This wake homily for Mr. John Gokongwei, Jr. was delivered on 11 November 2019.
I was instructed by Robina to keep this homily short, so like an obedient Jesuit, I will keep it short and sweet.
No doubt, in the next few days, much will be said about Mr. John. People will certainly talk about his extraordinary life, for indeed it has been an extraordinary life on so many levels.
This reflection, which is based on Luke 21:5-19, was written on 12 November 2016. It’s interesting to read, so in lieu of a new homily, I’m re-sharing this today. Equally telling are the comments. 🙁
I don’t know about you, but for me, this last week has been tough. It’s like just when I wasn’t looking, the rug was pulled out from under me. And not once, but twice!
I’m of course referring to: (a) the disappointing Supreme Court ruling on the Marcos burial–a classic case of cowering behind the letter of the law instead of being faithful to its spirit; and (b) the stunning result of the US presidential election when someone who has been described as a narcissist-bigot-misogynist–all rolled into one–has been voted as the most powerful man in the free world. “A double whammy!” a friend texted from Vancouver.
This reflection is based on Luke 20:27-38.
As always, a trick question from his enemies elicits not only a clever answer from Jesus, but also an argument for the afterlife. The Sadducees present the Lord with an unlikely but not implausible scenario: If a woman widowed seven times ends up marrying seven brothers, whose wife will she be at the resurrection?
This homily delivered in Loyola House of Studies is based on Luke 14:25-33.
My first thought this morning after reading the Gospel was: I should have checked out the Gospel reading first before accepting the invitation to preside at this Mass.
Our homily today is based on Luke 19:1-10.
The encounter between Jesus and Zacchaeus has got to be one of the strangest–and funniest–scenes in the Gospel. So we’re told our Lord is, as usual, on his way somewhere, followed by the usual massive crowd. Then without any warning, he stops in his tracks, looks up–and, we can imagine, all the people around him instinctively looking up as well–to see, of all things, a man straddling a branch, hiding behind its leaves.
