Why a child?

Upgrade to High-Speed Internet for only ₱1499/month!

Enjoy up to 100 Mbps fiber broadband, perfect for browsing, streaming, and gaming.

Visit Suniway.ph to learn

St. Teresa of Avila (1515–1582) once saw a young boy outside her convent. The child approached her and asked, “Who are you?” St. Teresa replied, “I am Teresa of Jesus, and who are you?” The boy looked at her and said, “I am Jesus of Teresa,” and then he disappeared.

On the Feast of the Santo Niño or the Holy Child, it may be good to imagine ourselves bending low to meet our Lord’s gaze as a young boy and saying to him, “I am (insert your name here) of Jesus.” Then try to imagine him reciprocating with a smile, “I am Jesus of (insert your name here).”

For this not to be just a pious exercise, we must ask, “But what does it mean to say, ‘I am of Jesus’?”

Before we can answer that question, it is important to note that many of St. Teresa’s significant religious experiences were of the suffering Jesus. It was a statue of Christ being scourged at the pillar that led to her radical conversion. While already a nun for almost two decades, her spirituality could be described as lukewarm at best. But something in the image of Jesus suffering shook her inmost being that blessed day in 1555, and she was never the same.

St. Teresa wrote, “I desire to suffer, Lord, because Thou didst suffer.” To her is also ascribed this adage: “Lord, either let me suffer or let me die.”

Perhaps this is why the Lord also chose to appear to her as a child. To balance the suffering with the joy and hope that epitomize youth.

This dynamic can also be seen in St. Teresa’s most famous vision: An angel piercing her heart with a fiery lance. While this caused her so much pain, there was also sweetness.

Today, we have become more aware of the malaise of toxic positivity, when we sweep emotions like sadness, disappointment, and anger under the rug of platitudes such as “Look on the bright side” and “Good vibes only.” The suffering Jesus refuses to let us escape the truth: There is something broken in the world, and we cannot simply wash our hands of it. But the weight of suffering can press us down, and cynicism and hopelessness can keep us from rising again. This is why the Child Jesus matters: He lifts our gaze, not with shallow optimism, but with the assurance that God himself has bent low to share our journey. Christian hope does not deny suffering; it proclaims that suffering is never the final word.

Maybe, in God’s great wisdom, this is why, in the Philippines, the feasts of Hesus Nazareno and the Santo Niño are celebrated only days apart. We follow Christ carrying his cross, barefoot in the heat of our streets, then we dance with the Child Jesus in revelry, our feet barely touching the ground.

But how can a child make our steps lighter when we are also bearing the weight of the cross?

I asked a similar question while praying the prophecy of Isaiah in our First Reading today (Isaiah 9:1-6):

…the yoke that burdened them,
the pole on their shoulder,
and the rod of their taskmaster
you have smashed, as on the day of Midian.
For every boot that tramped in battle,
every cloak rolled in blood,
will be burned as fuel for flames.
For a Child is born to us, a Son is given us…

How can the pole on our shoulder be smashed, how can every boot that tramped in battle be given rest, how can cloaks rolled in blood be freed from stain—by a child?

My brain asks this question and makes me shake my head, but my heart reminds me of what my friends who have sons and daughters have told me many times. They come home from work feeling heavy, tired, and spent, but then their young children welcome them, and they feel re-energized and lifted up. The reason for their toil makes every drop of sweat worth it.

My cynical and overly logical brain objects again: “But that situation is different. Those parents are talking about their own flesh and blood.” My wiser heart then interjects: “Maybe this is what we need to do with the Child prophesied by Isaiah and welcomed at Christmas—treat him as our own flesh and blood, as the Child shares our being flesh and blood. This is what it means to say, ‘I am (insert your name here) of Jesus.’”

We are used to calling Jesus Lord, Savior, Kuya. The Feast of the Child Jesus challenges us to also call him Son, the reason why we toil and suffer. And when we toil and suffer, Jesus is also the one carrying our cross and suffering with us.

To my brain, this is a mishmash of mismatched images. But to my heart, this somehow makes sense. Hesus Nazareno and the Santo Niño are two different facets of the same God, both of which we desperately need to be able to say with St. Teresa:

Yes, nothing will disturb me, nothing will frighten me.
All things (including suffering) pass away; God remains.
I have God, and I lack nothing. God suffices.
Solo Dios basta.

We can say this because our Lord tells us, “I am Jesus of (insert your name here).”

Your prayer assignment this week:

Savor imagining this exchange:

“I am (insert your name here) of Jesus.”
“I am Jesus of (insert your name here).”

Warning: My suggested song this week is cheesy, but give it a try. From Air Supply’s one and only Christmas album comes the single “The Eyes of a Child.”

“In the eyes of a child, there is joy, there is laughter. There is hope, there is trust, a chance to shape the future. For the lessons of life, there is no better teacher than the look in the eyes of a child.”

May the eyes of the Child give you joy. And (continuing our Air Supply theme) when you feel “All Out of Love,” may you discover that “Even the Nights Are Better” because he is with you.

Fr. Francis teaches Theology, Education and Scripture at both the Ateneo de Manila University and Loyola School of Theology. As a classroom teacher, he is first and foremost a student. As a professor, he sees himself primarily as a pastor.