless, it will give us the strength to discern the divine meaning in this otherwise senseless existence.

For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. John 3:17

In the Name of the Father, of the Son and the Holy Spirit.

If you are a Roman Catholic or an Anglican, you will automatically say, “Amen”. It’s hard to imagine that this simple Trinitarian formula was a result of passionate and at times bitter theological debates splitting the church many times in its history. Most of the arguments seem a little confusing to us today; maybe even a little boring. It doesn’t mean that they were not important. We live in a different time and the things the early fathers thought were priority are no longer burning issues for us. None of this means that we comprehend the mystery of the Holy Trinity. We still need wrestle with it. The Trinity is a dynamic and sophisticated doctrine. Therefore, we do not want to ruin it with technical terms beyond a modern person’s comprehension. After all, it is about God. It should inspire and stir up in people a desire to know more about His mysterious character.

I thought about Felipe and the other youths. Well, the others are not quite there for me to have this kind of conversation with them. Felipe is different. He is beginning to think about God and life in a deeper manner. Every week he astonishes me with the things he comes up with. He is ready to tackle this complex issue about the Holy Trinity. In a subtle manner, I have already spoken to him about this special doctrine, albeit not explicitly. Actually, I just talked about a church with that name, “Paróquia de Santíssima Trindade” ( Church of the Holy Trinity). It was the first Anglican church we attended in this country. Mary was confirmed there too. It has an interesting story, more interesting than any theological debate about the divine economy between the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

It took us a while to find an Anglican church in this city. Mainly because we weren’t familiar with the city back then. This was a time before internet or mobile phones. It was before we got married or I was ordained. We were lay missionaries then. We walked into a sanctuary that once upon a time hosted a large congregation. We were encountered a small congregation of 25 to 30, mostly elderly people. Even the priest looked ancient. His hair was completely white and he had a bushy white mustache which made him even older. I didn’t get much from of the sermon, my Portuguese wasn’t up to par back then. However, thanks to the Prayer Book tradition, the liturgy was familiar. This church was definitely not what I was used to. The Anglican churches in Singapore have large congregations on Sundays and mostly a younger crowd. I thought that this church needed an injection of life and energy. I thought that maybe I could be instrumental in doing this. I admit, I was young and arrogant back then. Hopefully I have changed. Well, I am not young anymore…

This church once had a young and vibrant congregation. There were even a few prominent members of society in this church. However, it only took a chicken bone to upset the tranquility of this congregation. A street cleaner ran into the church asking the priest to help a friend who was choking on chicken bone lodged in her throat. He dropped everything and came to her rescue. She was taken to the hospital. The priest paid for all the expenses and ensured that she had the best care. He was just like the Good Samaritan in that parable we often hear about. On the first Sunday after her full recovery, she was in church with her children. Most of the members thought that she just came to express her gratitude. She lived in the outskirts, quite a distance away from the church. Her neighborhood was extremely poor and also known for crime and violence. There was very little done to help these poor communities back then. Even the public transport to these neighborhoods are precarious. She had to take several buses to come to the church. It was a long and arduous journey for her to come to this church. Nevertheless, she was there every Sunday. Each time, she brought a child from her community with her. Soon, there were a small group of children from this poor community in the church. They mingled with the other children and friendships were formed. She was bringing new life to this church. This disturbed the older members.

An ultimatum was given to the priest. It was “them” or the “new members”. Naturally, this was presented in a socially acceptable manner. They suggested that the priest organize a work in the poor community instead of making this woman drag her children to the church. They claimed that they were concerned for her financial well-being. The priest was a wise man. He took their suggestion and started a work in the community. He also got some members to help pay for the bus fares for the woman and the children to come to church every Sunday. Eventually, the disgruntled members left. It was a large exodus. The congregation was reduced to a small number with the presence of children from the poor community. The members that remained joined the priest and followed the guidance of the Holy Spirit. They went to the poor neighborhood weekly to visit with the families there. This handful of people I saw on my first Sunday were these people who worked many years in the community. They made sure all these children never felt like outsiders in the congregation. We were introduced to these people. All these people were saints. Their acts of love and kindness could fill volumes. The few young people in the church were formally from the poor neighborhood, including a pair of sisters. They told us the story of Mrs. Elizabeth; she was an elderly woman who spoke Portuguese with very strong American accent. She had been living in Brazil for almost fifty years. Her husband was the priest who started all this.

Unfortunately, he died in a tragic car accident not long these events. His widow, Elizabeth, decided to remain in Brazil and work in the community. It was common practice in the poorest community to keep the children locked in the house all alone while the parents were out working. The streets was too dangerous. There were no daycare services then. Little children were usually left alone in a small tiny space without anything to entertain them. The children were mostly unstimulated. Mrs. Elizabeth and a group of ladies from the church changed this. They visited these children every week. Mrs. Elizabeth used to stand outside by the window and talk to them in her limited Portuguese. They might not have understood everything she said but her love and affection were fluent. She embarked on a quest to teach them English. These little children in the worst neighborhood of São Paulo were getting private lessons from a native speaker. The children she taught learned to love her weekly presence. She opened their hearts and minds to a world that they never knew existed. The teachers who shared us this story were two of the children on the other side of the window. These sisters got an education through Elizabeth and eventually they went to college and became teachers. They started doing for others what Elizabeth had done for them.

Once Mary asked the priest of the church what he taught was the essential task of the Church in this city. He said, “We have to learn how to manifest the presence of Jesus in this world.” These weren’t just words. This church truly manifested the Spirit of Jesus in the community where they ministered. I walked into the church thinking I would change it. I ended being transformed by these saintly people. They helped me not to judge a church by appearances. This, by no means, was not an empty church. It was one completely occupied by the Divine Trinity. Anyone who enters this church won’t need to be convinced of the Holy Trinity. They can see the divine economy manifested in the lives of the members.

I told Felipe this story and he understood it. I am glad he did. His son is going to get baptized there once the pandemic is over. He wanted to baptize his son earlier and we are to be the godparents. Unfortunately, the church refused to do it because we are not members of their brand of Christianity. I talked to the present priest of Santíssima Trindade and he said that he would be delighted to baptize Felipe’s son, well maybe now, even his daughter. The church has changed now. There are more young people. It has grown in numbers but thankfully, it is still vibrant and spirit-filled like the first day when we visited this church.

“When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. John 15:26

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27

All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. Acts 2:4

Today we celebrate the Feast of Pentecost and we commemorate the day of the Holy Spirit by reading the gospels in different languages. It is our liturgical attempt to relive that glorious moment. It gives us a feeling of excitement and diversion. I am sure that the first disciples would have never used these words. Maybe they might have said confusing or even disturbing. Too many radical things had occurred in a short span of time. There was too much to process for any human being. They knew that Jesus was unique and special. He had changed everything in this world. They also knew that it was something that needed to be shared. At the same time, they were clueless on how to communicate everything they knew to the world. Therefore, it is not surprising that the first sign of the presence of Holy Spirit was the freeing of their tongues to break all barriers between humanity. The disciples were relieved from the burden: the weight of knowing the answer without being able to express it. Now, the Holy Spirit has overcome this obstacle. We can share the Answer to Humanity’s deepest and most profound question. The Holy Spirit has revealed that the words will come to us to communicate that Jesus is the Answer!

Once Mary and I were sitting on the steps talking with the youth when a complete stranger came to us and said, “The answer to all your problems is Jesus.” The children politely agreed and then waited for the person to leave. Immediately they continued with their conversation as if nothing had happened. In reality, nothing did happen. The person merely pronounced some empty words. She gave us an answer without knowing the question. No one doubted her sincerity neither did anyone pay attention to her message. Nothing was communicated. She perhaps believed that she was fulfilling her religious obligation. Nevertheless, Jesus did not send His disciples to fulfill a religious duty. He sent them out to heal the souls of people who were desperately seeking for the Answer to their soul’s deepest longing. The first step in healing is to listen to those who are suffering.

I am always amazed in the gospels the number of times when Jesus asked someone who was blind or lame, what they desired. I thought that it was obvious that they wanted to be healed. However, Jesus did not assume this. He did not think that he knew their’s deepest longing. He wanted them to express it. In a way, it prepared them to receive the healing. The early disciples knew this. They knew that having the answer alone was not enough. They needed to know the deep existential question that plagues the soul of every individual before they could administer the healing. Without knowing this, there is nothing significant to communicate. It would be a grave mistake to assume to know the question. No one can know the questions of another person’s soul except God’s spirit as St Paul explains in the verses above. Before we open our mouths to proclaim the answer, we need to listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit first in order to know the question.

Recently Bruno and I were having a light hearted conversation about our strange habits. I told him that I have a habit of falling asleep on the public bus. Once I take a seat, I go into deep sleep. There were countless times that I missed my stop and ended up in the bus terminal being woken up by the driver. Bruno laughed and shared that he does the same thing. He told me that when he was young, he loved riding on the public bus with his mother for this very reason. He found the rumbling of the bus’ engine comforting and it never failed to soothe him to sleep. He added that many times his mother would take this opportunity to leave him on the bus and go home without him. He said that he always found his way home much to the chagrin of his mother. She would always make excuses that she completely forgot to wake him. He said that he knew that she was just trying to get rid of him. He was smiling when he shared this. It was his funny story even though it was extremely poignant. Bruno did not want me to feel sorry for him. He wanted me to know that he was able to look at these things he suffered and be able to laugh at them. However, he wasn’t making light of his harsh reality. Our youths do not have the luxury to avoid their brutal past. However, he wanted to communicate something to me. He knew that I would understand. The truth is that I will never understand the kind of rejection which he has suffered. There is a great gulf between our life experiences. I grew up in a home where my parents would wait for me at the bus stop everyday. If I was a minute late, my father would go out looking for me. This was the environment in which I grew up. I did not deserve nor choose it. It just happened. Bruno did not choose his environment either. None of our children chose to be homeless. There is a social schism between us but the answer to our existential question is still the same. This has brought us together.

We convinced of the answer. This is why we are here. This is why we call ourselves Christians. Like the early disciples, we know that we cannot just sit on this. The Answer compels us to share it to everyone. Needless to say that we realized that going around saying Jesus is the Answer is just not going to cut it. We need to know the questions that our children are asking about themselves and their existence in order to speak the Answer meaningfully to them. Sometimes, it is tough just to formulate the question. I realized that our children do not know how to ask their own existential questions. They have gone through so much in their lives that everything seems confusing and painful. They need the Holy Spirit to free up their tongues so that they can express themselves clearly. Perhaps our greatest evangelistic task is not going around trying to impose an answer but rather to help them understand that there is gentle Spirit who will give them the ability to formulate the ultimate question in their souls. Maybe the Spirit is working through us. Each time they share a story from their lives, they are offering us a little piece for us to put together so that we will understand the deep questions of their souls. It is possible but we will never know. We just have to wait and pray until the Spirit opens our eyes and hearts to understand the questions so that we can help them discover the Answer.

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. John 13:34-35

As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete. “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” John 15:9-12

I used to read these verses and say to myself, “Yes, I got this! These are beautiful and necessary words.” Then I would go on with life without giving it a second thought. I imagined that knowing this commandment was the same as living it. It is because I lived a comfortable and sheltered life where everyone around me was just like me. I was never challenged. Reading these verses in the streets among the homeless youth has changed everything. Suddenly these words have taken a whole new perspective. They have become one of the tough and difficult sayings of Jesus.

If I told our youth that they must love that person who made a snide remark to them in the way Jesus loved them, it would create a gulf between them and me. They would shake their heads and say, “Stephen doesn’t understand our world.” If they don’t think that I understand their reality, then naturally I can’t say anything relevant to them. However, this is an important commandment. It contains the good news for the youth. Nevertheless, I do feel a little embarrassed repeating these words. I lack the kind of authority Jesus had. It is better to read these words with them. Let them see for themselves that these are really Jesus’ words. After all, He knows more than anyone else about the true nature of this world. He met many egocentric and ungrateful people in His life on earth. He heard many flattering words about Him that meant nothing. He wasn’t fooled by the enthusiasm of the multitude. He even said that they were untrustworthy. Furthermore, He was aware that his close friend was going to betray him unto a certain cruel death, yet He never faltered in His love for him. He saw through the hypocrisy of the religious leaders and their murderous hearts. Yes, Jesus was completely aware of the presence of evil in this world. Despite this, His final advice for living a joyful life in this world is to love another as He loved us. This is what He discovered in His life on earth. It’s His legacy to us.

Nietzsche, a notorious enemy of Christianity who also was once a student of theology, commented that there is only one true Christian in this world and He died two thousand years ago. He wasn’t mocking when he said this. He was being honest. He thought that it was virtually impossible to follow in Jesus’ footsteps. Only Jesus was able to be Jesus and the rest of us are pretty sad in comparison. Maybe we need to think about this first. Can we ever love anyone in the way Jesus loves us? If not, then it would be rather cruel of Jesus to set such a high standard that no one could attain. On top of that, He made it necessary for our joyous living in this world. We know that Jesus wouldn’t do such a thing. Therefore, there must be answer or at least several answers for living out this commandment. Ignorance is not one of them.

I have a dear friend from seminary who is a Lutheran pastor. He began his pastoral ministry as a prison chaplain. He ministered to people who perpetrated the most heinous crimes, the kind which would make it easy for us to despise them. My friend had to face these people every day. He was Jesus’ ambassador to these people. He was challenged to love the unlovable. Everyday my friend confronted people who were unrepentant of what they did. Every day he fought against hatred. He is a loving person by nature, even then it is hard not to have anger and hatred in our hearts when we meet people who don’t care about another human being. He served out his time as a chaplain. It is safe to say that there were no major breakthroughs. None of the incarcerated become a saint as a result of my friend’s ministry. Nothing spectacular happened except for one simple miracle. My friend came home each day free from hatred. It constantly taunted him but was not able to consume him. He was able to see these men as human beings despite their monstrous crimes. He was able to see the image of God in them even though it has been clouded by their sin. He hoped that in the brief moments he spent with each one of them, they knew that he saw them as human beings and not as monsters. It was all he could do. It was enough. It helped him persevere in this dark place and not succumb to its darkness.

My friend would tell me that he did not intentionally try to fulfill this commandment when he ministered there. He tried his best to deal with these men. The truth is that in this extreme circumstances, we tend to understand the deep meaning of love. As Christians, we believe that the presence of Jesus in this world was to show us how to become truly human beings reflecting the image of God. All of us wear a distorted image of God. Jesus was able to perceive our true nature: the way God sees us. The only way He could see us as who we are supposed to be is through Love. If we only see distorted and wicked humans around us, then we would end up in despair. However, if we are able to see people the way Jesus sees them, then we can see Hope even in the most hopeless situation. This commandment is really for us. It is for our joy.

Thankfully, most of us don’t have to deal with the kind of people that my friend confronted on a daily basis. Maybe some reading this minister in the prison system. These can appreciate what my friend experienced. Our homeless youth deal with murderers and corrupt and violent police apart from mean spirited people. The rest of us are fortunate to be in a comfortable space. There is nothing wrong about this. Being in a so-called safe place doesn’t mean that we are immune to the cycle of hatred being propagated in this world. When we turn on the T.V., we see news that demonizes and dehumanizes people who are different from us. There is nothing being reported to help us see God’s image in the people. To the contrary, these reports serve to promote hatred. We need to stop the influx of hatred in our lives. A good start is to stop allowing hatred to invade any space in our lives. The commandment of Jesus is hard enough without all the negative input. We don’t need to hear about the nasty things humans do to each other hundred of miles away or even in our own neighborhood to make it more difficult.

This commandment is about us living our lives in this world. All we need to do is to step out of our homes and we meet people who have succumbed to hatred and bitterness. Sometimes they belong to our families. Other times we meet them by chance saying hurtful words. They might even be in our religious communities. Jesus did not ask us to change them. We don’t have that capability. He just does not want us to succumb to the hatred that is out there. This is not an easy commandment. It was never meant to be easy. We cannot honestly say that we can fulfill it. We can struggle with it each day in this world filled with hatred. It is a daily endeavor. The reward is at the end of each day as we can truly appreciate how much Jesus loves us because despite our frailty. He still believes that we can reflect God’s image in this world. This is our joy and strength to flourish in this world.

I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. John 10:14-16

I was happy as a Roman Catholic. I loved going to church every Sunday which was unusual for most teenagers going through the so-called rebellious phase. I never had any problems with the church. It was the place where I hung out with my friends. I was an altar boy then. There were about forty of us. We had a blast together. I was born in a country where Christianity was then a small and insignificant minority. Our faith united our small community of mixed races. It gave us our ethnic identity. I was completely happy being a Roman Catholic. Then a friend invited me to his Anglican Church. My mother told me that it wasn’t such a bad church. They were almost Catholic and consequently, I was given the permission to visit it. When I walked into the sanctuary, I was grasped with a strange sensation. It felt like I returned to a home that I never knew I had. It wasn’t really the church per se. The people were friendly enough but I was too timid to care about such things. Something was awakened deep within my soul. I felt something that I did not know existed.
I went back the following week. Eventually I started attending two churches every Sunday. I went to mass at the Roman Catholic then I rushed over to the Anglican. The former was part of my cultural identity. The latter drew me because of a mystery. I did not understand it initially. Thankfully, I met someone who helped me discover what was happening to me.

Everyone called the Anglican priest “Pastor Joe”. I did not know then that this meant the church was a low church. This term was meaningless to me then. The church had people from all sorts of backgrounds. A lot of them were from Buddhist families. I was one of the few Roman Catholics there. Pastor Joe was a strict man especially with the younger people. He was formerly a school teacher. Those who are familiar with the British school system would know what I mean when I say that he was a discipline master. This was the teacher to be feared. Nevertheless, in church, we did not fear, but deeply respected him. Many times, we would drop in on him the evenings just to chat with him, not realizing that we were invading his privacy. We were self-centered teenagers then. His wife definitely has her sainthood guaranteed. She welcomed us always. He would receive us on the porch of the parsonage and chat with us. I don’t remember much about his sermons nor his numerous bible studies. I remember the time we spent on his porch. There was one thing he always made very clear to us. He told us that he wasn’t our shepherd ultimately. He was a mere hireling. “All of us are dispensable so don’t confuse me with someone who is indispensable.” A few months later, the diocese transferred him to another church and not long after that, he passed away. He was about my present age when I met him. He seemed ancient then. Now, I think that he was quite young.

In one of our evenings chats, I shared with him about my desire to become a priest. I explained that it was something persistent in my heart. He told me that I was just being overtly religious. It is easy to be confused in these matters. It was definitely not what I expected to hear. I wanted him to sign me up for the seminary or at least speak to the bishop and make sure that I was on my way to ordination. Instead, I heard a “No”. Strangely, I wasn’t crushed. I was disappointed though. Then a few days later, he called me into his office. The deacon was present too. He said that he thought about what I said. He prayed and reflected on it and said maybe in the distant future I might be called to the priesthood. However, it is something that would happen naturally. He told me not to pursue it intentionally. He told me that if it is from God, I will not be able to escape it. For the time being, he advised me to live my life; to study and work and always listen to the voice of the Shepherd wherever I found myself. After all, he added, the primary task of a priest is help people discern the voice of the true Shepherd in the place and the circumstances in which people find themselves. If I am not able to recognize His voice in the everyday situation, then most likely I don’t have the vocation to be a priest. This was Joe’s final advice.

In a way, it was still a “No” but a “Yes” attached to it. Along the years, I realized that the voice of the Shepherd comes with both “No” and “Yes”. Most of the time, I want the Good Shepherd to say exactly what I want to hear. However, our Shepherd is not our servant. He is our Lord. He wants us to guide us in order to bring us to green pastures. A hireling might tell us what we want to hear because he doesn’t care where we end up.

I received Pastor Joe’s words. Mainly because they were not his words but the voice of the Shepherd speaking to my soul. This man was perhaps the first one who helped me understand this. God speaks to us through his servants who are willing to allow God’s love shine through them. He uses people who avail themselves to be God’s voice in people’s lives. Now that I heard God’s voice, I knew how to recognize it. I went into the world, I studied and worked. I knew that regardless of the circumstances and situation, the voice of the Good Shepherd can always be heard. In the process, I discovered another valuable lesson. He chooses to speak to us according to His own criteria. We cannot limit ourselves to hear His voice from one source. We have to be open and willing to hear His voice from even the most unlikely places. One thing I realized that it always came from Love. This was the common foundation. I always heard His voice come a place of genuine love.

It is the voice of the Good Shepherd that gives us the strength and conviction to persevere where we are. Perhaps, Pastor Joe listened to the Shepherd’s voice when he spent the evenings chatting with us teenagers with our trivial concerns. He knew that beneath our triviality was a desire to know something deep and profound that would nourish our hungry souls. His life was the voice of the Shepherd to us. He taught us how to listen to the Good Shepherd. It changed the way I understand the vocation of a priest. I realized that my task is to discern the presence of the Good Shepherd that beckons us to come together and discover the comfort and peace He provides His flock.

In reality, I was only in the Anglican parish for six months before he got transferred. I was serving as missioner to the street children in Brazil when he passed away in the mid nineties. It’s amazing that in such a short time someone could have such a strong impact, not just in my life but in the lives of many. Like he said before, it wasn’t him. He is dispensable. However, the Good Shepherd is always around and He never changes. Joe taught us an eternal lesson. He showed me the best way to help our youth in the streets. Most importantly, he revealed to us that the Good Shepherd uses us as His voice when we are willing to be His instrument of Love to His sheep. I hope that I can be like Pastor Joe to our youths and maybe it would be a great blessing that one day they, in turn, could be the same for someone else.

Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have. Luke 24:39

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. Ecclesiastes 3:1

Now, it is a time to mourn and a time to weep. To do something otherwise would be negating our very humanity.

Sometimes in the comfort of my apartment, I can forget what is happening. Everything seems peaceful and quiet in my home. It makes me think maybe things are not as bad as I think they are. Then a friend wrote saying that his brother just died from Covid. His brother! It used to be a friend of a friend. Now, it is creeping into our intimate circles of friends and family. Then another friend wrote that the number of deaths now has the face of his mother. In my last visit with Bruno, he pointed out to me a store that was closed. He found out that the owner just died from the virus. It is not my imagination. It is real. The city is slowly dying.

Felipe shared that his nightmares have become more frequent. They were not exactly frightening. They just leave him feeling a little disoriented. The last one was quite vivid. He was with all his friends in the streets, including those who have departed too soon from this life. They were talking and enjoying themselves, then a strange machine approached them. It seized all his friends except for a handful. They tried to escape but some were not successful. He told me that the dream was very coherent unlike an ordinary dream where everything seems bizarre and convoluted. I am afraid of such dreams. They seem too real. He could not sleep after that. He held his infant daughter close to him for the rest of the night.

I did not have anything to say to Felipe. It was a dream. However, it is really his mind processing what is going on around us. In a way, I was relieved to hear about his anxiety. It makes me feel a little normal. I was afraid that I am exaggerating about the gravity of the situation. I thought maybe I am obsessing too much about it. We have steered clear of the news and the social media. We don’t need to nourish our minds with an unnecessary dose of anxiety. Unfortunately, we can sense it in the air. The city is slowly dying. Thankfully, the gospel is the good news in all situations and circumstances. I prayed and asked God to speak to our souls. This time, He showed me the hands and feet of Jesus.

Jesus wore His wounds as if they were His medals. He showed them to prove His humanity. His disciples had no words to describe someone who returned from the dead, except for a “ghost”. However, it was His hands and feet that proved that He was the still the same Human Being whom they saw suffer and die. His wounds also answered a question that was often asked in the gospels. Sometimes it was the people who were amazed by his teachings asked it. Other times it was the skeptical religious authorities. The question is also the same, “By what authority….?”

The word is quite complicated, then and now. It is often used to dominate people. Our children and teens fear the authority. They always associate it with violence. Jesus was subjected to the worldly authorities and He suffered much violence in their hands. The religious authorities of His time and hereafter used authority to dominate the minds of the people. They made the people feel small and ignorant because they did not possess the knowledge of those in authority. Today, we see this attitude prevalent in the academic circles too. Jesus’ authority was never any of these. His authority comes from a different place. It comes from the wounds of his hands and feet. He suffered like the greater part of humanity and yet, it did not destroy Him. It did not make him into a bitter and unforgiving person. It did not transform Him into something worse than those who inflicted their hatred and violence towards Him.

There is no virtue in suffering. It is just part of our life. It is part of our humanity. We don’t choose to suffer. It comes looking for us. Most of us would like to avoid it if we can. Jesus tried to avoid it too. However, unlike most modern people, Jesus did not avoid the subject of suffering and death. Today, people think it is morbid to speak of death and suffering is avoided altogether. Unfortunately, by doing so, we are depriving ourselves of something that make us more human.
Suffering can help us discover what is truly essential. It can relieve us of all the false notions that we have about ourselves. It could be an opportunity for healing and restoration only if we open ourselves to Love. Jesus, on the Cross, was confronted with two possibilities. These are available to us too. Depending how we respond to suffering, it can be a blessing or a curse. Jesus could have reacted with vengeance. In His case, He would have been completely justified. Instead, He persevered in the midst of the hatred to remain the embodiment of Love. He rejected all thoughts of hatred and violence that provoked Him. He remained in Love until He drew His last breath. He suffered without forsaking His love. This is the greatest victory one could ever have. Jesus came back to show His hands and feet to His disciples. He has gained new authority. He revealed to them that it is possible to suffer great injustice and violence without succumbing to evil. However, it seems like something beyond our reach. We are not the embodiment of Love. We are frail human beings full of contradictions. Thanks be to God, the Resurrected Christ is alive today. He has the authority to guide us through this valley of death. He has the authority to prepare a banquet for us in the midst of a seemingly hopeless situation.

The city is slowly dying. In face of this situation, some have opted to negate reality. They pretend that everything is the same as before at best. At worst, they think that they are invincible and immune to all things bad. By acting this way, they behave in a manner that negates their own humanity. They lack empathy and concern for their neighbors. There are others who asking some deep questions. Some of my friends who have abandoned their faith a long time ago are asking some deep and profound questions. They find themselves turning to Jesus. Recently, there have been many scandals regarding religious leaders who have shamelessly used God’s name for their own gains. All these have not hindered my agnostic friends from seeking Jesus. In fact, it became clearer to them that the Resurrected Christ is greater than the faults of these so-called religious authorities. They see His wounds. They see His hands and feet. They see Hope in Him even though they may not believe in the doctrines of the Church regarding Him. It doesn’t matter. They recognize the authority of Jesus to speak to their lives. He suffered but He never stopped Loving. They find that there is peace in the attitude of Jesus. They don’t their sufferings to change them into monsters. They want to follow the footsteps of Jesus. They want to be like Jesus and show the marks on their own bodies and know that they have become signs of triumph. They want to go through this period of suffering holding the hands of our Shepherd.

Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” John 20:24-25

Igor had a huge scar which ran down from his shoulder to his upper arm. He suffered a severe burn when he was eight. He was left alone in his tiny house with his younger brother. They were extremely hungry but there was no food. They found some uncooked rice and Igor decided to cook it. He did not get far. When he turned on the gas stove, his clothes got caught on fire. He spent many days in the hospital. When he was discharged, he decided to take his chance in the streets. He doesn’t remember much about his parents. His mother was brutally murdered by a complete stranger whose advances were rejected. He only has the scar to remind him of his childhood and his grandmother, who was his only source of unconditional love.

His life in the streets was one of crime. When we met him, he was about 19. He was at a turning point. His juvenile criminal records were erased permanently and now he had a chance to have a fresh start. He decided to walk the straight and narrow path. He joined a neo-pentecostal church, the religion of his family. There he was taught that he needed to leave everything behind. They said that every thing in his past was sinful and unredeemable. He had to become a brand new person. Igor tried it. He adopted the dress code of his pastors. He learn all the religious lingo and used it effortlessly. He did everything to be a new Igor but his scar was still there. He just couldn’t get rid of it. It was part of him.

His religious phase did not last long even though he did put his heart and soul into it. He just couldn’t be the new person his church wanted him to become. Igor spent his life in the streets. He constructed his identity in the streets. He returned to the streets worse than before. This is the similar pattern of many of our youth who tried the religious route. They tried to become saints but end being more lost and tormented than before. It is like the parable that Jesus taught,

“When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first.” Matthew 12:43-44

Sometime ago, we helped Igor with his documents. We were waiting in line in a bank to pay a fee when an elderly woman walked by looking lost and disoriented. Igor immediately approached her and offered his help. He guided her to the place she needed to go and made sure someone attended to her. Then he told us that it was pity that none of her family members were helping her. He knows what that feels like. He has the scars to prove it.

Igor will always occupy a special place in our hearts. He really did want to do the right thing but he had to do something about the scar. It marred his life forever. He is not the only one. Every single homeless youth in the streets carries a scar. Some bear it on their bodies like Igor but for most, it is hidden from plain view. It rests safely in their souls. It has become an integral part of their identity. It has carried them through difficult times. Sadly, it is primarily responsible for them believing that the streets is their only true home.

We first met Igor towards the end of 2013. It was a long time ago. We have changed since then.

I used to think that Thomas’ request was a little morbid. Well, I still think it is morbid but I understand better now. Perhaps, it was the homeless youth that helped me to see things a little clearer. Thomas did not want a new and improved Jesus. He wanted to see the Jesus who suffered and died on the Cross. The wounds that were inflicted on Jesus marred Thomas deeply. They devastated him. They murdered the Man who had given meaning to Thomas’ life. No one other Christ would do for Thomas except the One who was crucified. He wanted to know if this Resurrected Jesus was still the same as before. He did not want an entirely new Christ. He wanted the old but new. This is true about our homeless youth. When they saw Igor trying to be different and new, they were happy for him but it did not bring any comfort to them. Despite all his attempts, they were still able to see Igor’s scar. It still remained a reminder of abandonment and rejection. They wanted to see if something could be done about it.

Like I said before, we have changed since we first met Igor. We used to think that the best chance these youth had was to abandon everything in the streets and start afresh. This is the pragmatic approach to the problem. It negates the human element involved. It ignores the resilience of human beings to construct something in midst of ruins. The Resurrection understands this. Jesus came back with the body that bore the marks of torture and hatred. He did not avoid the painful subject of what occurred on Good Friday. Thomas did not want to put it behind him. He confronted it and saw that these wounds of rejection and hatred were still present and they have changed. They no longer represented hopelessness. They were signs of victory. Our children and teens do not want to forget their past. As powerful and horrifying as their experience might have been, it is only thing they have that truly belongs them. They want to be able to do something with it. They want something to happen that will redeem these scars that have become an integral part of their identity. The Resurrection is something new but it builds upon the old. It is not an improvement to the old. It rebuilds something new out of the ruins of the old.

Igor wanted to find a new meaning for his scar. Instead, he found a rigid religious system that required him to reject all his friends who have helped him survive in the streets. He really wanted to meet the Resurrected Christ. He wanted to put his finger in the wounds of Jesus, only then, he could be confident to know that this Christ is able to transform the worst moments of his life into something beautiful and eternal. We believe that Igor will one day meet the Resurrected Jesus. Even though he is in a bad place now, it is not worse than the Cross. Jesus overcame it and transformed the symbol of death into a sign of eternal and unconditional Love. There is nothing that can separate the Love of God from Igor. Thomas realized this when he saw Jesus’ wounds. This is why He was the first apostle to drop on his knees and confess Jesus is His Lord and His God. Only God can take an hopeless situation and create something beautiful with it. This is what our children and teens are seeking.

Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:18

Recently, I read a powerful story in a sermon, actually it was poem. It was recited by a survivor of the Holocaust at the Nuremberg war-crime trials. It relates the story of a group Jewish individuals hiding in a cemetery and a woman gave birth to a son there. An elderly gravedigger wrapped the infant with some dirty clothes and prayed, “Great God, hast Thou finally sent the Messiah to us? For who else than the Messiah Himself can be born in a grave?” After three days he saw the child nursing on the mother’s tears because she could no longer produce milk. *

You might be wondering why I am sharing such a tragic tale on Easter Sunday. The occasion calls for something joyous and this story seems hopeless and tragic. Well, there are several reasons for it. The main one is that Easter is a story that is born in a grave. Many of us forget what this means. I think that the above story is a good reminder.

I was also deeply impressed by the faith of the gravedigger. Despite his dire circumstances, he was able to see hope in a child born into a hopeless situation. Some might say that it is wishful thinking of a desperate person in a disheartening situation. It goes beyond wishful thinking to see a child like this as Messiah, if anything, it shows profound understanding of his reality. There are many who succumb to wishful thinking in this world; those who put their faith in humanity to resolve the problems many times they themselves have created. It is wishful thinking to think people completely alienated from pain and suffering are going to bring a kind and viable solution to the healing of those who suffer in a manner that affects their whole being; it is wishful thinking to believe all our “isms” have the solution of life’s problems. These are the wishful thinkers. The gravedigger was a realist. He knew a true Messiah must come from the grave, a place of hopelessness and despair because this is how we know that He understands the plight of humanity.

It is not surprise that the beginning of our faith begins in a tomb where death always had the final word. There were a series of events that led the women to the grave. Many bypass these events. Good Friday is not known as a day where the churches are packed. We have Christians whom we call “Christmas and Easter” Christians. Not many Good Friday ones. Most of them avoid this day. I heard people say that it is too sad. In Brazil, most Protestant churches do not have any services or reflections on Good Friday. They claim that they are all about the Resurrection. Unfortunately, one cannot understand the latter without experiencing the former. For the Easter Christians, the Resurrection only serves as a hope to be read at their funerals. Whereas when the women went to the tomb, they met the Resurrected Christ who brought Life to a place of death. They saw the words of Jesus fulfilled in the here and now when He said that the gates of hell (or hades which means place of the dead) shall not prevail against it.

The woman would have appreciated how the gravedigger felt when he saw the life of the child slowly languish. His hope must have been crushed. The women experienced the same thing at the Cross. The man whom they deeply loved was brutally taken away from them. He was reduced to a memory that would have died with them. They went to the tomb not expecting anything. They wanted to show their final act of love and devotion by giving Jesus a proper burial. One can’t imagine the pain and suffering they must have felt as they went to the tomb. The disciples could not bear it. They stayed away. These women were compelled by great love.

“We love Him because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19

They responded to the love they received and it opened their eyes to see the Resurrected Christ. Many must have passed by the tomb. There were guards. None of these saw Him. Only those who sensed His love in their hearts were able to see Him.

On Good Friday, I read the Passion with Felipe. I wasn’t sure how it was going to pan out at first. He has never read the Passion before and it’s an extremely long reading. He was deeply moved by the end of it. I asked him what he thought about the suffering of Jesus. He said, “He suffered like most of us in the streets. It brings Jesus closer to us.” It makes God more all encompassing, I added.
I shared with him a conversation I had with a certain young man. He thought that it was virtually impossible for someone to have genuine Christian faith in the streets. His reasoning was that there were lots of temptations and drugs involved. In other words, Christianity is only relevant in certain circumstances, according to this man who is a Christian. I asked Felipe what he thought about this. He replied without much hesitation that it was easier to see the presence of God in the streets. Almost everyone in the streets is aware that they survive by the grace of God. He went further and stated that everything they received in the streets was because of God. However, the most important factor for Felipe was not the material providence, but the conviction in their hearts that God is constantly with them regardless of what happens to them.

At this moment, I understood why the poem about the gravedigger spoke to my soul. I am surrounded by people like him in the streets. Our children and teens share his spirituality. They are able to see beyond their dire situation. They have been abused and neglected in their homes. In the streets, they are faced with constant disdain and violence at the hands of authorities. They have every reason to believe that God has abandoned them. The streets is very much like a living cemetery. The children and teens escape to this place because they know no one will come looking for them there. It is the final stop before death for them. Even so, it is the place where they discover hope for life. The Resurrected Christ always comes forth from the place of death.

This hope is not to be confused with hope for a better material life. Nor is it a hope that maybe one day they will have a home. Felipe never imagined that he would have a family nor a home. He once believed that he was going to homeless for the rest of his life. Nonetheless when we met him in his mid teens, he was one of the youths with the strongest faith. He had hope for Life. If someone asked him or the other youths to explain this hope, they would be at a loss. It goes beyond any worldly concept. They can’t express it in words.

The women at the empty tomb could not explain it as well. All they could do was to testify that Jesus has risen. They went to the tomb thinking all was lost and then they found something new. It wasn’t going to restore life as it was before. It transformed everything. It brought them from the state of sorrow to one of perplexity. There was something new for them in the here and now. There was a new way of living their lives. The Resurrection was not about the afterlife for these women. It would have been if they saw a ghost. They saw Jesus in flesh and blood. He was alive. It changed everything but they could not really tell what has changed. The best thing they could do was to share with the others.

The women went to the disciples to share with them what they saw. It was the only thing they could do and it is only thing anyone could do. The Resurrection is not an argument we can convince someone of nor it is something we can prove empirically. The Resurrected Christ is someone we have to meet. The best we can do is to follow the example of these women and share our encounter with Him. The disciples were given a chance to go back to the tomb but not to look for the dead. They took their eyes from the situation and looked to the new possibilities that the Resurrection has afforded to them. Now, we can boldly go to the cemeteries of this world and hope to meet the Resurrected Christ. He always rises out of situations and circumstances where death and despair reigns. He has overcome them. He has risen to invite us to be part of something new and different in this life, in this reality. He has risen for this Life.

*This story is found in a sermon by Paul Tillich called, “Born in the Grave.”