Nearly Evening

This 3rd Sunday of Easter, I am reminded of a motet (i.e. a sacred composition for voices) by one of my favorite 19th-century German composers, Josef Rheinberger, entitled Abendlied (German for “Evening song”). At first glance, one might not immediately sense that it is a sacred composition, since the text, taken in isolation, does not explicitly make any reference to God, Jesus, or even anything in the vicinity of the spiritual. Of course, if you know your Bible and/or if you are a regular churchgoer, you’d immediately recognize where the words come from. The words are Bleib bei uns, denn es will Abend werden, und der Tag hat sich geneiget, i.e. “Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent,” the direct translation of the words as they appear in Martin Luther’s German version of the Bible, which Rheinberger used as his source. In the New American Bible Revised Edition (the translation used in our missals at St. Joe’s), that would be: “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.” (Luke 24:29) These are the words that the disciples said to the risen Christ, whom they did not initially recognize, when he gave the impression that he was walking further than their destination along the road to Emmaus.

 

I first encountered Rheinberger’s beautiful composition during my college choir days when I used to attend Jesuit university back home in the Philippines. College choir was where I had the most formative experiences in my journey as a choir director. As it happens, next Sunday, April 26th, that very same college choir will be celebrating its 105th anniversary with a grand homecoming concert featuring alumni of the choir from the many, many years of its existence. And while I’ve never been much of a “community person,” I must admit that I feel just a little bit envious that most of my old choir friends will be there, most likely singing some of our favorite choral pieces to sing from back in the day, while I am unable to travel due to… ahem… immigration-related circumstances. But hey, I am told that when God closes a door, He opens a window, right? I imagine I’ll be waiting with bated breath for what wonderful things might lie behind the proverbial window next week!

 

With my peace,

Carlo Serrano, Music Director

Post-Holy Week 2026

I’d like to take this time to share a few updates about our music ministry which you may have already noticed. Firstly, our Children’s Choir has welcomed several new members, whose names you’ll see on the right side of this page. Secondly, sometime last July, our Worship Band welcomed an exceptionally talented new member, Tessa Jones, who used to sing with the St. Bart’s Children’s Choir. And thirdly, due to schedule-related challenges, Danielle Coles, who used to sing with our Worship Band, has opted to shift her service to cantoring for the 9:30 AM Family Mass. Danielle has proven to be a huge help at the 9:30, not just with the cantoring, but also with helping me adjust microphone placement for the kids in real-time and serving as an additional adult presence at rehearsals with the Children’s Choir (I tell ya, it’s not easy managing them kids!).

 

This Sunday, I’ve given the Adult Choir and Children’s Choir time off in light of their very hard work during Holy Week. Our Worship Band, however, will still be present at the 5:00 PM Mass, and we’ve prepared a special lineup for the 2nd Sunday of Easter, also known as Divine Mercy Sunday. If you happen to be at that Mass, we hope you’ll join us in singing one of our favorite songs that we only do around this time of year: the Easter Hallelujah based on Leonard Cohen’s tune, with alternate lyrics by Kelly Mooney. See you there!

 

With my peace,
Carlo Serrano, Music Director 

"Nakikiramay ako"

Once, someone very dear to me had a dog whom she so loved. When the day came that her dog passed away, she told me that, among the many feelings that arose alongside her grief, there was also this sense of anger toward the world. It wasn’t that the world was responsible in any way for her dog’s death; it was more of a perceived apathy – “How dare the world keep on spinning when my dog has died?” And since this woman was very dear to me, I wished I could somehow put the world on pause, that I could enforce some kind of planetary ordinance that would halt all activities and enjoin the whole world into mourning the loss of this one dog. I suppose you could say I wanted to damay the world in her grief. What is damay, you ask?

 

Allow me to share a little something about Tagalog, my native tongue. In the Philippines, at funerals, you may hear people saying, “nakikiramay ako.” I suppose you could say it’s how we offer condolences, but the etymology is much deeper. The root word of nakikiramay is damay, which roughly means “to be unwillingly affected or involved an unfortunate situation.” Say, when two people are having an argument and they try to pull in a third party who’d rather not be involved, the third party might say, “Huwag mo akong idamay,” which means “Don’t involve me in that” or “Don’t pull me into that.” Or, to use a more pointed example, when innocent bystanders are injured as collateral damage in a battle that should otherwise not involve them, we’d say “Nadamay sila, which means, “They were unwillingly affected.” The beautiful thing about saying “nakikiramay ako” is that it reverses the unwillingness of the original root word and turns it into voluntary willingness. When we say “nakikiramay ako,” we are essentially saying “I am involving myself in your sorrow,” or “I volunteer to be affected by your grief,” that is, “I willingly damay myself in your suffering.”

 

I propose this as a helpful way to think about fasting and abstinence. In addition to cultivating spiritual discipline, it is also a way to damay oneself in the suffering of Christ. And of course, the music we sing at Mass on Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion will be markedly more somber (with the exception of the opening hymn). Even at the 5:00 PM Mass, where I’ve heard people describe the music as “joyful” and “uplifting,” we will deliberately employ a more mournful tone, and we hope that you take this as an opportunity to enjoin yourself in the sorrow of the man of sorrows. And if I may gently suggest… no applause, please and thank you!

 

I wonder if the disciples, before Christ’s resurrection, ever felt as my dear friend did. Did they perhaps see everyone else going about their daily lives and think, “How dare the world keep on spinning when our Lord has died?” Well, here’s another bit of linguistic trivia. There’s a rabbinic argumentative principle called qal vahomer in Hebrew, which literally translates to “light and heavy,” and it takes the form: If principle X applies in lesser situation Y, then how much more should it apply in greater situation Z. (In logic, this is called argumentum a fortiori) One of Jesus’ most famous uses of qal vahomer is when he says, “If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him.” (Matthew 7:11) So, allow me to borrow this mode of argument and propose: If a man can put his world on pause to mourn the loss of his dear friend’s dog, how much more should Christians put their world on pause to mourn the death of Love incarnate? Can we sit with the grieving Mary, the Mater dolorosa, and say “nakikiramay ako?”

 

With my peace,
Carlo Serrano, Music Director 

The Parable of the University

Yes, I made a parable haha! Consider the following scenario: You just started college and you’re filled with that youthful, idealistic hope that you will one day land your dream job. You pursue your studies seriously, and along the way, you make friends with other students who are just as passionate and committed to their studies. Now as is so often the case in college life, despite the many freedoms given to college students, not everything goes smoothly. You have the freedom to major in your field of choice, to choose course electives that match your interests, to enlist in those classes taught by your preferred professors, and to join all kinds of fun extracurricular activities, but sometimes you don’t always get what you want. It could be that your desired major only accepts a limited number of applicants (as was the case when I had to audition to major in Choral Conducting), or the course electives you really want aren’t offered during those semesters where you get free electives, or perhaps the professor you want is so popular that his class got fully booked and you’re forced to take the same class under a different professor whom you dislike (again, also speaking from experience…). But hey, why stop there? Allow me to really exaggerate this scenario. Suppose you just happen to be sooooooo unlucky that you aren’t able to land your desired major and you have to settle for a closely related field, you only ever get the sucky electives, you’re always stuck with the professors whom nobody wants, and to top it all off, you’re not very financially blessed, so all you can afford is the lamest food in the cafeteria. Suddenly, college isn’t looking as fun as you envisioned it would be, and you start to wonder if it’s even worth it…

 

Now suppose that one day, the HR person from your dream job approaches you and gives you a written guarantee, signed by the boss himself, stating that IF you graduate, you will definitely be hired at your dream job. I imagine that would change your entire college experience. Your sights would be so set on graduating that you’d just persevere through all the annoying professors, the late nights of working on your dissertation, the envy of seeing other students enjoying the good fortune of getting all the fun classes and being able to purchase all the yummiest food in the cafeteria – none of it bothers you as much anymore, because at the end of the day you’ve got this signed letter that lets you go to bed at night thinking, “Imma get my dream job!”

 

You can probably guess what analogy I’m drawing here. The university is your earthly life, and your dream job is the eternal Happiness with God in Heaven. The parable of the university is meant to illustrate the Christian view of one’s temporal, earthly life in relation to the eternal Happiness of Heaven. If you’ve ever been a college student, you know how easy it is to get fixated on the anxieties of college life, and the uncertainty of the future can be overwhelming. But when you have a sense of certainty that the thing you hope for will not disappoint, suddenly you can face just about anything.

 

I once met a woman who struggled with severe mental health challenges, who had nightmares every time she slept, and she told me that she felt like the man at the pool of Bethesda, particularly how he was portrayed in the hit TV series The Chosen. I will never forget how she said to me, “That’s how I feel, except that I know Jesus isn’t coming to rescue me.” Later, I read a reflection from St. Augustine about Jesus’ healing at the pool of Bethesda. Augustine was grappling with the question that I imagine Jesus’ disciples also grappled with, and The Chosen isn’t shy about bringing it to the fore: Why does Jesus heal some people but not others? Augustine says:

 

There lay so many there, and yet only one was healed, while He could by a word have raised them all up. What, then, must we understand but that the power and the goodness was doing what souls might, by His deeds, understand for their everlasting salvation, than what bodies might gain for temporal health? For that which is the real health of bodies, and which is looked for from the Lord, will be at the end, in the resurrection of the dead.

- St. Augustine, Tractate 17 on the Gospel of John

 

In plainer English, Augustine is essentially saying here that Jesus’ act of bodily healing is meant to point toward the hope in the resurrection, that is, these miracles serve to secure that hope which I’ve tried my best to describe in the parable of the university. I do wish that the woman who told me that she felt like the man at the pool of Bethesda may find in her soul that very same hope.

 

This 5th Sunday of Lent, as we hear about the raising of Lazarus, our music ministry has prepared a lineup of songs that are meant to strengthen that hope in the promise Jesus said He Will fulfill. We look forward to seeing you at Mass!

 

With my peace,
Carlo Serrano, Music Director 

Beethoven, Boone, and Ignatian Indifference

 

Let him who is in consolation think how he will be in the desolation which will come after, taking new strength for then… Let him who is consoled see to humbling himself and lowering himself as much as he can, thinking how little he is able for in the time of desolation without such grace or consolation.

- St. Ignatius of Loyola, Spiritual Exercises, Rules for perceiving and knowing in some manner the different movements which are caused in the soul, 10th and 11th rules

 

And I thank God everyday for the girl He sent my way, but I know the things He gives me, He can take away… Oh, God, don’t take these beautiful things that I’ve got!

- Benson Boone, Beautiful Things, 2024, emphasis added

 

…The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD!

- Job 1:21, emphasis added

 

But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing… Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not, I am ready… Divine One, thou seest my inmost soul, thou knowest that therein dwells the love of humanity and the desire to do good.

- Ludwig Van Beethoven, Heiligenstadt Testament, emphasis added

 

I know indeed how to live in humble circumstances; I know also how to live with abundance. In every circumstance and in all things I have learned the secret of being well fed and of going hungry, of living in abundance and of being in need. I have the strength for everything through him who empowers me. Still, it was kind of you to share in my distress.

- Philippians 4:12-14, emphasis added

 

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, my entire will, all that I have and possess. Thou hast given all to me. To Thee, O Lord, I return it. All is Thine, dispose of it wholly according to Thy will. Give me Thy love and Thy grace, for this is sufficient for me.

- St. Ignatius of Loyola, Suscipe prayer

 

There’s a very popular song that I hear frequently on the radio these days. It’s called Beautiful Things by Benson Boone. In the song, Boone shares how, after going through a rough patch, his life has taken a turn for the better—he gets to spend more time with his family, his mental health has improved, he’s finding his faith, and of course, as is often the case in popular love songs, he’s met this girl who he’s very much in love with! Then, with an admirable awareness of how nothing in this life is guaranteed, Boone confronts the very real possibility that all these great things might not last, and with raw emotion in his voice, he pleads to God: “Don’t take these beautiful things that I’ve got!” Thirteen years ago, I was in exactly the same place that Boone describes in his song, so believe me when I say that song gets me right in the feelz! And did I lose my beautiful things? Yes. Oh, they were such beautiful things indeed… but I’ll spare you the lengthy details of that!

 

We all know Job’s famous words: “The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away…” I imagine it’s easy to say that about trivial things like small material possessions, perhaps less so about more meaningful things like treasured friendships, and no doubt incredibly difficult when it feels like you’re losing a part of your soul, like, say, if you were a brilliant 19th-century composer resigned to never hearing a note of music ever again. See, when I was in high school, I’d often go to our library to read about the life of Ludwig Van Beethoven, whom I so revered. I read his letters to his friends, colleagues, lovers and all that, so I know what beautiful things he lost in addition to his hearing. The spiritual maturity with which he embraced his circumstances—or bore his cross, if you will—was nothing short of heroic. It was under those circumstances that he composed the Ninth Symphony, which to this day continues to be an anthem of hope, joy, and the good in humanity. How does anyone do that?! I honestly don’t know if I’d have a fraction of Beethoven’s spiritual maturity if I were to ever lose my hearing. I’ve sometimes joked to my friend Danielle, “You know, Danielle, I really hope God doesn’t pull a Beethoven on me. I really really really reeeaaalllllyyy hope He doesn’t… cause I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t feel incredibly bitter toward Him if He did.” I mean, I don’t think I’ll be composing a Ninth Symphony anytime soon haha.

 

In Ignatian Spirituality, there’s a virtue called “Indifference,” which is not so much the bad kind like not caring about other people. It’s more about detaching oneself from (or being “indifferent” to) one’s personal desires so as to focus entirely on the will of God. St. Francis de Sales expresses the same idea using the metaphor of water in a container:

 

If I desire pure water only, what care I whether it be served in a golden vessel or in a glass, as in either case I take only the water… What matter whether God’s will be presented to us in tribulation or in consolation, since I seek nothing in either of them but God’s will, which is so much the better seen when there is no other beauty present save that of this most holy, eternal, good pleasure.

- St. Francis de Sales, Treatise on the Love of God

 

Granted, it would be very difficult to exercise Ignatian Indifference when it comes to the things we feel most strongly about—our hopes, dreams, the things we’ve put a great deal of time and effort into, and yes, and even our ties with friends and loved ones. It seems to be the dialectical nature of prayer (and life in general) that one must plea with the tenacity of Boone while being ready to accept the outcome with the maturity of Beethoven. That said, we could start by practicing Ignatian Indifference on a smaller scale. A simple and readily available way for churchgoers to practice that virtue might be to try attending Masses where the style of music may not necessarily be one’s preference. Say, if you normally go to the 5pm Mass because you like more contemporary music, you might consider attending a Mass that has much older music like Gregorian chant. Conversely, if you’re the type who prefers pre-Vatican II music, you might consider attending our 5pm Mass with a more modern flavor. Think of the music as the vessel that holds the water in Francis’ metaphor—our music ministry certainly aims to make it beautiful, but at the end of the day, the reason you come to Mass is to hear the word of God and to receive the Eucharist, and the music is only secondary, right? Of course, if you do come to the 5pm Mass this Sunday, you may get to hear our Worship Band’s newest singer, Tessa Jones, offer a poignant song based on St. Ignatius’ Suscipe (see epigraph above), which is one of those prayers that I think captures very well the spirit of Ignatian Indifference.

 

For now, allow me to leave you with these words from another song that’s popular on the radio these days:

 

God, thank you for sunshine, thank you for rain, thank you for joy, thank you for pain. It’s a beautiful day! …And thank you for this life, sorry I complained. The ups and the downs is just a part of the game. It’s a beautiful day!

- Akon, Beautiful Day, 2025

 

With my peace,

Carlo Serrano, Music Director

Pax...

August 17, 2025
20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

“Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”

- Luke 12:51

 

“With these it is honorable to contend, and to set the battle constantly in array against them, and to glory in holding opposite sentiments, so that even though it be a father that believes not, the son is free from blame who contradicts him, and resists his opinions.”

- St. Cyril of Alexandria, Commentary on Luke, Sermon XCIV

 

“But in this passage, above all, we must strive to grasp the spiritual sense. To take it literally or in a simplistic sense would bring upon ourselves an accusation of harshness. But when you look deeply into the figurative and mystical sense, the seeming harshness is tempered. This is important because our holy religion has always shown humanity in its teaching, and has shown by example with what affection we must treat each other. By its kindness and humility it inclines even those who are exiled from the Faith to treat religion with respect.”

- St. Ambrose of Milan, Commentary on Saint Luke’s Gospel, Book VII

 

Before I started working here, my previous music director job was at a small UCC church in upstate New York. Their pastor at that time really wanted me to select music that matched her sermon topic for each Sunday, so she’d send me her itinerary of sermon topics that she had apparently planned out months in advance. I thought, “wow, that’s some next-level preparedness!” 

 

Bringing what I learned from that experience to my current work, I decided to play a little game with myself here at St. Joe’s: I’d challenge myself to predict how each of our Priests would preach on any given Sunday. I’d look at the readings and go, “Hmmm… What would Fr. Bryan, or Fr. Ssenfuma, or Fr. Charles say about these readings?” Sometimes the readings make it obvious, but other times, like with this Sunday’s Gospel in particular, I’ve found that Priests can vary in their interpretations. One thing I’ve started doing to help me in this little game of mine is to consult different Scriptural commentaries, usually ones from the early Church Fathers. Would you believe that the Church Fathers also varied greatly in their interpretations?

 

I recall when this Gospel came up a few years ago, I found myself thinking, “but… but… I like peace! Why would Jesus want to bring about division instead of peace???” So at the 5pm Mass, I played Let There Be Peace On Earth as a prelude. Fr. Joseph Kim, who was our Parochial Vicar at that time, seemed to sense my thoughts—when he began his homily, he said something like, “I’m reminded of the very beautiful hymn Let There Be Peace On Earth. Doesn’t Jesus want peace?” He then went on to share his interpretation of that Gospel, and I must say, it was an interpretation I would’ve never expected. He said that Jesus was ultimately declaring war on selfishness. I was like, “Ok, I didn’t see that coming, cause I figured this was gonna become about how some people believe in Christ and some don’t and how that’s gonna cause families to be divided and stuff.” I mean, that certainly seems to be the literal interpretation, and the one taken by Cyril of Alexandria, as in the epigraph above.

 

But as I’ve found after doing more reading into the Church Fathers’ commentaries, Fr. Joseph’s interpretation seems very similar to that of Ambrose of Milan, whose commentary on the Gospel of Luke is characterized by the recurring theme of God’s immeasurable mercy. For St. Ambrose, what Jesus describes as a divided household represents the human person, rather than a literal family of persons. Ambrose interprets “two against three” to refer to the human person (a composite of body and soul, hence “two”) being divided between three modes of being—rational, covetous, or passionate.

 

Are we to believe that He demands disunion among His dear children? How, in that case, can He be “our peace, who has made both one” (Ep 2:14)? How is it that He Himself said “My peace I give you, My peace I leave you” (Jn 14:27)? How can He say these words if He has come to divide parents from their children, children from their parents, and so dissolve the bonds that bind a family together? …It seems to me that we should seek in the passage a profounder meaning…

 

One household represents the human person in his oneness… “Two” we can take to mean body and soul… Now that we have seen who are the “two,” we must equally recognize who are the “three.” This is something we can reason out from the premises already established. The soul, you see, has three modes of being: it can be rational; it can be covetous; it can be passionate…”

- St. Ambrose, Commentary on Luke, Book VII

 

See, doesn’t that sound remarkably similar to Fr. Joseph’s interpretation that Jesus was declaring war on selfishness? I’m now wondering if that was something they took up in seminary. See, I’ve always wondered what types of things the Priests study in “Priest school,” but I suppose that’s a topic for another time! As far as music is concerned, I must confess that I’m still in the space of “but… I like peace!” so you can expect some peace-themed songs at this Sunday’s Masses. And if you so happen to attend the 5pm Mass, you may hear Eloise Mascitti from our children’s choir, whom I’ve invited to sing one of my favorite peace-themed songs…

 

With my peace,

Carlo Serrano, Music Director

On main quests, side quests... and the Beatitudes

One question I hear fairly often around this time is “how’s your summer going?” Honestly, I think I have waaaaaay too much free time! And I must confess that I end up spending more time playing videogames than I should… Now if you’ve played a bunch of Action/Adventure/RPG videogames (or if you ask your kids about it haha), you may have noticed how in most games, there’s a “main quest,” which is the primary thing you have to accomplish to beat the game, and then there’s “side quests,” which are other things you could do but are not essential. The game developers of course know that different players have different attitudes toward quests, so they design the game such that players have the freedom to play it the way they like. Some players want to finish the game as quickly as possible, so they focus solely on the main quest. Other players like to explore every single side quest, collecting every possible item, trophy, etc., since they feel it gives them a fuller experience of the game. Ok Carlo, why all the videogame talk?

 

Well, this Sunday’s liturgy deals with focusing on the things that are truly important to God. My friends know how I tend to think (and overthink!) about things a lot, and I’m thankful to have been able to talk through some of those things with our wonderful Pastor, Fr. Bryan. Among other things, we talked about distinguishing between “wants” and “needs,” how the word “deserve” is used in common parlance, and how one reconciles self-care with Christianity’s emphasis on self-denial. Underlying all of this was a question I had been wanting to ask different Priests for a while now: Assuming God wants us all to be happy with Him for all eternity in Heaven (our ultimate goal), and that God wants us to live good moral lives while on earth, does God also want us to be happy on earth? I think it’s a fair question, especially if we consider that there are a lot of people out there who live very good and moral lives yet seem… honestly… very unhappy. To phrase my question in videogame language: Assuming our main quest is to find eternal happiness with God in Heaven, and to live a good and moral life on earth, is happiness on earth also part of the main quest, or is it just a side quest?

 

As you can imagine, our conversation went on for quite a bit! I mean, just the word happiness itself has been the subject of much disagreement among philosophers, theologians, psychologists, and life coaches. Fr. Bryan noted how the original Greek word for blessed as it appears in the Beatitudes could also be translated as happy, and we acknowledged the paradoxicality of it—the types of people described in the Beatitudes, after all, would seem kinda… unhappy. I won’t go too much into the details of our conversation (and despite what I’ve shared here, I’d still prefer to keep most of it private), suffice it to say that it was very fruitful, and I’m privileged to be able to serve under a pastor like Fr. Bryan.

 

Speaking of the Beatitudes, sometime back in February, Mateo Sevigny from our Youth Choir played piano at Mass for the very first time. The song was Blessed and Beloved/Bienaventurados, hymn #726 in the current edition of our hymnal. If you missed the Family Mass on that day (it was a very snowy day!), click here to see Mateo singing and playing at Mass!

 

With my peace,
Carlo Serrano, Music Director