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