Monday in the 4th Week of Lent
Walking Together Towards the Dawn

Readings: Isaiah 65:17-21; Psalm 30:2 and 4, 5-6, 11-12a and 13b; John 4:43-54

Dear friends, all too soon, we find ourselves nearing the end of the Tertianship. All too soon, it is the time to say farewell. And beginning this evening, we Tertians will spend three days reflecting on what has gone before. Most likely, in these three days, we will ask ourselves what these six months have been about. No doubt, we will recall the people we have met, the graces we have received, the experiences we have shared. And, above all, we will ask ourselves what it all means for us. But, even as we say our goodbyes, and even as we prepare to enter the Triduum, our Mass readings today seem to invite us also to consider another question: not just what we did and whom we met, but what time of day it is.

For the situation in our readings takes place at a very particular time. As we heard in the responsorial psalm: At nightfall, weeping enters in, but with the dawn, rejoicing. We find ourselves at that special time when the night is lifting and a new day is dawning. I am about to create new heavens and a new earth, says the Lord, there shall always be rejoicing and happiness… And this promise, which the Lord makes in the first reading, is fulfilled in the gospel. In the person and prophetic ministry of Jesus, the dawn breaks not only upon Cana in Galilee, but also in the life of the royal official and his family. The darkness of a life-threatening illness is lifted, and a child’s life is saved. And, lest we misunderstand, the reading reminds us that this is not just any miracle but a sign. The implication is that the dawn breaks not just in Cana for a sick boy, but upon the whole of creation for the life of the world.

And haven’t these past six months of our Tertianship also taken place at the same time of day? Whether it was among the urban poor of Navotas or the rural farmers of Bontoc, the prisoners of Muntinlupa or the sick of Iloilo and the PGH, the students of UP and the Ateneo or our friends of the PPF, in these past six months, haven’t we found ourselves among people eagerly awaiting the dawning of a new day? Haven’t we encountered those yearning for the creation of new heavens and a new earth?

And haven’t we also seen what this waiting looks like? As our readings confirm for us, waiting is not a totally passive experience. To wait for the dawn can also mean making an effort to walk towards it. Isn’t this what the official does in today’s gospel, from Capernaum to Cana? And isn’t this also what the farmers of Sumilao did, from Bukidnon to Malacanang? Haven’t these six months of the Tertianship been an experience of waiting and walking towards the breaking of the dawn?

But, as our experience has also shown us, waiting is not easy. Especially not when the night seems to be at its darkest. It’s not easy for the priests and religious of Kalinga-Apayao, for example, who still grieve the death of a missionary priest at the barrel of a gun. No, even if the dawn might be breaking, it is not easy to wait and to walk. Perhaps what we need is what the sick child in the gospel had. He couldn’t walk himself, so his father did it on his behalf. He couldn’t experience the Lord himself, so his father shared his faith with him and with the rest of his family. It is not easy to wait and to walk, but we don’t have to do it alone.

I’m reminded of an experience I had early one morning, during our Long Retreat. We had reached that point in the retreat between Jesus’ burial and his resurrection. It was Holy Saturday. And I found myself drawn to pray in the Jesuit cemetery while it was still dark. Sitting in darkness, with a lit candle beside me, waiting for daybreak, I found myself in the company of our Blessed Mother. She was grieving the loss of her son. And yet, it was a consoling experience to sit with her. For even though I sensed her pain, I also felt something of her faith, her hope, and her love. At one point, I thought I felt her pat my knee and speak to me of her son. That he will come, she said, is as certain as the dawn…

That he will come is as certain as the dawn. My friends, even as we bid one another farewell, even as we prepare to each go our separate ways, how are we being invited to continue waiting and walking in one another’s company today?