July 31, 2012 - St. Ignatius Loyola and Our Lady of Montserrat

Today, July 31, 2012 is the Feast of St. Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus or as the community is commonly called, "The Jesuits." He wrote "Spiritual Exercises" which is widely used in retreats today.


He was born in 1471 of a noble Spanish family and trained to be a warrior until he was 30 years of age. In the Battle of Pamplona, his legs suffered major injuries. While confined in bed, he read the only available books his sister-in-law had. They were about Jesus and the Lives of Saints. He was greatly moved and developed an insatiable desire to know more of Christ and His teachings. Upon recovery, he went to the Shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat near Barcelona where he made an all-night vigil. It was a turning point in his life so that he left his sword on the altar before the Virgin Mary and vowed to be a follower of Jesus. 


He went to Manresa and lived in a cave in complete mortification and realization of God in the world. Eager to be an instrument of change, he studied Theology and Latin in Salamanca, Spain. Later, he went to the University of Paris for his Master's Degree. It was during his stay in the Paris that he formed a group of six schoolmates into one dedicated to poverty, obedience and chastity. They called themselves the "Society of Jesus." In 1540,they went to Rome to have their community approved. Since the Pope at that time was beset with the growing Protestant Reformation, he asked them to help him. The "Jesuits" as the community was then called became involved in the field of education.
St. Ignatius Loyola wrote "Spiritual Exercises," a method of prayer, meditation and discernment based on the Scriptures. He died in Rome in 1556.

The life of St. Ignatius is inextricably associated with Spain's Our Lady of Montserrat, one of the two widely-acclaimed Miraculous Black Madonnas. The other one is Our Lady of Czestochowa in Poland.


Montserrat is a mountain 4,055 ft. high above sea level near Barcelona, Spain. It is a "jagged" or "serrated," multi-peaked mountain with striking slightly- colored sedimentary rocks consisting of rounded formations. The wind, rain, snow, heat and cold for thousands of years have molded the rocks into weird, capricious  shapes. Some peaks or crags have fancied resemblance to human figures, animals or objects and have been given names as: Cat's Head, Elephant Trunk,The Bell, The Parrot, The Dice, The Friar, The Doll, and The Giant. Surprisingly, despite the lack of soil and the scarcity of water, vegetation grow in abundance.


It is recorded that as early as the 8th Century, hermitages were in Montserrat and by the 12th Century, a sanctuary was built which has become a Benedictine Monastery. Widespread miracles of the Blessed Virgin brought pilgrimages then which has continued to the present.


My visits to Montserrat were in 1988, 1996 and 2003 with my grand-daughter, Diana, after her Grade VIII graduation as "Valedictorian." Montserrat was pilgrimage site in our tour of France, Portugal and Spain.


In my 2003 visit, I had time to take the funicular or trolley trip down  to the base of the mountain to see the cave where the image of our Blessed Mother was found. At the ticket counter, we were informed that the last trip of the funicular was at 6 PM. I let Diana spend more time with a sweet young lady, Tina, who was so gracious to let her tag along. Another woman within my age bracket, too, Celenia was my companion during the cave adventure.


Much to my surprise, the end-of-the-line station of the funicular was not near the cave. We had to go through a very rocky path farther down for more than 30 minutes to reach our destination. It was an awesome feeling to be inside a cave that had existed thousands of years through the centuries when God did not even thought of putting me in His blueprint of the universe! More importantly, I was in a sanctuary, a blessed place, indeed!


Celenia and I departed with the group for our return trip. Despite our determined effort to walk with them, we lagged behind since the uphill climb was more exacting on our knees and legs. Maneuvering through the many right and left turns of the trail further caused  a tremendously long gap behind our companions. We reached the small patch of platform which served as the station only to see the tail-end of the trolley disappear among the forest greens.


I realized that it was the last trolley for the day and that we had to stay overnight in the "wilderness." My heart sank to its lowest ebb and my whole body weakened like a mass of gelatine. Physically, I was in the "Lost Horizon" but then my Faith, like a flaming arrow  zoomed up to the Heavens, to my God Who will never abandon me! I have always believed, "I am one of God's favorites!"


While Celenia kept pacing back and forth murmuring invectives about our companions' lack of consideration for us, I felt the stomach-churning fear of spending the night in the dark forest inhabited by nocturnal animals out for human flesh. I shivered at the thought! In utter despair, I looked up to the darkening clouds, lifted up my arms and prayed loud, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom should I fear? The Lord is my refuge, of whom should I be afraid. (Psalm 27) I sought the Lord and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears." (Psalm 34). All of a sudden, I saw two figures coming towards us from a distance. I did not have any trace of apprehension but rather of expectancy! As the two men came nearer, I noticed one having the resemblance of St. Raphael, the medicine of God and travelling companion, as depicted in a "stampita" I had.  Since I have been travelling a lot in my career, I have always prayed to St. Michael and St. Raphael. Anyway, it was a flitting thought.


They came to us and went direct to the water tube inserted in the hillside from whence water was continuously falling. I excitedly asked them while they were drinking with their cupped hands, "How did you come down? Almost in unison, they pointed to the same direction. No word was spoken. With a brief, "Thank you," I hurried on with Celenia close to my tracks.


Night had fallen. The crescent moon did not shed enough light for our way up the mountain in a trail of rocks and stones. My heart was in unceasing prayer as we took turns helping one another, pulling one up this way or the other in our ascent. After a few minutes, we came to a point where a rock hung precariously at the edge of the mountain. It spelled danger with any false step! We stopped trying to figure out the safest maneuver. The lack of light made the situation worse.While in deep thought over our next move, we heard a rustle of leaves behind us. Instinctively, we turned our heads only to see two smiling ladies, possibly in their mid 20's.




 Surprised, I asked, "Where have you been?"
They answered, "We were left by the trolley."
I said, "But we did  not see you at the station," As I mentioned earlier, the so-called station was a small cemented open-air platform. A sizeable tract around it was cleared of trees or bushes.
One lady answered, "We were there," as she immediately held my arm directing me make the right moves over the rock. My attention centered on our climb to the top where the Benedictine Monastery stood. We each had someone helping us all along the way. It was only through the timely assistance of the ladies. who claimed to be from Singapore, that we successfully survived our ordeal.


I invited them for dinner but they politely declined saying, "We have to go back to Barcelona."
We thanked the young ladies profusely as we poured our double, triple, nay, limitless gratitude to God Who will always let His Presence be felt during times when we need Him most! 


          Psalm 91:11- 12  "For to his angels he has given command about you, that they guard you in all your ways. Upon their hands, they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone."

July 28, 2012 - LONDON , SUMMER OLYMPICS

Today, July 27, 2012, I witnessed through the wonderful medium of television the Opening Ceremonies of the 2012 Summer Olympics in London.     It was a magnificent display of the various aspects that comprise the cultural heritage of the English people from the days of the homesteaders, to the Industrial Revolution and to the present Age of Technology. No word can describe my admiration for the planning, content and execution of the one-of-a-kind presentation which remained true to the distinct cool and reserve sophistication so characteristic of the British. It was truly unique from the usual opening ceremonies of the Olympics I have so far witnessed through all these years!

Watching the proceedings in London made me recall   incidents during my visit there where God's mercy to me was so dramatically displayed.

After a United Nations Conference in Geneva,  Switzerland in 1975, I flew to London for a visit. The Immigration Officer asked for my visa which I did not have. I was unaware of the visa requirement since I completely left travel arrangements with my secretary. It was my fault for not even bothering to check details of my itinerary! I acknowledged my negligence while a sense of uneasiness displaced my usual composure since denial of entry to London would mean a disappointment and a waste of money. My heart began my 911 prayers! The officer folded my passport and was in the act of handing it to me with a curt, "I am sorry" when suddenly, he paused for a few seconds, then briskly made a turnabout towards a room. I was taken by surprise, yet continued praying. After a long while, he came out with a grin. He said," I talked with my boss and since you have a red Official Passport, you can stay for three days." I heaved a sigh of relief along with my litany of praise and thanksgiving to God. He proved true to His promise in Psalm 91,
" In your distress, when you call on me, I will answer you!" To think that it was one day more than what I actually allotted for my London stay!

The two-day visit to London was topped by a city tour,  a visit to Hampton court, a journey to Windsor Castle and an interesting watch of the changing of the guards in Buckingham Palace while perched on the small, raised platform of the monument fronting it. I was enthralled by the grandeur of Westminster Abbey and the many epoch-making events that transpired there as the crowning of kings and queens through the centuries, the tomb of the Unknown Soldier and most of all, the site of the tribunal where St. Thomas More stood to receive his death sentence. Since the Cumberland Hotel where I was billeted was a stone's throw to Hyde Park, I took a short walk to the "Speakers' Corner" where a middle-aged man was shouting vengeance against a public official, I found out later. I learned that anyone can speak his mind and heart out in the premises, yet enjoy some form of "immunity" from arrest. 

From the park, I proceeded to a church just a few blocks away. When I entered, the priest was standing before the altar, bowing low and turning for the recessional. On top of the altar hung a big Crucifix with the figures of our Lady and the apostle John on each side. I was praying the Rosary in the almost deserted church when the priest came, smiled and said, " I think you are in the wrong church." I was taken aback and replied, " Why, Father, is this not a Catholic church?" Upon getting a negative response, I hurriedly left. It was an Anglican church but, it looked very much like our sanctuary and even had our Blessed Mother. Much later, I found out that Mary is venerated among the Anglicans and even celebrates August 15th- Assumption of Mary as a public holiday. During that short London respite, I managed to see the Immaculate Conception Church.

My flight to Paris was scheduled at 7 AM so that I took a taxi for the bus terminal while dawn was hours away. Though the driver informed me that the terminal would still be closed I insisted for fear that taxi fare to the airport would be horrendous. As I looked out, the light from the lamp posts shining through the London fog shed an aura of the mystic unknown. It was reminiscent of scenes in an Alfred Hitchcock thriller! A cold shiver ran down my spine and as I clasped my arms, I noticed my missing rings. I quickly touched my ears. I realized that I forgot my diamond jewelry on the hotel ashtray!

The driver immediately made a U-turn and headed back to the  Cumberland Hotel. A whirlwind of scenario filled my mind - the chambermaid putting my jewelry into her apron pocket, the taxi speeding away with all my luggage, my forlorn self before an airport TV monitor because I missed my flight and my whole family eating our traditional Media Noche (Christmas Midnight Dinner) with one empty chair. Totally helpless, I turned to our Lord and Blessed Mother for help! I summoned the angels and favorite saints to storm the gates of heaven for me. I nervously focused my gaze on the driver's head, praying for the Holy Spirit to pour upon him a sense of honesty so as not to cart my luggage away when I would go up to my hotel room. I also prayed for the chambermaid to have the strength to overpower temptation. I cried my heart out to God for help!

I rushed up the elevator and to my room. It was closed but unlocked just as I had left it. I dashed to the dresser and looked at the ashtray. Voila! The earrings and rings were there! I held them firmly and for some moments prayed a deep "Thank you!" But wait, only the first half of my request was granted, I ran back to the elevator. I was thanking God and our Lady and imploring for another miracle. The idea that our Lord works in complete cycles buoyed my hopes up.             Excitement took over the apprehension I earlier felt. Exhausted from the physical and emotional stress, I had to use both hands to push open the front door of the hotel.

"Thank God!" I mumbled. It was a welcome sight to see the driver's grinning face cupped by his hands on the taxi window. The Holy Spirit came through!

'Let's go direct to the airport,"I said. I entertained the thought that the airport trip was somehow a reward for not running off with my things. It was my sharing for the recovery of my jewelry. In addition, it became imperative to use the taxi so as to be on time for my flight to Paris. Of course, I gave him a generous tip for his honesty!




  

July 26, 2012 BANGKOK REVISITED

                   
                 Bangkok  Revisited


In 1975, the regional office of the United Nations, UN Economic Commission  for Asia and the Pacific (ESCAP), called for a conference on Shipping in Bangkok. As Director of Overseas Shipping in the Maritime Authority of the Philippines, I headed a delegation of government and private sector officials to said meeting. The Thai delegation invited all participants to visit the world-renowned "Bridge Over the River Kwai" in Kanchanaburi.


Many of you, I believe, still remember the movie based on the true story of the construction of the bridge to connect Burma with Thailand during World War II. If I remember right, David Niven was the principal actor. The grim facts shown of the suffering and death of 16,000 Allied prisoners of war and the more than 100,000 conscripted Asian laborers who toiled on the building of the railway including the bridge over the river Kwai touched so many who saw the film.


I was in college when I saw the movie, "The Bridge Over the River Kwai." Like many others, it made an impression on me. It moved me more deeply because my father was a WWII POW (prisoner of war), too. It opened my eyes to the enormous torture and deprivation of food, medicines and basic human needs, the prisoners suffered. I further realized why my father did not survive the ordeal.


So in 1975, during my visit to the famous or infamous bridge, I was beside myself with excitement. I kept looking out of the window to catch the first glimpse of the bridge as the train snaked its way to Kanchanaburi. When we finally reached the bridge- the memorial of the blood and tears of a fallen humanity, I stood motionless with mixed emotions of awe, sorrow and admiration. I gazed long at the bridge which was built by human hands under the most distressing conditions. I touched the wooden sleepers of ties that were placed so far apart between the steel rails almost with caressing reverence. Suddenly, I made the decision to cross the bridge on foot! Only a few delegates, all men,  ventured to make the crossing. I dared to take up the challenge, firm in my belief that God would help me! I considered it my "salute", my tribute to the men who shed blood and tears and and suffered incalculable pain to build the "Bridge Over the River Kwai."


Every step I made between the terribly wide-spaced sleepers of ties which supported the railroad track was slow and very cautious. One false step would have plunged me down the running waters below. I was concerned with the dizziness caused by looking down at the wooden ties and at the same time seeing the depth below and the raging water, too. As always in the midst of 911 situations, I prayed and asked God for help! And as always, He helped me in my adventure and "conquest" of the "Bridge Over the River Kwai."


In my visit to Kanchanaburi on November 9, 2007, I saw a lot of tourists and locals in the well- maintained plaza at the foot of the bridge. From a distance, I saw many people crossing the bridge and walking at a fast pace. My eyeballs almost popped out! How could they do that? I was bewildered! I took a panoramic view of the area. What a transformation! Whereas in 1975 the place was desolate except for the wild forest green enveloping the environs of the bridge. In 2007, a big plaza with flowering plants and benches around provided a relaxing atmosphere. Many restaurants and souvenir shops were enjoying good business. Store buntings and every conceivable  memento to commemorate a tourist's visit added a festive mood to the place. Moreover, a slow-moving, orange-painted trolley took visitors on board for an equivalent of 50 cents across the bridge. Tipsuda, my Thai friend, offered me a ticket which I politely refused. I felt that at age 76, my enthusiasm and adventurous spirit have not waned. I wanted to prove, at least to myself, that I could still cross the bridge on foot as in 1975. I stood, pushed my shoulders back, lifted up my head and ascertained that I was posture-perfect...ready for combat. To my pleasant surprise, the wooden sleepers supporting the steel rails have been reinforced with additional ones so that the spaces were much narrower.  In addition, a wide flat steel matting was laid on the middle section of the bridge from one end to the other so that crossing on foot was immeasurably facilitated. I smiled at the reason for the complete ease with which the people were traversing the bridge. As I did so in 1975, I crossed the bridge from end to end. My happiness knew no bounds for having visited Kanchanaburi and having felt the triumphant bliss of crossing the "Bridge Over The River Kwai" on foot again after 32 years!!! 

July 25, 2012 - ST. JAMES

Today is the Feast of St. James, one of the twelve apostles who is often referred to as, "James, the Greater." James and his brother John were the "sons of Zebedee" as described in the Bible.

May 27, 2010 - 75th Anniversary of Golden Gate Bridge

Today, May 27, 2012 is the 75th Anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge, the world- acknowledged symbol of San Francisco, California. "The City by the Bay" is another way of referring to my beloved San Francisco, my first "home" for the initial twenty-five years in America. It is a place I have loved and will continue to do so because of the plethora of memories I treasure like ripples in the ebb and flow of my life.


San Francisco newspapers flashed extensive news about the 50th Anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge in 1987. The spirit of adventure which has permeated my life manifested in the many travels to foreign soil I have undertaken caused me to make an important decision- cross the bridge on foot!


Noel dutifully brought me to the Golden Gate Bridge that momentous day - May 27, 1987. Several blocks around the bridge were filled by a motley crowd of people both natives and immigrants from every conceivable country of the world who have called San Francisco their home. There was a distinct feverish excitement in the air! I was swept by a tidal wave of joy and thanksgiving - happiness of being a witness to the celebration and gratitude to our Almighty God and Blessed Mother for making my family's emigration possible!


It took a very long while before we were able to inch our way towards the bridge. When we finally reached the foot of the span, I took a sweeping look at the people who were shoulder -to-shoulder taking a step-by-step journey to cross the bridge. To think that the blistering heat of the sun at high noon was at its height! I was undaunted. I invited Noel to join me in the epoch-making endeavor of crossing the Golden Gate Bridge on its 50th Anniversary. He declined.


With a silent prayer for strength and endurance, a long, deep breath, shoulders pushed back, chin up, I took my first momentous step. Somehow, I knew that I could make it. I was only fifty-six years old! Nonetheless, I decided to stay close to the rail for support and for the added advantage of having a wonderful panorama before me. The encompassing view of the San Francisco skyline and the unencumbered supply of fresh air justified my decision to cling to the rail.


There was a lot of chatter and laughter among the crowd. Friends who came for the walk filled the air with their endless stories of their past adventures together. Strangers walking beside each other became engaged in animated conversation with almost any topic "under the sun.". I could easily strike up acquaintanceship with the ladies walking beside me, on either side, but I resolved to spend the time with my special Friend - Jesus. My prayers were mostly of profound gratitude for the many blessings He has poured on me and my family. A litany of praise for Him came forth from my ever-grateful heart! It was also a fitting time to address my thanksgiving to our Blessed Mother and the many saints who have constantly helped me in my needs. Despite the accompanying discomfort of the walk to the end of the bridge and back, I found it to be refreshing. Strange? Not really, because I walked with friends of a special kind!


My walk across the Golden Gate Bridge on its 50th Anniversary took more than three hours. It was so memorable as my walk across the Bridge on the River Kwai (between Burma and Thailand) in the 1970's. There was a big difference though. At the Bridge on the River Kwai, my mind was fully concentrated on my steps between large pieces of log wide-spaced between each other and a raging river below. During my walk on the Golden Gate Bridge in 1987, my heart and mind was focused on prayer - a communion with my God!