Caution on Public Criticism

 

While clearly human actions are visible to us, 

And thus subject to our discriminating eyes,

Remember it is God alone that can discern

Hidden intentions and desires of the actor,

Unless unequivocally declared in public.

Good faith on the motives is to be assumed

To be fair and equitable in our judgments.

To rashly ascribe unkind and shallow motives 

Would no doubt clearly be unfair and unjust.

Thus best to exercise circumspection in such.

 

In another vein, the better part of discretion

Dutifully dictates to those hurt or concerned

To stay quiet about the misunderstandings

Unless keeping in quiet solitude it leads to

Much graver scandal or unnecessary offense.

The Crucifix

 

No iconic pendant for a necklace is as universal and popular as the crucifix, which symbol definitely transcends beyond religious beliefs or revered dogmas of wearers.  We know that because many non-Christians are seen to wear them on their necks or persons as well.

For devout Christians they know and swear to the crucifix as righteous symbol of their Master's supreme act of altruism, unjustly executed in the then prevalent punishment edict of crucifixion under the Roman Empire. A punishment reserved for the most vile of criminals though limited to males, who were brutally nailed to the cross to die a slow excruciating death.

We witness the ubiquitous presence  of the crucifix in most places and as worn in persons, from the most profoundly appropriate to the utterly sacrilegious ones.  From pious members of the clergy of most Christian denominations and their equally religious devotees, to the least holy like members of nefarious organizations, or those considered engaged in unethical activities like adult stars.  What about crooked politicians? Regardless, many display them with obvious pride and aplomb.

We could actually hazard the guess that a prevalent reason for the crucifix' s popularity stems from the cluelessness,  or ignorance, or even utter disregard on the part of the wearers in their understanding the symbolic significance of the crucifix.  Many wear them simply as accepted accessory, rather than for their mystical ramifications as religious symbol. 

Nowadays such  pious regard could be farthest from the consciousness of the wearer. Beyond the fact that it is usually made of precious metal, some embedded with precious stones.  In this rare instance, the extrinsic value is the metal it is made of, with the intrinsic value being its mystical representation, plus the inferred promise of personal salvation from a man hanging on a man-made cross.

History gives us a good peek at this atrocious but well applied savage practice for torts committed by men.  And one doubts that what delineates the civil torts from the criminal deeds during those times was quite cloudy as to assume the facility of classifying one from the other, as dictated by exigencies or expediencies of the times.  In other words, regardless what one's crime was or how one pleaded, the kind of punishment meted out depended largely on the magistrate imposing it.

We  learn that it was the glory-imbued Persians who first used crucifixion as punishment for criminals.  And 300 years later the Romans thought it proper to enshrine it  in their unholy empire as proper punishment for grave crimes, perfecting the process for maximum pain and duration.  To mark the trending ascent to the peak of inhumanity which over the ages man has shown to possess as one distinctive trait in his march to history.

The Romans did so much perfecting it, that modern medicine has detailed in writing  in scholarly but antiseptic fashion  all the racking effects of the process on the human body.  To include  those little tweaks the executioners applied for maximum duration of suffering.  Like when the crucified is about to expire due to suffocation, the guards would insert a small stool under the nailed feet so he could painfully raise his agonized body to allow for some breathing.

The medical prognosis go into painful details about which parts of the anatomy were affected by the process.  The joints on shoulders and elbows became disjointed or dislocated as the dead weight of the body mercilessly imposed.  Muscles were stretched but starved with oxygen  because of the ensuing difficulties in breathing from the lungs.  The ribcage did its best to maintain normal functions but was not able to.  The various chemical and fluid reactions as pain and suffering continued to harass the tiring body.  And many more.

The short medical prognosis of the process of crucifixion and the subsequent death on all the affected parts of the human body is so gross and abominable, it is difficult to read to the end of the short treatise.  More unconscionable is the highlighted part on pain and suffering inflicted on the human body as it struggles to stay alive.  So savage and brutal we are told that a learned sage from that era had written that at times the tongues of those fo crucified were cut so as to prevent them from making those weird and indescribable shouts produced almost unconsciously  Shouts that onlookers found so unbearable and objectionable.  His name is known to many, it is Cicero.

Ironic to note that the adjective,  excruciating, is derived from the otherworldly cries emanating from one in harrowing pain during crucifixion.

At the very least, crucifix wearers ought to be educated about this, if only to generate sorrow and remorse for what the world is leading humanity into. And more importantly, as resolve to right humanity's path away from its collective disregard for the rest.

BTW as disclaimer, as I kid I did have a small crucifix pendant with gold chain that our mother had us wear.  Over time, it started to be well-worn until finally the chain broke.  The pendant was kept somewhere and passed on to our kids  

Unlike these days when gold pieces are made in 14k, during that time most came in 18k, and thus may account for quicker wearing away of the softer metal.  Now, I wear a gold pendant with Chinese characters and has weathered through many years of usage.

What Would Christ Do? - October 21, 2020 Wednesday

 

 

A question I repeatedly have to ask myself each day as I rise from slumber, upon being assailed by many unrelenting challenges that test one’s person and nature.

Though man intends well as a species, as a’  Kempis affirms, his flawed nature and his concupiscence have need to constantly be examined and reminded.

A most apt and most often confronted issue has been how we address those that do not agree with us or who we just loathe or hate for what they stand for.

We know how we treat and entreat our loved ones, with the most diligent attention and most glowing words of praise and kindness.  As much and even beyond what and where our God-given natural affections could lead us.  And no doubt it is one relatively easy task, not only because it comes naturally but also because the object of our praises reflect our very persons and perceived virtues.  And how many of us do not love our own selves?  And thus all the superlatives rush out from our innermost core.

But what of those who though not necessarily at direct enmity, but simply those we disagree with whether personally, socially, or politically?

One looks around and sees the following.  The harshest and unkindest pejoratives of words and sentences are uttered and heaped upon others without much reservations or circumspection.  Likened to addressing the vilest, the most abominable of creatures.  Like one is the evil incarnate. Though even Christ would say, no man is.  After all, Christ showed us how.  With the admirable ways he addressed and treated the very people who defamed him, those who conspired against his very person, and even those revered magistrates who unjustly sentenced him to a most horrible end.

And mind you, this is coming not just from the ordinary man on the street, the coarse and uncouth creatures congregating in ghettoes or hovels of the world.  This coming also from those most educated, most accomplished in the many noble and commendable fields of endeavor chosen by upright and right-thinking persons.  People in polite society would call friends, acquaintances, or their loved ones.

But why?  Why, in this respect otherwise sainted men could suddenly turn to such an extreme?

What Would Christ Do?

A Prophecy of Doom! ...And Hope.

I browse around ubiquitous social media and the many news sites scattered around, and I find one prevailing thread amidst all the wanton physical chaos and caustic rhetoric strewn around. It is the rearing ugly head of evil incarnate that is hate, and that it afflicts, and maybe even kills (one is spiritual), more than this COVID 19 pandemic we are facing could ever. In both cases, technology allows the spread of their contagion at faster pace than any time before.

And addressing more on certain powerful people emanating from different strata of society.  It is almost unconscionable to learn what they would go through to publicly lie about or misrepresent what they say and do.  All in the name of hate and the underlying grab for power.  The angry anarchists both in power and on the streets!  Both those nicely dressed and suited and those masked rioters creating mayhem in the streets.

And so rather than being reticent when not being able to say anything good, the reverse becomes the truism.  Not to miss any opportunity to denigrate anybody you loathe, in dogged pursuit of an agenda tightly couched in the quest for power and influence.

The art of language, communication, and conversation has been thrown to the dogs. It has been subtly subverted – to revile people, to mislead people, and yes, to taint the very air we breathe.  And we are all the worse for it.   So how many otherwise gentle people now hate because they have been fed with false narratives?  The developing formless blob has evolved into the mob.  So how different is it now compared to the darkening times of Christ, when otherwise gentle people were transformed into an angry and cruel mob?

God help us. 

If we are believers of biblical accounts, we know that during similar godless times, God was disposed to bring wholesale catastrophe to our lot.  But he did promise with the advent of Christ that He had relented in the use of such extreme measures.

What then can we expect?

The reflex or default act of many has been a loud call to prayer.

But I say that many do pray, but they still miss the essential meaning and power of prayer.

One prays for resolution of vicissitudes because everything is dependent on God.  But the more important part of prayer is to act on those resolutions like everything was dependent on us.  Our salvation then is in us, measured in our actions under the proper guidance of Christ.  

A Church In Kawayanon, Manolo Fortich, Bukidnon

 

 

The name Mrs. Tugot, even without the first name, will I am sure conjure some unforgettable memories for many of the people and families I interacted with in the mid-60’s.

Mrs. Tugot was almost an iconic figure during those times, speaking about religious fervor and devotion.  A very kindly lady of considerable girth, who always exhibited such amiable disposition and boundless generosity, leaving many of us with no tinge of hesitation about visiting her place without prior notice in Kawayanon, Manolo Fortich, and pleading and praying for spiritual guidance and assistance, while at the same time partaking of the very filling food offerings served us during those visits. 

Why my most easily recalled memory is that a late afternoon drive from Cagayan with some lady schoolmates and finding Mrs. Tugot at her house, where we were immediately ushered in and served the nicest beef sandwiches I had ever tasted wrapped up in those very delectable slices of bread that to this day continue to bring visitors to the Del Monte Clubhouse.

I digress a bit, so meanwhile back to the ranch.  Yes, she was noted as having such personal piety and blessedness that she could intercede for assistance from her two most favorite devotional personalities, Our Lady of Perpetual Help and Sr. Sto. Nino.  And many devotees trooped and flocked to her place for their own special and personal needs.  Others driven simply by the heavy alluring pull exerted by such devotional fervor and needing to be in that enviable presence of spiritual awe.

 As I recall she had always dreamt of having a church built especially for her favorite spiritual patrons.

The ensuing years and their own special cares put all these into the back of my mind.  Until I came back almost 50 years later. 

My regular trips to Dahilayan allow me to pass by Kawayanon in San Miguel and no trip is made without having visual contact of a very impressive church building in an almost unlikely place.  It is almost across the road from the access road leading to the famed Del Monte Clubhouse and its equally noted golf course.   Of course, I had asked about it and was told it was built largely by the efforts of Mrs. Tugot.

BTW, Mrs. Tugot, in another vein, was also famous as the spouse of Celestino “Tinong” Tugot unrivaled golf pro of yesteryears from the Del Monte stable.

Anyway, I had never stopped at the church after countless trips to Dahilayan till this Saturday.   I and the wife felt we had to.  So we did and brought home some pictures.

A Tale Twice Told

At the start of our high school years, the reading and understanding of English literature was so impressed upon us by our educators as to become an integral part of our daily living even to this day. In so doing we also unconsciously developed our own ways and styles in the use of the medium in our regular interactions with the rest of the world. And in this age of virtual reality and social networking we bring to the fore the styles that we have developed over the years of constant usage and practice. Thus, in our regular forays into, for example, Facebook, we encounter bits and pieces of literature submitted by our friends and acquaintances in the short and cryptic snippets of writings they use to describe their day, to ask about somebody else’s health, to describe the highlights of memorable trips made, to honor family members, etc. Long live, English Literature, for showing us how!

Now, as a kid fresh from grade school and being introduced to high school, our initial English Literature class was about short stories, the easily digestible form of literature that appealed to our then equally short attention span. The initial textbook for that introduction to the subject has stayed with me all these years. A thin book of about 200 pages, chock-full of short stories, to interest and regale our then young impressionable minds.

The finale selection was very memorable for its utter simplicity and taken-for-granted familiarity brought by our Christian upbringing. It was entitled A Legend of Christ. Still so memorable and emotion-stirring to this day, it deserves a repost in its entirety. Let us see if this little tale will not moisten your eyes as you ascend its climactic end. Enjoy!

A LEGEND OF CHRIST

It was a night of wondrous stars and soft sighing winds. Echoes of nature’s harmony drifted over plain and hill while the white radiance of virgin snow ermined the listening trees.

All day the roads leading into the little town of Bethlehem had been thick with travelers. It was enrollment time by order of the Emperor and so they flocked from near and far to do his bidding.

Every wayside inn was bright and alive with the jovial laughter of men – men whose pockets bulged with money – men who hadn’t a care in the world.

It was along this road that a tired and poorly clad couple jostled through the milling crowds. The man was tall and strong of frame, but his eyes were shadowed with weariness and worry. The woman – she was but a girl – was mounted on the back of a bedraggled beast of burden. She wore over her head and shoulders a dark veil, but her eyes shone with a radiance brighter than that of the brightest star.

The man spoke, “This must be the place, Mary, this must be Bethlehem. Here we will find food and a warm shelter for the night.”

Her eyes smiled in reply – a sad, yet beautiful smile – but she spoke no word. Could it be she knew the rebuffs that would be theirs at the hands of the money-crazed landlords? Could it be she knew there not be place for her and the precious Little One Who this night would be born into the world? They had come to a halt now and Joseph was speaking.

“This is a seemly place,” he said. “We shall stay here” he strode up the path to the inn door, the light from the winging arch lamp brightening his face. Mary waited at the gate in the shadows – a woman wrapped in silence. Joseph returned quickly – his step was heavy now and he showed his disappointment in the sag of his shoulders.

“They have no room for us here, Mary,” he said. He did not tell her the landlord appraising his impoverished appearance, rebuked him as a beggar and a vagrant and ordered him off the premises. Although these things gnawed at his heart and inflamed his mind, he could not worry her. Mary must not know.

“The next one will have room,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. “It’s not far, just down the road a little.” In the shadows, he saw Mary’s eyes; in them there was no reproach, only patient tenderness; on her lips was the same sweet smile.

“No place for Him; no place for the Christ Child – the King of Kings” – this was the thought that burned into her heart as once more they moved into the darkness.

It was growing colder now. The winds swirled along the bleak road. Mary pulled her tattered shawl closer around her weary frame. But they were approaching another inn, this one larger and brighter than the first. Gales of boisterous laughter drifted to them across the night.

“What shall I do, if they won’t take us here,” he thought. “The night grows colder and Mary is not well. She must have warmth and rest.” They were outside the gate now and, just as before, Joseph made his way up the path. Mary waited in silence and quietly prayed in the darkness.

“Please, sir,” he said to the host at the inn door, “my wife and I must have quarters for the night. She is not well and we have no place to …” He did not finish the sentence, for the landlord cut in sharply.

“What do you want with us – you – you beggar. This is not a charity house. We cater only to gentlemen here. Away with you and be quick.”

A little child, half hidden in a nearby doorway, heard the landlord’s abuse and saw Joseph turn dejectedly away. She had been watching Mary too, drawn by some mysterious force to the silent lady whose face she could see like a star in the darkness.

“Dear Lady,” she said, running to her and wrapping her own thin shawl about Mary’s stooped shoulders, “this will keep the cold away ‘till we get to my house. You both can stay there. My father will let you.”

Mary’s eyes found the anxious little face and smiled. The child had never seen such a heavenly smile, she held out her hand.

“Come, dear Lady,” she said, “I will lead the way.”

They had gone but a few paces when a man strode out of the darkness. The child saw him first.

“It’s father,” she cried. “He’s come to fetch me home and you shall come too.”

The father’s voice was loud and angered. “Where have you been child? Go to your home at one, or I will….”

“Father,” the little one interrupted, “I have brought these two poor people with me. There is no place for them to stay…and the night is so cold…say they can stay with us.”

Anger crept into the man’s face and he would have struck the child, but something in Mary’s eyes stayed his hand. He spoke and wrath flared in his voice. “I’m not in the habit of inviting beggars to stay under my roof. You shall be punished for this. Go home at once!”

Yet the child was not subdued. “But, father,” she pleaded tearfully, they’re not beggars. They’re strangers, worn and weary from the road. All they ask is one night’s shelter. Please don’t refuse.”

The irate parent turned his back and walked off into the night fouling the stillness with a muttered oath.

The little one looked hopelessly first at Mary and then at Joseph. Bitter disappointment and embarrassment burned her cheeks. She searched for words and finally stammered:

“Dear Lady, I’m sorry, sorry I could not keep my promise to you, sorry my father’s nature is sometimes cruel and unreasonable. But I will help you find shelter. I know a stable in a cave on this hill. Maybe I can build a fire there for you. It will be warm at least and you will be out of the chill damp of the night.” Her eyes pleaded as she spoke. “Do you want me to lead the way?”

Wearily, Joseph nodded assent. Mary said no word, but, as they trudged toward the hillside, the little one’s eyes never left the sweet radiance that shone on Mary’s face. They found the cave quickly. Joseph and the child made a resting place of straw and rags for Mary. The Queen of Heaven unwanted by a forgetful world lay at peace in a deserted stable in Bethlehem. The child was standing now beside Joseph. And, though the atmosphere was damp and chilly, where Mary lay was haloed with a warm, almost heavenly radiance. Her face was beautiful beyond compare. The child spoke:

“You will forgive me, dear Lady, for not finding a better place. You could have had my bed, if my father had so allowed.” She paused momentarily. “You are so beautiful, dear Lady, so like a Queen.” Rapture shone in her eyes. “I must go now lest my father whip me. I will pray God to watch over you both tonight.”

“Child,” answered Mary, “God will bless you for your kindness and He will watch over us all – tonight and always. Go to your home now and have no fear; your father will not harm you.” Then she smiled and the cave was a glory of heavenly light.

The child was gone now. As she ran down the hillside, her heart was filled with a joy greater than she had ever known before. She even fancied as she ran that she could hear music, heavenly music and voices from the land beyond the stars. But it wasn’t fancy, it was fact, for at that very hour, back in the little stable, Mary had brought forth a Son…Jesus, the Prince of Peace and Love was born and there was music everywhere in the world…


* * *

More than thirty years had passed since that night in Bethlehem….

“And it came to pass that He came nigh to the city called Naim…and when he came nigh to the city, behold a dead man was carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” Christ looked at the lifeless body of the young man for a while, and at the young widowed mother, weeping nearby. He lifted His hand in blessing over the mother and said:

“Weep not, woman. Your son is not dead. He but sleeps.” Then, drawing near, He commanded those who carried the bier to place it on the ground. He took the young boy by the hand, and in a voice of authority, cried out:

“Young man, I say to you, arise.”

Amazed, the people watched the boy rise up and clasp his joyous mother into his arms. She fell on her knees in thanksgiving before the Master and her tears bathed His feet. Christ lifted her tenderly and said very gently:

“It was not I who gave you back your son, but my Mother whom you befriended one night many years ago in a little town called Bethlehem.”

Catholic Money: To Community Organizing

The revelations detailed out of a report and discussed in this blog, which appears to be a Catholic site with at least one Jesuit contributing an article or two, is very surprising to say the least.

Its being made public may not do much damage to the campaign of Obama, but as stated in the blog if anything this particular revelation has opened the eyes of the public, especially the unknowing Catholics who unwaveringly contribute with open hearts and minds to their parishes thinking their little “widow’s mite” will in some good way help the poor.

The sunlight shed on this subject of community organizing in Chicago has brought to light the ugly underpinnings of what started or was intended as a laudable and commendable project which the Church openly supported, all with the noblest of Christian virtue.

Innocuous or not, Obama's years as a community organizer were supported, in part, by Catholic money dispersed by the USCCB.

Barak Obama - was lead organizer in Chicago for the Developing Communities Project, it received a $40,000 Catholic Campaign for Human Development grant in 1985 and a $33,000 grant in 1986.

While he was in Chicago Obama was trained by the top Alinskyian organizers. One mentor was the ex-Jesuit, Greg Galuzzo, lead organizer for Gamaliel. The Developing Communities Project operated under the Gamaliel Foundation, a network of Alinskyian organizations that receive 4-5% of all Catholic Campaign for Human Development grants each year.

The Developing Communities Project, which hired Obama as lead organizer, was an offshoot of Jerry Kellman's Calumet Community Religious Conference. Kellman, another of Obama's mentors, was himself trained by Alinsky. The network of community organizations Alinsky founded, the Industrial Areas Foundation, receives about 16% of all Catholic Campaign for Human Development grants annually.

ACORN itself, very closely identified with Obama, recieves Catholic Campaign funding:

After Obama went to Harvard Law School, he returned to Chicago and taught Alinskyian organizing to ACORN staff. Although ACORN has a different structure than other Alinskyian networks, its tactical philosophy and world view are formed by men who were trained by Alinsky, in a sort of diabolical apostolic succession. Obama ran ACORN's 1992 voter-registration drive, Project Vote, and in return received ACORN's endorsement for Illinois senator. ACORN annually receives about 5% of Catholic Campaign for Human Development grants.

The report ends ominously:

After 40 years of funding the bad guys, it's time to stop.

......in a sort of diabolical apostolic succession