Advent is the light of Christ coming

Lord My Chef Simbang Gabi Recipe for the Soul by Fr. Nicanor F. Lalog II
Wednesday, Simbang Gabi-XIX, 24 December 2025
2 Samuel 7:1-5, 8-12, 14, 16 <*((((>< + ><))))*> Luke 1:67-79
Photo by author, sunrise at Lake of Galilee, the Holy Land, May 2019.

Being an early riser or “madrugeño” in Spanish, I have always loved and preferred early morning Masses because churchgoers at that time are mostly silent, either still sleepy or simply truly reverent.

Though sunsets are more colorful and dramatic like a spectacular show – a palabas in Filipino -sunrise is different because it is more of paloob, of inside movement that is subtle yet intense when light steals into shadows as the sun isgradually breaking open the darkness to reveal what is unseen. Our local term for sunrise or breaking of dawn says it all, pagbubukang liwayway.

There lies the beauty of our Simbang Gabi especially on this final day of our novena when we are slowly seeing the light of Christ’s coming. It is hoped that in these nine days of prayers and reflections on the Sacred Scriptures, we have been enlightened about the the true meaning of Christmas, of how it continues to come and happen in our modern time so darkened by sin and evil.

On this final day of our Simbang Gabi, we reflect on the wonderful aftermath of the assertions by Elizabeth and later by her husband Zechariah on the name “John” meaning “God is gracious” being given to their child as instructed by God. Suddenly, Zechariah who was rendered deaf and mute following his unbelief in having a child, sang praises to God!

Zechariah his father, filled with the Holy Spirit, prophesied, saying: “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; for he has come to his people and set them free. He has raised for us a mighty Savior, born of the house of his servant David… In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace” (Luke 1:67-68, 78-79).

Painting by Italian Riccardo Cessi in 1892 of Zechariah giving name to his son John;from commons.wikimedia.org.

In singing the Benedictus, Zechariah affirmed and confirmed in himself the reality and truth of God being present in our lives.

Many times we are like Zechariah that even if we pray, celebrate the Masses, do all the devotions but still deep inside, doubt God’s reality that we simply do all this sacred rites and traditions just for the sake of doing them.  Last week at the start of our Misa de Gallo, we have invited you to reassess and examine the reason why we are keeping this sacred tradition.  Is it because of special favors we are asking from God or is it because we want to see God?

The late American Trappist monk Thomas Merton said in one of his writings that seeking God is not like searching for a “thing” or a lost object because God is more than an intellectual pursuit or a contemplative illumination of the mind. Merton explained that God reveals Himself to us in our hearts through our communion and fellowships in the Church. 

Photo by Ar. Philip Santiago, Benedictus on the wall of the patio of Church of St. John the Baptist in Ein-Karem where he was born.

In singing the Benedictus, Zechariah realized God’s presence and His coming communion throughout Israel’s history, from the Patriarchs down to the birth of his son John who would prepare the way of Jesus Christ.  The Benedictus describes to us the coming of the Christ as expected by the people of Israel in the Old Testament and that is why, unlike Mary’s Magnificat, it is in the future tense. While Zechariah mentions the mission of his son John, the main focus of the Benedictus is Jesus Christ who was about to be born six months later at that time. 

Therefore, when we who believe in Jesus as the Christ or Messiah expected by the people of Israel in the Old Testament, the Benedictus becomes an affirmation of God’s presence in us and among us today and forever.

It is in this most sublime expression by Luke we find Christ’s coming like the breaking of dawn like shafts of light bursting forth, “In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” It is in this breaking of dawn we find and experience the poetry of sunrise that is more of the heart than of the eyes we mentioned earlier.

After seeing the coming of the Christ in the birth of his son John, Zechariah now summarizes to us the very essence of Jesus our Savior, of God Himself: tender compassion or in the original Greek, splaghna or “tender mercy” of God.

It is not just compassion which is to suffer with us but at the same time be filled with tenderness that one is so moved to reach out, to do something by going down with the one suffering.

Like courage, mercy is a movement in the heart called misericordia in Spanish from the Latin mittere, meaning to be moved, to be stirred. It is something dynamic, not static. It is a deep feeling that moves toward someone in pain and suffering. An identification of Jesus with every person going through so much hardships and sufferings in life.

Ar. Philip Santiago reverently kissing the very site of John’s birthplace in Ein-Karem, October 2025.

See now the culmination of movements we have mentioned in Luke’s Christmas story: last Saturday at the Annunciation to Mary, the Angel mentioned the “overshadowing of Holy Spirit” on her in bearing our Savior; today in the Benedictus, there is the moving or stirring of the heart in Zechariah. Whenever we allow God to overshadow with His powers, our hearts are moved to love more, to be tender like God.

Zechariah’s heart is no longer hardened with negativity and cynicism – it was so stirred by God that he mentioned His tender mercy or compassion because he had personally felt it as he recovered his voice and speech. With the birth of John, he now believes that God’s love for his suffering people is deep and personal.

And that is perhaps one of the things we sorely lack in our history as a nation especially during the decadent years of the last Administration – the utter lack of tenderness by our officials and their kawatan in corruption. Wala silang awa at habag sa taong-bayan.

Recall the tender compassion, tender mercy of Jesus, how during His ministry all four evangelists would narrate Jesus was moved with pity and compassion to the people who were lost, tired and sick “like sheep without a shepherd” that no matter how tired He may be, He would always find time to teach them, heal their sick, and even feed them. That is the mercy of God that Jesus had brought forth to us in His coming, experienced by Zechariah himself that he could foresee its coming at the birth of John.

Photo by Ar. Philip Santiago, Filipino translation of the Benedictus on the wall of the patio of Church of St. John the Baptist in Ein-Karem where he was born.

That is the Benedictus, the song of every faithful disciple of Jesus introducing His coming, His birth. So many people have forgotten God, do not know God, refused to believe in God because many among us He had lavishly loved have refused to share His love with others, choosing to remain in the darkness of the night, thinking more of themselves and of their hurts and pains that they revenge with by stealing billions of money.

How lovely to think that God’s tenderness moves in us like the breaking of dawn, of shafts or streaks of lights slowly penetrating, bursting forth through cracks in the skies, in our homes and even right in our very selves. Bask in that light saw by Zechariah, shared by John the Baptist his son. Amen. Have a blessed and meaningful Christmas! Thank you for following our reflections. Share it and let it be shafts of light to somehow illumine the darkness in others.

Beauty and blessedness at sunrise

Quiet Storm by Fr. Nick F. Lalog II, 05 May 2022
Photo by author, sunrise at the Lake of Tiberias (Galilee) in Israel, May 2019.

Our gospel last Sunday spoke of the Risen Lord’s third appearance to his disciples at the Lake of Tiberias. No one, except the beloved disciple recognized Jesus standing at the shore after he had told them to cast their net to the right side of the boat that led to their plentiful catch of fish.

When it was already dawn, Jesus was standing on the shore; but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, have you caught anything to eat?” They answered him, “No.” So he said to them, “Cast the net over the right side of the boat and you will find something.” So they cast it, and were not able to pull it in because of the number of fish. So the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord.” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he tucked in his garment, for he was lightly clad, and jumped into the sea.

John 21:4-7
Photo by author, sunrise at Lake of Tiberias, May 2017.

I love the way it is narrated. What a wonderful interplay of realities, of John the beloved recognizing Jesus standing at the shore upon seeing the many fish caught in their net!

The story speaks of the beauty of every sunrise many of us seem to take for granted, of how so many of us miss the beautiful sight and silence of the morning. It is a story of every new day filled not only with promises but in itself a blessing we can surely experience when we first recognize Christ present in us.

That is perhaps one problem with us who always prefer spectacular sights and events to find God.

Unlike sunset, sunrise does not have radiant displays of colors and shades. It is very simple which is the lesson of Easter to us, of how our great God comes to us in the simplest moments of life. Recall too that Jesus was born in the middle of the darkest night of the year when everyone was asleep and rose from the dead very, very early in the morning that no one had seen! And here lies one of the wonderful mysteries in life – the hiddenness of God!

It is in God’s hiddenness that we can find him not because he is hiding but inviting us to be hidden in him too. That is the beauty of sunrise when you have to wake up early to see the beauty of life unfolding, awaiting something we are totally unaware of what is going to happen next. It is easier to wait for the sunset because you have been up and going the whole day; you just have to stop and pause for a while to await the sun going down.

Photo by Ms. Jo Villafuerte, sunrise at Atok, Benguet, September 2019.

Sunrise is different. It is like awaiting a total stranger, compared with sunset after we have befriended the the day about to end.

Every morning when we wake up, we do not know what is in store for us. Some people are excited, others are not while the rest simply got the blues or too lazy to work and study that they would rather sleep more.

Maybe that is why sunrise is more subdued with its hues and shades. Like God, sunrise is so kind, very accommodating with everyone, no spectacular display of colors so that one could buy his own time on whether to go out and move or snuggle more in bed, alone or with somebody else.

Like a beloved someone or God himself, sunrise looks soft and calm, reassuring everyone the day ahead would be just fine for us all.

Its light is so gentle, though bursting filled with life but never insistent to the eyes, so gentle. This we feel in our favorite word and activity every morning – breakfast – which came from the literal “breaking of fast” the night before by the monks in the monasteries. We can feel this gentleness of sunrise in that Christian hymn Morning Has Broken, whether you sing it or listen to Cat Steven’s cover or to its original Gaelic Scottish tune. And along this line, we find sunrise as the sweetest breaking of all in Angela Bofil’s 1981 love song Break It To Me Gently.

Photo by author, sunrise at Camp John Hay, Baguio City, November 2018.

Sometimes, sunrise can be a bit wild, bursting with light that can penetrate one’s soul with its light traveling so fast, eager to cover the whole surrounding with the good news of life coming.

Think of the Beatles’ 1969 Here Comes the Sun with its lovely guitar introduction, assuring everyone, especially your beloved “little darling” that “it’s all right” with “smiles returning to the faces.”

Photo by author, sunrise at Bolinao, Pangasinan, 20 April 2022.

That is the most beautiful part of catching the sunrise when all is silent with you all alone, listening to Jesus whispering, “Little darling, it’s all right” because whatever had happened yesterday, with all your sins and mistakes, are all forgotten and forgiven. Today is a new beginning, like what he told Peter in last Sunday’s gospel when he asked him thrice, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Photo by author, sunrise at Bolinao, Pangasinan, 20 April 2022.

Peter was distressed that Jesus had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep… And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”John 21:17, 19

John 21:17, 19

It is said that whatever one feels in describing the sunrise is one’s perception of love – warm and refreshing, joyful and so alive, filled with hopes and raring to go.

Sunrise is beautiful because it is when we experience closest with our truest self, with those most faithful and loving to us, and most of all, with God, our very root and being. Every morning is the fulfillment of Zechariah’s prophecy of each of us becoming a John the Baptist whose name means “graciousness of God.” This we pray every morning in the Benedictus (cf. Lk.1:68-79):

In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us, 
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the
     shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

May you be blessed every morning, every day of the week. Amen.

Photo by Ms. Jing Rey Henderson, sunrise at Dumaguete City, Negros Oriental, 27 April 2022.