Restiveness.
Mark narrates to us that together with Jesus throngs of Jews flocked to John to be baptized at the Jordan River. The air was charged with restiveness, a longing for a spiritual reconnection with Yahweh, and a yearning to make sense of their lives anew.
We have witnessed this spiritual longing among Filipinos the past decade or so in the flourishing of Christian renewal communities and prayer groups. A generation ago, the Sunday Mass and devotions were sufficient to nurture our faith. Not anymore. Filipinos today are yearning for more — a more personal relationship with God, a deeper understanding of the faith, a more involved way of being community. A decade ago, people spilled out from churches into the streets only at the start and end of the Simbang Gabi novena Masses. Today, everywhere I go, churches and chapels, grand or humble, teem with people each and every night of the Simbang Gabi — as though people were desperately seeking God, flocking to wherever there were traces of God’s presence.
Disenchantment.
Underlying the spiritual restiveness of Jesus’ people was disenchantment with their social condition. Despite the Pax Romana, the general political tranquility under Roman Rule, the Jews abhorred their conquerors; the Jews detested being subject to them. While the Jews were not turned into slaves and not forbidden to worship as they were accustomed to, they were heavily taxed by the Roman Empire which required as much resources as possible to finance its political expansion. More and more the weight of poverty burdened the Jews.
What underlies the phenomenon of our people’s spiritual fervor? Is it fueled by disenchantment, disgruntlement or disgust? Underlying the relative political calm and the faint din of protesters’ voices, is there a gnawing restiveness in our belly, calling out to God to intervene in our life as a nation? Or is the political tranquility evidence of indifference and resignation? With no one to trust or turn to among politicians and institutions (for many, this includes the Church), people are shrugging their shoulders in defeat, “Ipasa-Diyos na lang natin. Wala na tayong magagawa. Bahala na ang Diyos.”
Purification.
The inhabitants of Jerusalem and the Judean countryside did not only flock to John to be baptized. They acknowledged their sins. They not only sought to renew their relationship with Yahweh and passively awaited God’s blessing in the form of baptism; rather, they consciously examined their way of life and committed to turn away from everything that led them away from God.
Turning to God is interwoven with turning away from patterns of sin. Embracing a new life with the Lord is inseparable from distancing oneself from habits of sinfulness, from all that is against the Lord. In short, the authenticity of one’s yearning for God is gauged by the commitment to disengage from sin.
Of course we all yearn for God. But do we long for God enough to turn away from our comfort zones of sin and selfishness? Of course we want God to intervene in our national life. But do we desire God enough to root out values and attitudes that are contrary to God’s ways — apathy and resignation, bitterness and cynicism? Of course we want God to remedy our social conditions and political life. But do we pine for God enough to collectively restructure the inequity and injustices in society, the lack of accountability and transparency in government, the loss of autonomy and integrity in the judicial system? Or do we expect the Lord to come down from the heavens in a golden chariot, commanding a legion of angels to recreate the world?
Or has not the Messiah humbled himself, so that he who is without sin, but in solidarity with sinful humanity, asked to be baptized? Has not the Messiah, instead of waiting for the Father to magically recreate the world, labored with his hands to feed and cure, toiled with his feet as he traveled from town to town, caressed with his hands the paralyzed and bleeding, challenged with his tongue the corrupt and hypocrite? Perhaps as we wait for God to come into our world, God is also waiting for us to renew our world. And in renewing our world with fervor, despite fear, perhaps we will recognize God’s presence among us all along. The God we await is in our waiting and wanting. The God we await comes in our doing and renewing.
(Fr. Manoling Francisco is a prolific composer of liturgical music and serves on the faculty of the Loyola School of Theology. For feedback on this column, email tinigloyola @yahoo.com)