REFLECTIONS

Igniting the Xavier Fire

Homily for the Opening of the

Golden Jubilee Celebration of Xavier School June 9, 2006

Fr. Daniel Patrick L. Huang, S.J. (’76)

Photo Courtesy of Brian Ong and Sean Tiu (XS'06)

Posted Friday, 16-Jun-2006 7:21 AM   

             Today we begin our Golden Jubilee celebration, not wearing gold, but red. Red, of course, is the Chinese color for happiness, and so it is an appropriate color since we’re celebrating the 50th anniversary of the foundation of our school. But, more importantly, red is the color of fire, and

fire is the way the Holy Spirit came to the frightened disciples that first Pentecost 2000 years ago. I want to talk about fire this morning: not the physical fire that burns wood, but the fire that burns in people’s hearts, the fire of the Spirit that gives light, passion, and courage to start new things, to create new beginnings.

              I want to do this by sharing a few memories. Believe it or not, I first began studying at Xavier School in 1964, when I was five years old—forty two years ago! Xavier was only eight years old then, so I had the privilege of meeting some of the men you’ll hear a lot about this Golden Jubilee year, the founding fathers of Xavier School. You can read about them in Fr. Mena’s wonderful history of Xavier, Luceat Lux, which you should all buy and study this year. But I had the privilege of knowing some of them, when I was a grade school and high school student here in Xavier in the sixties and the seventies.              

              When I was in grade school we had a Chinese Jesuit named Fr. Ho who was in charge of the canteen. I remember two things about him. First, his head was as bald and as shiny as a billiard ball. That’s a sort of Xavier tradition I guess—bald priests! We still have Fr. Zuloaga, Fr. Art Borja, and Fr. Guy Guibelondo. Second, he used to carry around a thick prayer book, which he used during Mass—but not for praying, but for whacking noisy boys at the back of their heads with! I recommend that Fr. Johnny bring this custom back. It was very effective!

              We also had some great Jesuit teachers. Fr. Cornelius Pineau, a Jesuit from Canada, was a magnificent English teacher who taught us figures of speech and good writing. He used to be exasperated, however, with the pronunciation of both students and teachers and would keep correcting us: “Boys, not flag ceREmony, but flag CEremony. Not STROWberry, but strawberry. Not CHOWCOWlate, but chocolate!” Fr. Joseph Li, who is with us this morning, taught us Math, and he had an interesting way of waking the class up when we were sleepy. He would say in his Northern China accent: “Okay, boys, now I give you example of stupid answer.” Then he’d call on one of my classmates: “Okay, Rogelio . . .” My favorite teacher was Fr. Dan Clifford, a gigantic Jesuit from California, who had such faith in us high school boys that he dared to make us read the great classics of world literature—Shakespeare, Sophocles, the King James version of the Bible (for the beauty of the cadences!), Confucius, and even Plato! What I remember best about him though were his insults. He often used a favorite word: “Idiot!” Most memorably, he once told one of my classmates: “Your mother must have been a weight lifter, to carry a dumbbell like you for nine months!” 

                 We also had some unforgettable Jesuit guidance counselors. Fr. Barbero was our counselor when we were in first year high school. He used to take us to Antipolo for weekend retreats, in the days before Days with the Lord. We weren’t serious enough though—we were only first year high school, after all—so he used to scold us. Unfortunately, he had a Spanish accent, and couldn’t pronounce the letter J. It always came out as the letter Y. So he used to scold us this way: “Boys, stop laughin’. You think this is a time for yokes! Stop yokin’!” Well, needless to say, we became even more hysterical.

                And of course there was our fourth year guidance counselor, the Hungarian pillar of Xavier, Fr. Louis Papilla. Fr. Papilla was the moderator of the Sodality, now known as the CLC. You could only be a member by invitation—but it was very hard to refuse Fr. Papilla’s invitation. He would send you a letter with a response slip. You could check one of two choices: “Yes, I will join the Sodality” and  “No, I turn my back on God’s call.”  How could you say no?   He was also notorious for investigating the shady adolescent activities of some of my classmates. I hope I can say this at Mass, but uso noon ang massage parlor for some. Once, he asked my classmate, “Tell me, do you go to massage?” Unfortunately, because of Father’s Hungarian accent, my classmate thought he heard, “Do you go to mass?” So, he immediately, cheerfully, responded, “Yes, Father!” Father was shocked by his openness and continued, “How often do you go?” And my friend answered, “Every Sunday, Father!” Father, still reeling from shock, asked him, “Where do you go?” My classmate answered innocently, “Mary the Queen, Father!” At that point, I think Fr. Papilla realized there had been a miscommunication.

              I wish I had time to share stories about our many dedicated and memorable lay administrators, teachers, and staff—like the lady teacher who kept on kissing me when I was grade three and to whom I gave the disgusted response: “Stop kissing me! Kissing is unsanitary!” That teacher is still here in Xavier: Mrs. Nabua. There will be another occasion for those stories.

              When I was a boy, I saw those Jesuits basically as peculiar characters, who made life in Xavier School memorable and fun. It was only later that I came to appreciate the people behind the jokes. I realized that they were not just objects of fun, but real human beings—real and inspiring human beings. These men were missionaries. They had left their homes and families, not only to become priests, but to work in China. I wonder if you know what that means.  Can you imagine the sacrifice involved in becoming a missionary:  to leave your native land, to have to live in a strange land, where people eat different food, speak a different language, act in a different way?  And then, when the communists came, they were expelled from the mainland, landing here in the Philippines. If I had been them, I would have been so discouraged that I would have packed up and gone home. Instead, these amazing men, for a second time, made a home in a foreign country. And instead of being depressed and immobilized by their fate, they looked around and with ingenuity, courage, and generosity, responded to the needs of Chinese Filipinos. They saw that Chinese Filipinos were being neglected: not receiving the quality and Catholic education they needed for them to develop fully.  Without resources, without any road map, they set up three schools—Sacred Heart in Cebu in 1955, Santa Maria in Iloilo in 1957, and Xavier School in Manila in 1956.

               The point is: these were men charged with the fire of the Spirit. They were men of passion. Think of it. What makes a man leave home? What makes a man give up comfort and security, to labor in not one, but two foreign lands? What makes a man continue giving of himself as teacher, counselor, priest, year after year, to ungrateful boys and adolescents? What makes a man care so much for people who really are strangers? It is only now that I see that it was the fire of the Spirit within them: a burning love for God, a burning faith in Jesus, and a passion to share this love and faith with others, a passion to serve. Moreover, they—Fr. Desautels, our founder and his first companions—were also men filled with the fire of courage. Despite all the obstacles, all the challenges, all the discouraging voices and realities then, they took the risk of starting something unheard of in this part of the world: a Jesuit Catholic school for Chinese Filipinos.

               We owe so much to these men. Just think: without them, there would have been no Xavier. Today, fifty years later, thousands of Chinese Filipinos have been educated and their values made more Christian because of Xavier School. So many of our alumni are out there, doing good things for their families and for the country, because of these men, filled with fire, who began Xavier fifty years ago. We are blessed that this morning, we still have with us, to inspire us by their persons, some of the first and second wave of missionaries who built this school: Fr.Ismael Zuloaga, Fr. Joseph Ly, Fr. Maximo Barbero, and Fr. Julian Hernando.

               The theme of our jubilee year is “Ignite Xavier”. Ignite is a word that means “to set on fire.” I don’t think it means that Fr. Johnny wants you to become arsonists! I don’t think it’s an invitation to go and burn down his office, although some of you are no doubt occasionally tempted to do so. I think it means something like this. A few years ago, I was at a UAAP game between Ateneo and La Salle. Ateneo had won the championship the year before, but that year, it was clear that the La Salle team was better. They were leading in a big way, and it seemed impossible to close the gap. I was feeling terribly discouraged and wanted to go home, concede defeat, give up, and I suspect many on the Ateneo side felt the same way. But there was a magical moment in the middle of all that discouragement. I don’t know who thought of it, but suddenly someone unfurled a banner for all to see. It simply said, “Summon the heart of a champion.” The effect on us was electric. It was as though someone had slapped us in the face, called us to remember what we had been. All of a sudden there was shouting, cheering, confidence, passion, energy, where once there had been despair and mediocrity. We didn’t win, but it was a magnificent defeat.

               I think that’s something of what “Ignite Xavier” means. It means remembering our past so that we can summon the hearts of champions, of the great men who began Xavier. We will be spending a lot of time remembering this year, and we will do that first of all to give thanks: to our founding fathers and to so many dedicated lay administrators, teachers and staff, who have built up Xavier and Xavierians these past fifty years. They are the real treasure of Xavier School. But I think part of the reason we want to look back is to be ignited: to get in touch with the fire in the hearts of our founding fathers, so that a fire can blaze in our hearts, too, so that we can face the present and the future with something of their vision, their courage, their passion.

              We need that fire. This is what we pray for in this Mass of the Holy Spirit. We are fifty years old this year, which is old for a person, but young, very young, for a school. There are so many challenges that lie before us, so many things we must do so that Xavier School becomes an even more excellent school for forming Christian Chinese Filipinos. Every word of that description counts. Chinese: Xavier must form men who are not ashamed of their Chinese heritage, who preserve the pioneering spirit that made our ancestors leave China to seek a better life here, who retain the best values of our sub-culture, such as hard work, discipline, ingenuity, the entrepreneurial spirit, for the sake of our families and our country. Filipino: Xavier must form men who are deeply, passionately committed to serving this country, which is our home and our mother, and where too many are poor and suffering. Christian: Xavier must mold its students into men filled with the light of a living faith in Christ and the fire of a love that seeks to serve rather than to be served.

              Later, we shall sing our school song, Luceat Lux. I ask you this morning to sing it with fire, with conviction, with pride. It is a great thing to be a Xavierian. It is a gift to be part of this wonderful school. But more importantly, let us pray that we all be filled with the fire of the Spirit that burned in the hearts of our founders. More significant than our pride in Xavier is our hope that Fr. Desautels, Fr. Clifford, Fr. Pineau, and Fr. Papilla will look down on us today from their places in heaven, and be proud of us, their sons. A happy, fruitful, fiery, Golden Jubilee to us all!

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