Men of God

Mater Dolorosa Retreat House


If you missed setting aside time during Holy Week, don't feel too bad. There are always opportunities to set aside time for yourself, some time to reflect on your life's direction, some time to just sit back and think. Some time to spend in Sabbath or in retreat.

In the Philippines, at least in my youth, Holy Week was a national religious event, when people stopped working, closed stores and offices, spent time in church and in prayer. Holy Thursday was "Visita Iglesia" when we walked or drove from church to church, to visit the Blessed Sacrament exposed for adoration after evening Mass until midnight. Good Friday was spent at home, in silence, observing fast and abstinence, listening to the Seven Last Words ("Siete Palabras") preached from noon to three at the main Cathedral and broadcasted throughout the islands.

From Good Friday to early Easter Sunday, my parents did not allow us to open the radio or TV or watch the movies, except religious drama (The Ten Commandments, The Robe, Ben-Hur, The Greatest Story Ever Told, A Man for All Seasons, etc.) Good Friday was the annual family retreat day. Now, regrettably, I am told Filipinos are making Holy Week (Holy Thursday to Easter Sunday) a national vacation time, to spend in beaches and resorts -- much like the paganistic spring breaks we see in the United States and across the border.

In this day and age, our lives are indeed getting so busy, there is hardly time to step off the treadmill to check out if we are making any progress. How much time we spend on the phone, on emails, faxes, blackberries, video games, etc. is frightening. We go to fast food restaurants, or if we are home, we finish our meals quickly so we can attend to other things. We are surrounded by the vicissitudes of modern technology, bombarded by multimedia and repetitious advertisement. There's newspapers and magazines, radio and TV, movies, the Internet -- all competing for our diminishing time and short attention span. No wonder, we complain that we hardly have time. Particularly, time for ourselves -- to rest, to think, to meditate, to pray. Or simply to be.

St. Ignatius of Loyola, a former soldier, knew the importance of retreat, in ultimately achieving victory. Thus, he drafted the "Spiritual Exercises" and came up with the concept of a silent retreat. A special time to think, reflect -- take a step back in order to take two steps forward.

On April 4-6, a hundred men will gather at Mater Dolorosa Retreat House in Sierra Madre, a half hour drive from Los Angeles, two hours from San Diego, three hours from El Centro. From Friday afternoon to Sunday noon, these men of God, aged 15 to 85 will say the rosary, do the Stations of the Cross, read Scripture and holy books, attend Mass together, pray for each other, dine together in silence. They will also listen to Rev. Fr. Pat Brennan, head of the Passionist Community, and enjoy his unending stories and patented Irish jokes.

In 1740, St. Paul of the Cross founded a community dedicated to proclaiming Christ crucified and keeping the memory of His passion alive. Known as the Passionists, these dedicated disciples of St. Paul of the Cross specialize in holding retreats centered on the Passion of Christ. Thus, it is an experience to attend their traditional retreats around Holy Week.

The Passionists have been conducting retreats at Mater Dolorosa since 1932. They have hosted thousands of men and women to spend time with God at this sacred place, beside the San Gabriel Mountains. Retreats are held throughout the year, for men, women, married couples, high school students, etc. -- but retreats around Holy Week and Easter are extra special.

A weekend retreat typically starts with retreatants arriving Friday afternoon, partaking of a welcome supper followed by evening conference and prayer service. Saturday morning starts early at 7 AM with prayer, breakfast, conferences, followed with other devotions and time in the afternoon for Penance Service. There is ample time for private spiritual direction and time to take walks around 80 acres of beautiful foothills and walking trails. Sunday concludes with Mass and Eucharist at noon.

This traditional weekend retreat is designed so people do not have to miss work, yet are able to spend worthwhile time, essentially experiencing what Fr. Tom Green likes to call "A Vacation with the Lord".

If interested in joining the men's retreat on April 4-6 at the Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center, please email me at ed.gamboa@yahoo.com. You may check out Mater Dolorosa through their website www.materdolorosa.org. or call (626) 355-7188 for future events.

Another weekend gathering for men is the Benedictus Breakfast to be held on Saturday, March 29th, in Escondido at the California Center for the Arts. The meeting will start with breakfast at 8 AM. It promises to be a cool event. Philip Rivers, quarterback for the San Diego Chargers, will be the featured guest speaker. Named after Philip the Apostle, Philip Rivers is a very dedicated Catholic, regularly attending Mass with his wife, Tiffany, and their three children at St. Michael's Church in Poway. It will be worthwhile to hear him speak on how he balances his life as a family man and a professional athlete, how he keeps his spirituality growing, while getting out into the wide world of sports every weekend as a celebrity. His favorite scripture passage is from Galatians 6:9: "Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time we shall reap our harvest, if we do not give up".

You may reserve tickets for the event ($25 for adults, $20 for teens) by registering online at www.Benedictus1.com. Clergy are entitled to complementary tickets. Tickets will not be available at the door.

Happy Easter!

(Dr. Gamboa can be reached at ed.gamboa@yahoo.com)

Medicine and Spirituality

Reprinted from the Asian Journal
February 8, 2008

Some readers may wonder if the MD after my name was for real. After all, except for two articles about traditional Philippine remedies, I have not written anything related to medicine since starting this column in October.

Well, it is. I earned it back in 1974. For the last 33 years, I have been working as a physician and surgeon -- 13 years in academia and two decades in clinical practice. It is not unusual for physicians to write about religion and spirituality.

That may be because of the very thin line that separates medicine and spirituality. When doctors run out of stuff from their medicine bag to save a patient's life, it is time to call in the priest to administer the last sacraments and "take it from there." Likewise, there is nothing like being hospitalized or going under the knife to encourage serious reflection on things beyond the temporal world.

Dr. Alexis Carrell (1873-1944) was the first physician in the United States to win the Nobel Prize in medicine and physiology. Born and raised in France, he immigrated to the US in 1906 and worked at the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research in New York City. Among other things, he did pioneering work in vascular surgery and blood transfusion. He invented the technique of connecting severed blood vessels after the assassination of the French president. Dr. Carrel was convinced that, if doctors knew how to repair and anastomose blood vessels, they could have saved the president from exsanguinating to death.

Dr. Carrell captured the attention of the scientific world when he described the technique of connecting the artery from the arm of a father to the leg of an infant to save the dying child from intestinal bleeding. He also became well known for his preliminary work on transplant surgery.

What is little known is that Dr. Carrell was as devoted to religion as he was to science. He faithfully made a pilgrimage to Lourdes every summer. He was so enthralled by the miraculous happenings in Lourdes that he wrote about them, stating that it was worthwhile investigating the religious phenomena and subjecting the healings to scientific scrutiny. This stance drew sharp criticism from both the scientific and clerical establishments.

A year after he was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1913, Dr. Carrell married Anne-Marie Laure de Meyrie. They had met as pilgrims in Lourdes.

Another physician who wrote on religious subjects was the famous Dr. Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965). Before entering medical school, he wrote The Quest for the Historical Jesus, the treatise that established his reputation as a theologian. His other religious writings include Civilization and Ethics, and Christianity and the Religions of the World.

In 1904, Dr. Schweitzer came across an article in a magazine appealing for health workers in Africa, so he decided to become a missionary physician. With the help of his wife Helene, who studied nursing so she could assist her husband, Dr. Schweitzer established a mission hospital in Lambarene, in the west central African country of Gabon.

Utilizing funds raised from lectures, concerts (he was an accomplished pianist and organ player), and royalties from his writings, he expanded the mission hospital to seventy units, providing care to 500 hospitalized patients.

Who has not heard about Dr. Tom Dooley (1927-1961), the remarkable young man who studied at University of Notre Dame before joining the US Navy Medical Corps in 1944? After earning his MD degree from St. Louis University in 1953, Dr. Dooley worked as a Navy physician and got involved in evacuating over half a million Vietnamese refugees. Later, he founded MEDICO and focused on building small hospitals in Southeast Asia where medical services were practically nonexistent. Named among the most outstanding young men of America, Dr. Dooley wrote three books: Deliver Us From Evil (1956), The Edge of Tomorrow (1958), and The Night They Burned the Mountain (1960).

Dr. Adrienne Von Speyr (1902-1967) was the first female physician in Switzerland. Her father was an ophthalmologist and her brother was a general practitioner. Dr Speyr was a remarkable person who, despite her uncontrolled diabetes, crippling arthritis, and coronary artery disease, maintained a very busy practice, attending to 60-80 patients a day. In addition to her ailments, she received the stigmata. Yet, somehow, she found the energy to found a lay religious institute. She also wrote or, when she got very sick, dictated (to theologian Fr. Hans Urs von Balthasar, her spiritual director) 60 books essentially dealing with Christian spirituality.

We all know about St. Luke the Evangelist, who wrote one of the four Gospels of the New Testament and the Acts of the Apostles. Well, St. Luke was also a physician, who probably studied medicine at the famous school in Tarsus, and may have worked for some time as a ship doctor. St. Paul in Colossians 4:14 refers to him as "Luke, our dear physician."

Medicine and spirituality run along parallel pathways. Indeed, there is a tradition of physicians writing about spirituality and religion over the centuries.

Miracle at Solana Beach

Reprinted from the Asian Journal
Decembr 28, 2007



Once again, Christmas came -- like a fresh stream of cool water through a sun-baked, blistering desert. It came with jolly Santa on a sleigh, bags full of toys for children, naughty or nice. It came with multicolored lights and parols, melodious Jingle/Silver bells, trees galore and fun-packed malls.

It also came with warm family reunions, friendly gift exchanges, solemn Midnight Mass, and the traditional “Noche Buena”. People the world over came together in joyful celebration of Jesus Christ’s birth -- humankind’s greatest miracle.


The greatest miracle of all reminds me of another miracle, albeit on a much smaller scale. Akin, in some ways, to the tale of St. Joseph’s miraculous staircase in Sante Fe, New Mexico, its sacredness lingers on though more than a decade has passed.

Sometime in 1993, Sr. Dulce Flores, a nun at St. Leo’s mission church in Solana Beach, and my wife Lucie were busy with plans to build a charity clinic. Sr. Dulce was particularly concerned about young mothers -- spouses of farm workers or migrant workers themselves -- who did not have the financial resources to seek prenatal consultation.

Many of these pregnant women, whether legal residents or undocumented workers, did not show up for their doctor’s appointment until they were in full labor and about to deliver their babies. Many times, they ended up in hospital delivery rooms with toxemia or other life-threatening obstetrical emergencies for both mothers and babies.

At a church related gathering one evening, at Harold and Ginger Gaulbert’s home, Sr. Dulce approached Lucie, who had a pediatrics practice in nearby La Jolla, to see if they could put their heads together and build a clinic, specifically to aid these poor mothers, but in general to serve the needs of poor families and their children.

One morning, while Sr. Dulce and Lucie were reviewing preliminary plans at St. Leo’s Church, a stranger knocked on the door. Slightly tall but of medium build, with brown hair and gentle eyes, the stranger had a kind and handsome face. He introduced himself as an architect. He had heard about their plans to build a clinic and he was more than happy to offer his services for free.

Lucie recalls thinking that was a bit strange. Very few, if anyone, had known of the project. But she quickly brushed away the thought. Short of funds, the project could use a pro bono architect. The stranger’s offer was timely and most welcome.

The architect asked Lucie and Sr. Dulce a few questions but he seemed to know exactly what they needed. He did not inquire too much detail about examining rooms, waiting room, or how big a storage space they needed, etc. They showed him the back section of St. Leo’s Mission Church, which the sponsoring parish of St. James in Solana Beach had set aside for the project. Local civic and religious organizations were getting together to raise funds and things were just starting to fall in place.

Several days later, the volunteer architect returned with rolls of blueprint. He showed Lucie and Sr. Dulce and a few other individuals in the room the beautiful blueprints he had designed for the clinic. Lucie remembers looking at the plans laid out neatly on the conference table but could not recall if the architect’s name was printed on them.

Soon, a cadre of volunteer engineers and workers started construction, faithfully following the architectural plans. The functional clinic was completed in a few weeks. Doctors, nurses, dentists, social workers, etc., volunteered to attend to patients on Saturdays. The clinic took off from day one.

When plans for an inaugural ceremony were set, Lucie and her staff put together an invitation list for the event and tried to contact the architect. It would be the proper time to formally thank him for his valuable contribution to the project.

Lucie vaguely remembered that the mysterious architect had introduced himself as Michael. However, she could not recall his last name. She scanned the phone directory and made several calls to local engineering and architectural firms. The clinic staff asked around but not a single parishioner knew who Michael was or where he lived or worked. He had appeared twice at St. Leo’s mission church and vanished!

When Lucie told me about it, I asked if she kept the rolls of blueprint the untraceable architect had left behind. She went to the clinic to look for them; others searched for the precious documents..….they were nowhere to be found.

Wanderlust, Kempis, and Chardin

Who in the world does not want to travel? I certainly count myself among humanity's inveterate adventurers. Indeed, I write this piece on my way to Rome by way of San Francisco. Most Filipinos in the United States, by the mere fact that they mustered the courage to venture halfway around the globe, automatically qualify as bona fide "wanderlusters".

Wanderlust seems like an archaic word. But, in fact, the German derived term first appeared in the English dictionary in 1902, about the time when the effects of the second industrial revolution rendered the world dramatically mobile.

Not knowing any better, I simply assume everyone wants to get out there to see the whole wide world. Strangely, I've met people who have not ventured more than a few miles from their place of birth! When I lived in Buffalo, New York, I had patients who had never seen the Statue of Liberty in Ellis Island! In Southern California, I've known folks who have not crossed the border into Baja California. Why would people not take the opportunity to travel to another country next to their doorstep? In Hawaii, I met several natives in the outer islands who had not surfed or at least trekked along world famous Waikiki Beach.

Perhaps, these souls have been influenced by the famous writer Thomas a Kempis who said: "...they who travel much abroad seldom become holy." (Imitation of Christ, Book 1, Chapter 23).

I think I understand what the German mystic Thomas a Kempis was concerned about. The world, during his time (1380-1471), was not conducive to leading a decent life. He found peace and solitude “only in retirement and in books”. Earlier, around the 3rd century, the Desert Fathers fled to the Scetes desert in Egypt, far away from the reaches of the hedonistic Roman Empire. For centuries thereafter, holy men and women viewed the world with justifiable contempt, cautious about being contaminated by its secularity.

It took the genius of Jesuit paleontologist Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955) to make the world attractive again, for indeed, if God created the world – “The Divine Milieu” -- why wouldn’t it be good? Subsequently, the social activist Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Workers Movement, and the Trappist Thomas Merton made engagement with the world theologically sound. We cannot retire to the chapel even as the world teetered in the brink of nuclear self-destruction. It was imperative that we immersed ourselves in world affairs and play active roles in the direction of history.

The Peruvian Dominican priest Gustavo Gutierrez and liberation theologians of South America remind us that it is good to pray but that we can ill afford to spend hours in the altar while our brothers and sisters go to bed hungry each night because of society’s unjust economic and political structures. In the 1960s, Vatican Council II acknowledged that the pathway to sanctity was through the world, not outside of it.

As Filipinos, we can be proud that our people, in the darkness of crisis, found a way to balance prayer and action. I must say it took a while for us to take action in the face of an increasingly oppressive dictatorship. But we did act. And the way we did it, in the innovated form of people power, effectively blended prayers in churches and demonstrations in the streets. It was such a powerful combination of prayer and action that Lech Walesa’s Solidarity in Poland learned from it, triggering Communism’s downfall, which culminated in the fall of the Berlin Wall. Today, we see the continuing ripple effect of people power in Myanmar (Burma), as non-violent Buddhist monks take to the streets to protest the military stranglehold of their nation.

But, active involvement in world shattering events aside, isn’t it pure joy to travel and marvel at the exhilarating beauty and expanse of the world in which we live? Seeing the world, interacting with people of various cultures and customs, we realize that despite the differences, we are all basically the same – blessed with the same dreams, the same hopes, the same aspirations for ourselves and for the next generations.

Dirt and Divinity

by Dr. Edgar A. Gamboa
Reprinted from the Asian Journal, October 12, 2007


Recently, I attended a talk by the noted Zen master, human rights activist and Nobel Peace Prize nominee Thich Nhat Hanh. The 80-yr-old Vietnamese monk, who drew worldwide attention for his efforts to bring North and South Vietnam to peaceful reconciliation in the 1960s, delivered the keynote address during the 18th Annual Social Issues Conference at the University of San Diego.

Author of over a hundred books on spirituality, psychology, and religion, Thich Nhat Hanh lives in Plum Village, a monastery in France, but travels around the world promoting "compassionate listening, peace, and understanding." At USD, his message touched on the current global war on terror. He spoke about how a peaceful pathway can be pursued if leaders listened to each other with genuine trust and understanding, tremendously difficult as that may be.

Garbed in a Buddhist monk's brown habit and seated in lotus position, he spoke softly to more than three thousand faculty members, students, and a mixed crowd of San Diegans about a wide range of subjects, any of which would easily take up a book's chapter, if not an entire volume. The one topic he dealt with which struck me was the problem of suffering.

Life is soaked in suffering. Entire civilizations suffer from war, natural disasters, poverty, starvation, sickness, crime, injustice, etc. We all desire a pain free life, a world devoid of suffering. Indeed, people often question the existence of God because of this painful reality. If a good God really exists, why is there so much pain and suffering around us?

All major religions have looked into this complex subject. Rabbi Harold Kushner's 1981 book, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," which explored suffering on the occasion of his son's death, was a national bestseller and remains popular. Through the years, the metaphor I've found that gives at least part of the answer is that suffering is a kind of tapestry, a piece of embroidery in the making, which we can only view from the backside. The ugliness and randomness do not make sense to us until later (perhaps in the next life) when we can see the real masterpiece, from the front, from a comprehensive perspective.

Thich Nhat Hanh's Buddhist perspective offers the view that suffering is "mud, garbage, compost" -- ugly, smelly stuff. Yet, the wise gardener knows that mud is essential for roots to thrive. When roots reach deep, plants grow and bear fruits; flowers bloom.

Echoing "the little flower," the popular Catholic saint and Carmelite nun, Therese of Lisieux, the Buddhist monk from Bordeaux, reminded the audience that life is a garden, with a variety of plants and flowers. It needs rain and water, the good things, of course. But, it also needs, mud and compost, the dirty yucky stuff. It is through our pains and sufferings that we develop compassion, tolerance, sympathy, and understanding. It is through our compassion and understanding that we learn to love. And it is by loving that we become more like God.

To paraphrase the idea of the great theologian of the 5th century, St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo: The Divine descended to become human so that we may ascend to become divine.