Jessel Gerard

I was once made to believe that no matter what happened, it is the product that matters. Because in the end, the clients who listen to CDs will not want to know whether in the process of producing albums there existed certain disagreements, unfair treatments, and unfulfilled promises. People who get high by the melodies do not know the bloody encounters behind the making of a great album, or else all their excitements will rapidly vanish.

But I believe that the process is also as important as the product especially in the world of art. The greatest factor that contributes to an excellent performance is the sweat and tears that accompanied it. But there is another angle to artistic endeavors: the angle of the heart. After all the techniques have been taught, all the exercises in articulation and expression have been studied and mastered, in the end what makes every performance unique is the placement of the heart on it. Once there is no heart, the performance takes on blandness. Without passion, the performance is just science. Nothing else.

The same is true with service. The ways and means of serving may vary from person to person, culture to culture, but at the very center of it all is the heart. That is why I disagree with those that say that we must deliver no matter whether a staff is treated with grave unfairness or made to believe in promises that are hardly kept, or that a higher executive undermines the abilities of his staff, or that one gives in to the prima donnas of the business. Or, that one can produce an award-winning album when those that made it are paid to get the science right and editing done perfectly. The business district has it that this is efficiency without a debt of gratitude. Science and technique often cannot be of service unless it is transformed into a work of the heart. Because for one with a sensitive ear, a touching song often reaches to the heart of another when the backstage crew’s morale is high.

Maybe people like me whose works are supposed to be in the name of art and service should think whether we are being transformed into efficient business executives or changed into effective agents of the heart. The former belongs to buildings, the latter belongs to the church.

It is not unusual for people to ask me how things are at work. Many of them know my daily grind of things: they are all printed in the Jesuit catalogue. My rector once said to me that I am everywhere. A fellow scholastic said that I have my plate full. And my best friend always ends his emails with a hopefully-you-find-rest complimentary close. It seems that many think that my daily battle lies in the stacks of paper on my table.

There is, however, no stack of paper on my table. "It is not work," I remind them, "it is something else." At a coffee shop, a friend whom I have not seen for years, confided that her work is perfectly cut out for her except for a few who gets into her nerves. She said that it is not unusual that the pen of her livelihood transforms into a sharp knife meant for the kill.

Many times I must admit that when people do get into my nerves, any harmless matter transforms into a weapon. When I was young, I played with a little bow and arrow and aimed at anything I etched on banana trunks. One day, I tried to do something different. I saw a hatchling on a branch and aimed at it, and to my shock hit it. Suddenly my fierceness evaporated, never really wanted to kill it. There I saw my heart.

When I get to remember my family, my students, and those who will be affected by my violence, all my anger evaporates instantly. And all weapons transform into its harmless state.

I guess we all have to choose our own battles. To be at war with someone who wishes our death is not worth it. We choose which challenge is worth our while, which battle can wish the life in us as well.

Story for Matthew 13, 44-46. The Pearl of Great Price.

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday, I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems and be decorated with intricate carvings. Everyone would see my beauty."

The second tree said, "Someday, I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of other worlds. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally, the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time, and people will always remember me."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. One came to the first tree and said, "This looks like a strong tree. I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter," and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree, one of the other woodsmen said, "This looks like a strong tree. I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy, because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened, because it knew that, if it were to be cut down, its dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don’t need anything special from my tree, so I’ll take this one," and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenter’s, he was made into a feed box for animals, placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

Then one day, a man and a woman came to the barn. She gave birth, and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose, and the tree didn’t think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said, "Peace," and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets, and the crowd mocked the man who was carrying it. Finally, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of the hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it. And until now, we remember the third tree.

Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don’t always know what God’s plans are for us. We know that our dreams may lead us there. But how? His ways are not always our ways, but His ways are always best for us. And to be as close to God as possible, to be with God in His Kingdom is finding the pearl of great price.

Matthew 13, 44-46: 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

In the ancient world, pearls had a very special place in men’s hearts. People desired to possess a lovely pearl, not only for its money value, but for its beauty. They found aesthetic pleasure in simply handling and contemplating it. The main sources of pearls in those days were the shores of the Red Sea and of far-off Britain itself; but a merchant would scour the markets of the world to find a pearl that was of surpassing beauty. The Gospel today precisely tells us that the Kingdom of Heaven is like the pearl of great price. When found, one is willing to sell everything to possess it. And to find the Kingdom of Heaven is to find God. Profoundly, the Kingdom of Heaven is being with God.

It is better explained when we are in love. When we find the person whom we have fallen in love with, we say, "To be with you is heaven. Kapag kapiling kita ako’y nasa langit." Beyond the discipline, beyond the sacrifice, beyond the self-denial, beyond the cross, there lies the supreme loveliness and freshness that is nowhere else to be found. Most of us who loved or are in-love know that there is no other way to find peace in our hearts, joy in our lives, beauty and meaning to our world than to be with the object of our affection. Life has it that when we find the person, we should not miss any opportunity to let them feel our love — including letting go of all we possess.

If we find beauty, meaning and loveliness in human relationships, what more with God? We can find happiness in acquiring knowledge, in art and music, in serving others, but none surpasses being with God. Gerard Manley Hopkins SJ wrote a poem called "God’s Grandeur". It says that

"The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil…

And for all this, nature is never spent;

   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things…

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings."

When we find God, we discover the dearest freshness deep down things. When we find the pearl of great price, it is worth all our joys, all our pains, and all our lives.

For accompanying story, see Dreams of Three Trees

Some things change. Two thousand five hundred years ago, Heraclitus said, “All is flux, nothing stays still." Recently, two choirmates bid us a temporary goodbye: Julius on his first job, Allan to his board review. A few hours ago, FEU students about to take their PT Board Exams wept when they realized that the five years were over and the inevitable was about to take place. At lunch, it suddenly dawned on me that that was our last meeting before the Province Celebration of the Feast of St. Ignatius. A few hours ago, Canto Cinco wished Abbey, our former choir coordinator, a safe trip abroad and years well spent in Cincinnati studying children’s literature.

This is a good lesson about loss and goodbyes. Only a week before I got ordained, the bus from Baguio burned. In that burning bus was a black sweatshirt I hardly used, saving it for special occasions. Perhaps the only way we get to keep anything is to use it up. From then on, I formulated my room rule: If an item isn’t used for a year, it belongs to someone else.

I remember the movie, With Honors. Monty (Brendan Fraser) learned about life from Simon Wilder (Joe Pesci) who collected stones to remember the experiences he wanted to keep. Perhaps to keep my friends is to spend time with them.

Indeed, some things do stay. And all I get to keep are my memories.