With Joy and Anticipation
Several themes emerge from the readings of the 32nd Sunday (the third to last Sunday) of the liturgical year: commitment, faithfulness, perseverance, and readiness. Since these are all hallmarks of the wise, Wisdom may well be considered the overriding theme.
The First Reading (Wis 6:12–16) focuses on divine wisdom. The anonymous author of the deuterocanonical book of the same name effectively addresses the question of the happiness of the just versus the misery of the unjust. Living in an environment that prized a materialistic lifestyle, he counters it by providing a rational basis for a life of faith. The author was likely a Jew based in Alexandria, an Egyptian city then in the grip of worldly-wise Hellenism. While the Greeks viewed wisdom primarily as a product of human reason and intellectual contemplation, this author presents Wisdom as a practical way of life rooted in covenantal revelation. He goes on to identify wisdom with the Spirit of God. This is one of the many aspects of the faith that distinguishes it so sharply from surrounding idolatrous religions.
Wisdom is thus a form of divine revelation – God acting in the history of a world created by His wisdom. Wisdom prefigured the love of God and culminated in Jesus Christ, who is explicitly called the ‘Wisdom of God’ (cf. 1 Cor 1:24, 30). It is this Incarnate Wisdom who exhorts us in the Parable of the Ten Virgins: ‘Watch, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.’
These words conclude today’s Gospel (Mt 25:1–13), a story exclusive to St Matthew regarding a sundown wedding ceremony. Traditionally, a bridegroom, accompanied by his family and friends, would walk to the bride’s home for preliminary rites. Afterwards, the bride would return with them in a nuptial procession through the streets to the groom’s home. The attendees carried their own torches, and upon arrival, bridesmaids welcomed and assisted the bride.
Interestingly, the parable makes no mention of the bride, perhaps because the narrative begins mid-journey with the groom's return. Furthermore, the focus remains entirely on the preparedness of the bridesmaids rather than the bride. Because the exact arrival time of the bridal party was unpredictable, it was essential for the bridesmaids to remain vigilant. Unfortunately, five of them were not.
When, where, and why did Jesus tell this parable? It is a continuation of the Discourse on the Mount of Olives (cf. Mt 24) regarding the end times. Jesus wanted His disciples to know that the ten virgins represent the visible Church on earth – encompassing both the faithful and the complacent – waiting for the Lord's return. The oil they carry represents not just interior grace, but faith active in works of mercy and almsgiving. This explains why the wise virgins could not share their supply; personal conversion, character, and righteous deeds cannot be borrowed or transferred on Judgment Day. Those who possess this active faith when the Groom (the Saviour) returns will be invited to the wedding feast (the Kingdom of Heaven). Christ is the Bridegroom, and His Bride is the Church – a fulfilment of the Old Testament imagery of God as the Husband of Israel.
As for believers today, what should we be doing when the world ends? Nothing extraordinary; we should simply go about our daily lives faithfully, grounding our routine actions in love.
And what about those who have died before us? In the Second Reading (1 Thes 4:13–18), St. Paul states that we have no reason ‘to grieve as others do who have no hope.’ To show that our ancestors have not died in vain, he writes that the dead in Christ will rise first, and the living will be ‘caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.’ In the ancient world, citizens would go out of their city gates to meet an arriving emperor (apantesis) and joyfully escort him back into their home. Thus, Paul is not describing an escape from the world, but a glorious welcome-procession where the living and the dead rise to greet Christ as He descends to establish His final kingdom on earth.
‘Therefore,’ Paul concludes, ‘comfort one another with these words.’ However, to truly comfort one another, we must be united in mind and heart. Are all Christians aligned regarding doctrine? Are the Ten Commandments genuinely cherished and practised? Do we live with the reality of Heaven, the angels, and the saints in mind? Do we truly believe our purpose is to know, love, and serve God? Can we say with the Psalmist, ‘For you my soul is thirsting, O God, my God’? Are sin and grace treated as absolute realities, or as mere trivialities?
As the liturgical cycle draws to a close, the readings of these final Sundays veer toward the eschatological nature of God’s kingdom outlined in Matthew 25: the Parable of the Ten Virgins (Mt 25:1–13), the Parable of the Talents (Mt 25:14–30), and the Judgment of the Nations (Mt 25:31–46). Providing an excellent transition into Advent, these texts invite us to wait with joyful anticipation for the Lord’s coming.
Christ’s Victory in His Saints
When the Solemnity of All Saints falls on a Sunday, it takes liturgical precedence over the standard Sunday celebrations. The usual green liturgical vestments give way to white vestments and Scripture readings to a dedicated set of readings that do not change from year to year: Revelation 7:2–4, 9–14; Psalm 24; 1 John 3:1–3; and Matthew 5:1–12a.
What makes these readings special is their deliberate narrative progression. They move systematically from a glorious vision of heaven to a reminder of our current identity on earth, and finally to the spiritual roadmap that bridges the two. Instead of focusing on specific historical individuals,[1] the liturgy emphasises the universal call to holiness. It reminds us that heaven is populated by an uncountable multitude of ordinary people who quietly lived out the Gospel in their time.
The First Reading gives us a glimpse of our final destination. In the Book of Revelation, St. John details his vision of heaven. Rather than depicting a tiny, exclusive club, it reveals a ‘great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue.’ The crowd is clothed in white robes (symbolising purity and the cleansing power of Christ's sacrifice) and holding palm branches (the ancient symbol of victory over death). The scene serves as a reminder of the ultimate goal of human life: total communion with God.
This deep desire for communion finds a voice in the refrain of the responsorial psalm: ‘Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face.’ Here, the focus shifts. It is no longer just St. John watching heaven from afar, but the congregation actively expressing their own profound longing to attain it.
The Second Reading, also written by St. John, speaks to us about the here and now. Taken from his first epistle, it reminds us that the journey to heaven begins on earth. Sainthood is a reality under active formation during our earthly pilgrimage, not a status achieved only after death. It begins the moment we accept divine grace and choose to live as children of God. St. John invites us to reflect: ‘See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are.’ We live in the transitional phase of ‘already but not yet’ —already recognized as God's children, but not yet fully transformed into His glory!
While the First Reading shows where the saints are, and the Second Reading reminds us of who we are, the Gospel teaches us how to get to there. Given that heaven is a place of supreme beatitude and dynamic joy, there is no better text for this day than the Beatitudes.
Delivered during the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes serve as a radical checklist for the human heart. Rather than laying down rigid legalisms, Jesus upends worldly metrics of success. He presents a startling paradox: the very conditions the world equates with misery — poverty of spirit, mourning, humility, and persecution — are the exact states Jesus declares ‘blessed’. True happiness, He reveals, is found through an open-hearted surrender to God rather than through wealth, power, or status.
Although this Gospel passage appears elsewhere in the liturgical calendar, its purpose on 1 November is to show that the Beatitudes are the ultimate portrait of Christ Himself. They serve as the perfect blueprint for Imitatio Christi — the imitation of Christ — for anyone striving to conform their life to His. and so a model for anyone striving to become an Alter Christus. Furthermore, because this feast does not follow the three-year Sunday cycle, Matthew’s Gospel is proclaimed every single year. The evangelist's expansive depiction of these eight inner dispositions, paired with eight divine promises, underpins the final spiritual victory of all the holy men and women in heaven.[2]
Finally, the historical evolution of this solemnity adds rich context to our celebration. The original date of the feast was 13 May, marking the day in 609 AD Pope when Pope Boniface IV officially consecrated the Roman Pantheon — originally a pagan temple to all gods — as a Christian church named Santa Maria ad Martyres (St Mary and All Martyrs).
The shift to 1 November occurred during the pontificate of Gregory III, who dedicated a new chapel in St. Peter’s Basilica to ‘all the apostles, martyrs, confessors, and all the just, made perfect who are at rest throughout the world.’ A century later, Pope Gregory IV officially extended this 1 November celebration to the entire Western Church.
The calendar change was driven by both logistical and tactical reasons. Practically, the massive influx of pilgrims travelling to Rome in the late spring created severe food shortages. Moving the feast to 1 November allowed the city to utilise the freshly gathered autumn harvest to feed the thousands of faithful.
Tactically, by the eighth and ninth centuries, Germanic and Celtic lands were actively integrating into the Holy Roman Empire. Because these cultures held major festivals for the dead around late October and early November, establishing the Solemnity of All Saints to 1 November — and followed closely by All Souls’ Day on 2 November — helped the Church Christianise existing seasonal customs. It beautifully shifted the focus away from placating restless spirits towards celebrating Christ’s victory in His Saints.
[1] Originally, the Church only celebrated the anniversary of individual martyrs at their burial locations. However, during the intense Roman persecutions (like those under Diocletian), the number of martyrs became so vast that the calendar could not support a feast day for each person.
[2] The Beatitudes are covered by only two Evangelists, St Matthew (5:1–12a) and St Luke (6:20–26). St Luke’s is kept strictly within the ordinary tracking of the liturgical calendar. They are from the Sermon on the Plain, focusing on the material and immediate conditions (poverty, hunger, etc.) They speak of four blessings paired with four severe ‘woes’ targeting the rich and comfortable.
Por amor a Deus
No Evangelho (Mt 22, 34-40), Jesus responde aos seus adversários. Tinha Ele acabado de silenciar os Saduceus sobre a questão da Ressurreição dos mortos quando foi atacado pelos Fariseus. Estes queriam que Ele se pronunciasse sobre o «Grande Mandamento da Lei». Jesus atribui igual importância aos dois mandamentos conhecidos no Antigo Testamento e resume neles toda a essência da lei. Amar a Deus com todo o nosso coração, mente e alma é o primeiro e grande mandamento, diz Ele, e, pelo segundo, que é semelhante a este, devemos amar o nosso próximo como a nós mesmos.
Mas quem é o nosso «próximo»? Diz-nos a Parábola do Bom Samaritano que se trata de qualquer pessoa necessitada. Aliás, o espírito materialista leva-nos a pensar logo no dinheiro como a necessidade primordial, mas não é bem assim. Muitas vezes, esse próximo só espera o nosso amor, o nosso tempo, às vezes uma palavrinha ou alguém que o escute. O amor pode nem sequer exigir a nossa presença física; às vezes, basta um telefonema, uma mensagem no WhatsApp, um pensamento reconfortante. É claro que nunca saberemos de antemão a quem somos chamados a servir, quando e como. Mas é imprescindível servir: aqueles a quem servimos são o nosso próximo, e o serviço é a expressão do nosso amor.
Mas, afinal, o que é o amor? Disse alguém que «o amor é a coisa mais bela que se pode ter, a mais difícil de conquistar e a mais dolorosa de perder»; mas, longe de o definir, isso faz com que o amor pareça indescritível. Por isso, vejamos como os atributos do amor (1 Coríntios 13:4-7) o tornam palpável: «O amor é paciente; o amor é bondoso; o amor não inveja, não se vangloria, não se ensoberbece, não é indelicado. Não insiste no seu próprio modo de agir; não é irritável; não guarda rancor; não se regozija com a injustiça, mas regozija-se com a verdade. Tudo suporta, tudo crê, tudo espera, tudo suporta».
Concreto, mas nem por isso definido. Isso porque o amor é multifacetado, por vezes muito mal compreendido e até transformado em clichê. Debruçaram-se sobre esse inesgotável tema vários pensadores católicos. C. S. Lewis, no seu livro Os Quatro Amores, distingue entre Afeição, Amizade, Eros e Caridade, mostrando como um se funde com o outro e pode até transformar-se nesse outro amor. Frisa ainda que os primeiros três — os amores humanos — podem viciar-se se não forem acompanhados da graça purificadora do amor divino, a Caridade. E, como disse Santo Inácio, «o amor manifesta-se mais nas obras do que nas palavras».
Compreendemos o amor de forma muito real através da Primeira Leitura (Ex 22, 21-27), na qual Deus nos proíbe de prejudicar ou oprimir um estrangeiro, de afligir uma viúva ou um órfão e de atormentar um pobre. Estas são personae miserabiles — pessoas em situações sociais, económicas e jurídicas difíceis. Aliviar o seu sofrimento é uma obra de misericórdia de que fala o Catecismo: «As obras de misericórdia são acções caritativas pelas quais socorremos o nosso próximo nas suas necessidades corporais e espirituais. Instruir, aconselhar, consolar, confortar, são obras de misericórdia espirituais, como perdoar e suportar com paciência. As obras de misericórdia corporais consistem nomeadamente em dar de comer a quem tem fome, albergou aos sem-abrigo, vestir os nus, visitar os doentes e os presos, e enterrar os mortos. Entre estes gestos, a esmola dada aos pobres é um dos principais testemunhos da caridade fraterna e também uma prática de justiça que agrada a Deus». (Cf. Catecismo da Igreja Católica, # 2447)
A civilização cristã cresceu baseada nesses ensinamentos sublimes e, ao longo dos séculos, atingiu um equilíbrio saudável entre o corpo e o espírito. Infelizmente, com a ascensão avassaladora do modernismo ateu, parece que algumas pessoas se cansaram dos ensinamentos que outrora as nutriram. A consequência dessa degradação está bem diante dos nossos olhos. E com a recente abertura das portas da Europa a um afluxo maciço (refugiados, requerentes de asilo, migrantes), alguns deles declaradamente inimigos espirituais da civilização cristã (ou do que resta dela) – e demonstraram-no incendiando igrejas – será que não precisamos de reavaliar se as necessidades físicas dos vizinhos são mais importantes do que o bem-estar espiritual das nossas famílias? É verdade que o samaritano socorreu um judeu (historicamente, um inimigo religioso e cultural do seu povo) – mas nada do que fez pôs a risco a saúde e a segurança colectiva da sua comunidade…. Não será que a caridade começa por casa… em nós mesmos? Escusado será dizer que os cristãos, antes de mais, têm de levar a sério a sua religião e costumes.
São Paulo preocupava-se com a saúde espiritual do seu povo. Na Segunda Leitura (1 Ts 1, 5-10), elogia vivamente o exemplo que os tessalonicenses deram aos crentes da Macedónia e da Acaia. A Palavra de Deus ressoava através deles como trombetas e a sua fé divulgou-se por toda a parte. Deus era o seu bem supremo, de onde brotava o bem do próximo. Por isso, o Apóstolo das Gentes regozija-se ao constatar como eles se converteram dos ídolos a Deus, «para servir ao Deus vivo e verdadeiro e aguardar que venha dos Céus o Seu Filho Jesus, que Ele ressuscitou dos mortos. E é Jesus que nos livra do temível julgamento que há-de vir».
Hoje em dia, será que, enquanto ansiamos por amar a Deus, ainda oramos para que os nossos protegidos venham a amar e adorar o Deus Verdadeiro? A vida do espírito é mais importante do que a vida do corpo ou da carne. O nosso dia-a-dia tem a ver com o bem e o mal, o verdadeiro e o falso, o certo e o errado. A guerra espiritual é, portanto, uma realidade que não podemos ignorar.
Especialmente no contexto do «cavalo de Tróia» que é a migração para os países cristãos, será lícito permitir que os migrantes minem os alicerces da civilização crista? Reflictamos: até que ponto os inimigos do Cristianismo podem ser considerados o nosso «próximo», sem que a isso falsamente chamemos «amor»?
Não será que o Ocidente – aliás, a própria Igreja Católica – está a sacrificar o seu corpo e alma em nome de uma tolerância puramente material? Não esqueçamos que o nosso dever primário é de amar a Deus acima de todas as coisas… e o nosso próximo – por amor a Deus...
Labutando na Vinha
A imagem da vinha é de facto cativante. Aliás, desde tempos imemoriais, profeta após profeta tem recorrido a essa encantadora característica da paisagem de Israel para transmitir uma mensagem cheia de significado. Sendo a uva um produto agrícola que desempenha um papel importante na economia, na sociedade e até nas tradições da fé judaica e, mais tarde, também cristã, não é de admirar que a Bíblia esteja repleta de parábolas relacionadas com a vinha.
Os comentadores bíblicos afirmam que uma das utilizações mais conhecidas do símbolo da vinha no Antigo Testamento ocorre em Isaías, cujo cerne é apresentado na Primeira Leitura (Is 5, 1-7): «A vinha do Senhor é a Casa de Israel». Aqui, Isaías recorda como o proprietário (que representa Deus) cuidou ternamente da sua vinha (o Seu povo, Israel). E, no entanto, como é que a vinha respondeu? Produzindo uvas azedas (comportamento indisciplinado ou pecado). É perfeitamente natural que o proprietário destruísse tais plantações sem valor — claramente simbólicas da retribuição pelo comportamento pecaminoso dos seres humanos.
Historicamente, a retribuição a que Isaías aludiu foi o ataque militar assírio que o reino do sul, Judá, antecipava, tal como o reino do norte de Israel sofrera anteriormente. O argumento do profeta era que Deus tinha castigado Israel pela sua infidelidade, e que Judá poderia muito bem evitar a sua parte de problemas se mudasse os seus caminhos, seguindo rigorosamente a lei de Deus. No entanto, Isaías não se mostra assim tão optimista, pois Deus outrora aguardava justiça, mas testemunhou derramamento de sangue; esperava pela justiça e, infelizmente, só houve gritos de horror.
A parábola de Jesus no Evangelho (Mt 21, 33-43) recorre ao simbolismo da vinha com um elemento humano mais palpável: substitui as uvas azedas por lavradores rebeldes. Uma vez que espancaram, apedrejaram, maltrataram e mataram os servos do proprietário, e até mesmo o seu filho — todos os quais ele tinha enviado, em rápida sucessão —, ele condena aqueles miseráveis a uma morte terrível e arrenda a vinha a outros lavradores que lhe darão os frutos na época certa.
Que significado tão profundo! Embora o proprietário aqui ainda simbolize Deus e a vinha o Seu povo, Israel, a parte sinistra da cena é que os lavradores representam os oficiais e as autoridades religiosas a quem foram confiadas as almas. Têm sido eles administradores fiáveis dos bens de Deus? O filho aqui referido é o Filho de Deus, Jesus Cristo Nosso Senhor. Será que Israel O respeitou? Não; pegaram n’Ele, que era o herdeiro, expulsaram-no da vinha e mataram-no. E hoje, que fazemos nós? Continuamos a fazer o mesmo sempre que O rejeitamos e pecamos.
Embora muitos tenham abraçado a fé cristã, nem todos permaneceram fiéis. Assim, depois de Israel ter rejeitado Jesus, a fé passou para o Ocidente, onde floresceu durante séculos, cumprindo as palavras de Nosso Senhor e Mestre: «O reino de Deus vai ser-vos tirado e dado a um povo que lhe produza os frutos». Mas, dai a séculos, também essa parte do mundo, depois de ter colhido os frutos da civilização cristã, esqueceu-se, de certo modo, de carregar a velha e áspera Cruz de Cristo. Com uma riqueza cada vez maior e uma confiança mal colocada, o Ocidente, lenta mas seguramente, baixou a guarda e colocou a sua fé cristã em segundo plano.
No nosso contexto moderno, o consumismo e o individualismo tornaram-se as novas «uvas azedas», sufocando a natureza comunitária e sacrificial do Evangelho. E o mais preocupante ainda é o facto de, como afirmou o Papa Paulo VI, já em 1972, que, «por alguma fenda, a fumaça de Satanás entrou na Igreja de Deus».
Jesus é aquela pedra rejeitada que Deus destinou a ser a pedra angular da salvação: «A pedra que os construtores rejeitaram é que veio a tornar-se pedra angular. Foi esta a obra do Senhor, que é admirável aos nossos olhos». Actualmente, a maior esperança provém dos continentes asiático e africano. Por exemplo, num país soberano nascente como Timor-Leste, o povo escolheu a fé católica, e esta tem vindo a crescer cada vez mais (de 20% a 98%). Por seu lado, várias nações africanas têm estado entre os mais firmes defensores da moral e da disciplina católicas, o que se torna evidente na sua corajosa rejeição da homossexualidade, do transgenerismo, do divórcio, da ordenação de mulheres e assim por diante. Os seus cardeais afirmam-se no Vaticano, e o seu povo — com o seu inegável zelo religioso, a sua resiliência perante a pobreza material e a perseguição, e a sua indescritível alegria comunitária — está entre aqueles para quem a Vinha de Deus é uma imagem de esperança.
No entanto, mesmo quando as questões sociais, políticas, económicas e ambientais do nosso frágil planeta começam a assumir proporções apocalípticas, sejamos pessoas cheias de esperança — não uvas da ira, mas da doçura. Na Segunda Leitura (Fil 4, 6-9), São Paulo aconselha: «Não vos inquieteis por coisa alguma, mas em tudo, pela oração e súplica, com acção de graças, apresentai os vossos pedidos a Deus. E a paz de Deus, que está acima de toda a inteligência, guardará os vossos corações e as vossas mentes em Cristo Jesus». É exactamente isto que o cristão moderno precisa para continuar a ser um cacho de doçura num mundo amargo, cultivando o que é verdadeiro, honroso, justo, puro, amável, gracioso, excelente e digno de louvor.
Courage to change course
The problem of evil is as ancient as the Fall in Genesis. And alas, human nature has since remained unchanged. Yet, the readings of today shift our focus away from good and evil in abstract terms to looking at its practical aspects: our personal responsibility and our capacity for conversion.
In the First Reading (Ezek 18:25-28), the Jews in Babylonian exile look for someone to blame. That’s typical human psychology. Stripped of their homeland and Temple, they accuse God of being unfair; they feel they are being punished unjustly for the sins of their ancestors rather than for their own actions. God sharply rejects this view, saying: ‘Is it my way that is unfair, or rather, are not your ways unfair?’
That passage of Ezekiel is a foundational Old Testament expression of key spiritual realities: free will, personal responsibility, inner conversion, the risk of complacency, and the absolute need for God’s grace. That is to say, God looks for personal accountability, not our ancestors’ sins; we are not defined or trapped by our past failings or even our environment. If the righteous turn away from virtue, they fall; but if the sinner repents and does what is right, they preserve their spiritual life. God’s justice is not a trap but a continual invitation to change course.
This capacity to turn around requires a surrender of ego, as St Paul illuminates in the Second Reading (Phil 2:1-11). In what is one of the most beautiful Christological hymns – Carmen Christi, a Latin phrase that translates literally to ‘Song of Christ’ or ‘Hymn to Christ’ – in the New Testament, the Apostle exhorts us to give up selfishness and boastfulness, adopting instead the attitude of Jesus. Christ was divine, yet emptied Himself (kenosis), not of his divine nature but of the earthly manifestation of His glory. He took the form of a servant and became obedient even unto death on a cross. Thus, humility is key; it unlocks us from our sinful patterns.
Finally, the Gospel (Mt 21:28-32) puts human psychology at the centre of the story through the Parable of the Two Sons. When asked to work in the vineyard, the first son initially refuses, but later, feeling sorry, he goes. The second son politely says, ‘Yes, sir,’ but does nothing. Jesus uses this to pierce the complacency of religious authorities. The chief priests and elders are like the second son – professing righteousness but remaining unmoved by the predicament of others. Meanwhile, the marginalised tax collectors and prostitutes, who initially walked away from God, repented at the preaching of John the Baptist and entered the Kingdom of God first.
The core message of today’s liturgy of the Word, therefore, is that God is not tyrannical but just and merciful. He cares less about a flawless start and far more about a faithful finish. God challenges our defence mechanisms and calls us to humbly change our behaviour rather than just our words. True obedience is not found in pious promises but in the ongoing decision to change our lives for the better.
Goencheo Mhonn’neo | Adágios Goeses - XVII
Segue a décima-sétima lista de adágios,[1] extraídos do livro Enfiada de Anexins Goeses, obra bilíngue (concani-português), de Roque Bernardo Barreto Miranda (1872-1935)[2].
| Concani | Tradução literal | Tradução livre
|
| Sezarealó combó sodanche motto.
Sezarealo kombo sodanch motto.
Reddé, paddé zogortay, zaddanchêr kal. Redde, padde zogoddtai, zaddancher kal.
Ar veta mhunn gãindev votçunk lagló, chirddunn meló. Har veta mhunn gaindoll vochunk laglo, chidd’ddun melo. |
O galo do vizinho
é sempre bem gordinho.
Tendo alguém um objecto nada feio, parece-lhe melhor que o seu, o alheio.
Quando os búfalos e os bois põem-se em briga, às cornadas, as plantas tremem, com medo de ficarem molestadas. Quando há entre os de cima questões ou dissidências, os de baixo é que sofrem pelas suas consequências.
A exemplo da jiboia que passara pela estrada, a minhoca também quis passar, mas morreu pisada.
Quando um remediado imita em tudo um rico, liquida-se, arruinado. |
[1] Cf. décima-sexta lista, Revista da Casa de Goa, Série II, No. 41, julho-agosto de 2026, p. 55.
[2] Roque Bernardo Barreto Miranda, Enfiada de Anexins Goeses, dos mais correntes (Goa: Imprensa Nacional, 1931), com acrescentamento dos adágios na grafia dialectal e moderna, pelo nosso editor associado Óscar de Noronha.
Publicado na Revista da Casa de Goa, Serie II, No. 42, set-out de 2026, p. 53
Abbé Faria: one of Goa’s first global citizens
Link to the original interview in Portuguese on Renascenca Goa podcast https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnBCV6fCgTI
ON: September this year [2019] is the month of Abbé Faria, marking two hundred years since his passing… Let’s start by talking about your interest in Abbé Faria…
ISRV: I have such great respect for Abbé Faria that I believe every year is a year dedicated to Abbé Faria. His contribution, in so many ways, is something we must not forget, and I am delighted that you have taken an interest in this figure, this subject and this date.
The person who first planted the seed in my mind to undertake a slightly more in-depth study of Abbé Faria was Mr Matanhy Saldanha. He invited a few people round for tea and discussed whether it might be possible to do something — let’s say, a small museum or some other activity — to honour the great figure of Abbé Faria. At that time, Mr Matanhy Saldanha was a member of the Government, but a few months later he was no longer in government, and the whole project fell through.
But I didn’t lose interest. I’d already started reading up on it, and at that point I discovered that, many years earlier, my brother, Luís, had written an article. When I read that article, I became even more interested, and both Luís and I continued to do a bit of research. He did far more than I did, but I made use of the information he’d gathered to carry out some work of my own later on.
That’s when my interest really took off. But we found more and more information, and more and more people who had, in one way or another, been in contact with Abbé Faria, so it turned into a truly fascinating journey.
FILM ON FARIA
ON: How did you take this interest further? Did you make a film?
ISRV: Yes, I took part in a short course in film-making or video-making. And when we reached the end of the course, each of us had to decide on a project, based on how we would have made a film. When one of my classmates, Cecil Pinto, and I began to delve deeper into our interest in Abbé Faria, we thought, why not make this documentary?
By that point, I already had plenty of material, so the idea for a documentary emerged, and we decided that, since there were people around us who had the relevant knowledge, the film should be interview-based…
ON: To prepare for this documentary, In Search of Abbé Faria https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mdL24UOXVs, can you tell us which authors you read and the people you spoke to, because, nowadays, finding people who know about Abbé Faria’s life must be quite rare…
ISRV: The Central Library was a very rewarding place for me because I was able to read what Egas Moniz says about Abbé Faria, what Gelásio Dalgado says about Abbé Faria, and a whole host of newspaper articles… Gomes Catão and various other people who wrote about Abbé Faria… It’s all on record…
ON: I hope we’ll now take an interest in the information you have provided, given that the Library is really very well organised…
ISRV: Very well organised indeed, and with such a rich collection… And if anyone shows an interest in reading something, they help — they really do help — and it was easier because my brother Luís had already looked into several of these authors, so I knew where to go and what to read…
RESEARCH ON FARIA
ON: You already had some leads… But when you spoke to people, did you find anything new, or was it just a repeat of what was in the books?
ISRV: We found two people. We knew these people existed, but we got in direct contact with them: one was the Russian Professor, Mikhail Buyanov. We sent him an email and he replied. He wasn’t very fluent in English, but he replied through a colleague. And we’d already read the chapter in his book Psychiatry and You.
We also contacted a lady, an Italian teacher, who has written several books on Portuguese theatre. She was an Italian, no doubt, but Portuguese at heart, so to speak. She told us things that really made our trip even more interesting… She told us that both she and her husband had collected a great deal of material on Abbé Faria. She was unable to share it with us because, meanwhile, she passed away: Luciana Stegnano Picchio.
So, for those in Italy, it’s quite possible they’ll get more material. And I’m sure there must be more newspapers in France, as well as other records in churches and various other places, and scholars too – perhaps more recent ones…
ON: And in Goa?
ISRV: Here in Goa, we’d already contacted people. We already had an idea of what they knew, but sometimes we came across additional information. For example, Dr Manohar Sardessai. Certain things he said stuck in my mind. The story that the Abbé was supposedly imprisoned at the Château d’If: it’s not history, it’s perhaps a legend.
But what Professor Sardessai said was that here in India, legend is more important than history, and that history does not become reality until it turns into a legend... So, if we think of it in this way, Abbé Faria is as much history as he is legend…
ON: That is why Abbé Faria continues to live on… Did you find any of Faria’s relatives?
ISRV: We were very lucky to find Mr William Faria in Candolim – a great-grandnephew, I believe. We visited Mr Faria and when the film was screened in Panjim, he attended… He was already over 80 years old.
I’d also like to mention that we visited Abbé Faria’s house in Colvale. It was already in ruins by then, but there was a sign that read ‘Solar dos Farias’ (Faria Mansion). It was a beautiful house, though in ruins, and in such a lovely spot overlooking the river and the beach…
ON: Is it the same one with a chapel nearby? Doesn’t it belong to José Nicolau da Fonseca?... It isn’t Abbé Faria’s original house, is it?
ISRV: I think part of it was original and was rebuilt, and now even the part that was rebuilt is completely in ruins…
ON: Well, the people you spoke to must have said something new. Do you remember anything?
ISRV: There are certain things that were said which we can’t really confirm. For example, Professor Mikhail Buyanov spoke of the chess set that was enlarged by Abbé Faria: these things are unheard of in Goa. Perhaps it’s true, perhaps it isn’t, but it’s also an interesting legend…
ON: Did Buyanov ever visit Goa?
ISRV: Yes, he did, and we have a photograph of him near the statue of Abbé Faria.
FARIA’S LIFE
ON: Moving on to Abbé Faria’s life. What were the key milestones in the life of José Custódio de Faria?
ISRV: There were various stages in his life, and all of them, I think, left their mark in some way on his heart. For example, his childhood, the years he spent in Goa aged 14 and 15: I think they must have had a significant influence on him.
One person who is forgotten, let’s say, has not been forgotten by me, for in the play I wrote about Abbé Faria titled Kator Re Bhaji, one of the main characters is Catarina, who was José Custódio’s adopted sister. I am convinced that this girl, who was more or less the same age as José Custódio, must have had some influence on his imagination. When he was in Lisbon – and both he and his father had lost touch with Goa — he wrote a single letter to a neighbour in Candolim and sent an oratório (oratory) to his sister Catarina. One wouldn’t send an oratory to someone for whom one has no affection whatsoever. So, for me, that oratory is a symbol of the attachment he felt for Goa.
Furthermore, in the book he wrote [De la cause du sommeil lucide — On the Cause of Lucid Sleep], there are words in Konkani. He speaks of ‘mutt marop’, ‘tel lavop’, which shows that his childhood was not very different from ours in Goa: the same sort of family, the same family care… So, I think his time in Goa was important in his life.
Then there was the journey to Portugal by boat: what a great adventure! In Lisbon, father and son knew the language and had some contacts, but I think Rome must have been even more interesting — for the father, but even more so for the boy — because he was going there to study, and there must have been teachers, libraries, and books there that made him think of a wider world.
He returned to Portugal and I think that marked a third phase, which must have been quite difficult. We’ve spoken of the ‘Kator re bhaji’ that the father said to his son… Was the father referring only to that particular speech, or to the whole of life — the future that lay ahead of this young man — which wasn’t going to be easy?
What’s more, the father soon found himself shut away in his own home, and the boy had to leave for France. He spent a significant part of his life in France, where he was very well known, and then became completely disoriented because people made fun of him. He died utterly destitute and humiliated.
FARIA’S FATE
ON: One thing that strikes me is that this family never met again…
ISRV: I get the impression that the father always wanted to return because, when he arrived in Rome, he tried to buy the typefaces for Malayalam and Tamil. He was a scholar. He had a love for India and a nativist streak, as we say; so, I’m convinced that they intended to return, but the political situation was such that they were never able to…
ON: His gesture towards Catarina reveals the affective side of José Custódio de Faria. Don’t you think this is a side of Abbé Faria that hasn’t received much attention?
ISRV: For me, personally, there are two aspects that have not been explored: one was this, the family aspect, and the second was the spiritual aspect. He was a priest — let us not forget that. The speech he gave and the research he undertook were on the Holy Spirit. I do not think these were superficial matters. When he was studying the human brain and hypnotism, might he not have been thinking about the human spirit? I am certain that he must have pursued that line of thought. It is a very personal certainty, a personal conviction.
Therefore, certain aspects of José Custódio’s spirit were so intimate that not everything was said, and it was in this spirit that I wrote that play…
[Next, Catarina’s song, composed and performed by classical guitarist Rui Lobo for the play Kator Re Bhaji]
ON: In this whole story of Abbé Faria, there is much more to be done in terms of research in archives and libraries, talking to people, and so on, but also in terms of the tribute itself… So, what remains to be done?
ISRV: Professor Matanhy had the idea that the house in Candolim could be turned into a museum without too much difficulty, because the house now belongs to the Provedoria, but it didn’t go ahead. It’s something that can be done now.
Another suggestion we put forward at the time was that the Indian Government could have issued a commemorative stamp. The Portuguese Government produced a first-day cover featuring a bust of Abbé Faria. In India, we have done nothing of the sort. I believe that not only in Goa but throughout India, people need to learn about this figure — perhaps one of our first global citizens.
ON: With these very interesting words from you and your perspective, we thank you for this interview and hope that you will continue to take an interest in Abbé Faria!
ISRV: Thank you!
Isabel de Santa Rita Vás has been a teacher by profession for over three decades, and is now retired; she taught in school, college and is on the guest faculty of Goa University. She is a founder member of the Mustard Seed Art Company, an amateur theatre group that has been performing plays for the last 39 years. She has written a number of plays, often directs them and has written the scripts of a few video-films commemorating interesting Goan personalities like Abbé Faria, Dr José Pereira, and writer Victor Rangel-Ribeiro, all made in collaboration with Cecil Pinto.
First published in Revista da Casa de Goa, Series II, No. 42, Sep-Oct 2026, pp 68-72
A Whole Life in Christ
One of the most profound truths of Scripture is that ‘man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.’ This was originally said by Moses to the Israelites (Deut 8:3) to remind them that God sustained them with manna in the wilderness. Jesus famously quoted it (Mt 4:4) to defeat temptation, emphasising that, like physical food, spiritual food is indispensable.
Today’s readings turn the spotlight on just that — physical food — but the final thrust is on the spiritual nourishment. In the First Reading (Is 55:1-3), the Lord calls us who are thirsty to come to the water; those who have no money, to come and receive grain, drink wine and milk — all of it for free. But He does not stop there. He comments on earthly food, saying ‘Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy?’
Very much so. The bread we eat lets us live; but to live eternally, only what comes from God’s hand can help. Hence, an early church tradition about organised charity says that material relief should be dispensed through the parish structure, where recipients could simultaneously receive spiritual instruction: food for the body and for the soul, hand in hand.
A question that strikes us about the Gospel (Mt 14:13-21) is: why did Jesus withdraw to a deserted place when He heard of the death of John the Baptist? Was it an act of cowardice or of indifference? He was turning away from the noise of the public, to grieve and to pray to the Father for strength to align His human will with the unfolding Paschal Mystery. It was not an act of prudence or cowardice to avoid a premature confrontation with Herod.
The Evangelist does not speak of any protest or even a mere murmur of discontent. The crowds went about their daily chores. We could say they forgot everything else and set their eyes on the Lord – the Bread of Life and the Living Water – who is gracious, merciful, kind, compassionate, just, and truthful, was moved with pity for them. He did not insist they looked heavenward but promptly satisfied their immediate need: physical hunger.
While the disciples wanted Jesus to dismiss the crowds and have them go find food for themselves, Jesus said: ‘There is no need for them to go away; give them some food yourselves.’ Jesus taught them that when God is with us, there is nothing we can want. Just as He partakes of our joys and sorrows, we must show concern and exercise charity in everyday life.
But then, like the disciples who said, ‘Five loaves and two fish are all we have here,’ we too complain that we don’t have much, don’t we? Instead, why not simply fall back on God, who is our Provider and Physician? Jesus teaches us a lesson in how to ask God, in how to pray. As the Gospel says, ‘Looking up to heaven, He said the blessing, broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, who in turn gave them to the crowds.’
Beyond the act of satisfying physical hunger, Jesus provided a powerful prefigurement of the Holy Eucharist by performing the exact actions of taking, blessing, breaking, and giving the loaves. It is not a symbol but a reality, not just a remembrance but true sustenance. Several saints and mystics have subsisted entirely on the Holy Eucharist without other food or drink.[1] That’s because God's grace is never scarce; it is a superabundant gift.
St Paul in the Second Reading (Rom 8:35, 37-39) says that nothing should separate us from the love of Christ — neither anguish, nor distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril, or the sword — simply nothing! On the contrary, ‘in all these things, we conquer overwhelmingly through Him who loved us.’
In fact, we can safely say that those who have God have everything; those without Him, even if they have everything else, have nothing. In God alone, we live a whole life.
[1] It is a phenomenon called inedia, mystical fasting, examples of which are St Catherine of Siena (1347-1380), an Italian Catholic mystic and diplomat; St Nicolau of Flue (1417-1487), a Swiss hermit and ascetic who is the patron saint of Switzerland; Servant of God Teresa Neumann (1898-1962), a German Catholic mystic and stigmatist; Venerable Marthe Robin (1902-1981), a French Roman Catholic mystic and stigmatist and founder of the Foyers de Charité association; and Blessed Alexandrina Maria da Costa (1904-1955), a Portuguese mystic and victim soul.
A timeless mandó reborn
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b806zc2yM_g
The recent production of ‘Suryan Uzvarh Fankarolo’ is a masterclass in honouring heritage. Its musical pedigree, the legacy of love it represents, and the cinematic modernisation of tradition make it truly special.
The mandó’s lyrics and music are the work of Torquato de Figueiredo (Loutulim, 1876-1948), recognised as one of Goa’s three major mandó composers, alongside Arnaldo de Menezes and Gizelino Rebelo. This particular gem was composed for the wedding of Riário Moniz (Curtorim) and Helena Quadros (Margão), held on 20 April 1940. The composition was perhaps at the cusp of the decline of the mandó tradition.
The initiative taken by the Moniz family to produce ‘Suryan Uzvarh Fankarolo’ nearly a century after its maiden live performance speaks volumes of the bond between generations. The backstory is deeply touching: as family elders met to arrange the match, the bride’s mother passed away, followed soon after by the uncle who had brokered the union. Despite this immense loss, the marriage went ahead three months later. Figueiredo, known for creating personalised wedding mandós, ensured that the raw emotion of the occasion was captured. He did so by working directly, as was his custom, with those involved—in this instance, Dr. Roque Menezes and Abelardo Valadares.
The third curiosity is the 8:22 minute video itself—arranged, performed, and directed by multi-instrumentalist Victor da Costa (Curtorim). The layered orchestral arrangements, while seeking to balance tradition and innovation in this mandó, provide an almost cinematic quality to the music. The vocal team—siblings Ivana de Delfino Pereira (Soprano) and Natasha de Delfino Pereira (Alto), supported by Siddharth Cota and Victor da Costa—aptly melodise the heartache. Considering that the lyrics in Konkani follow the dialectal orthography employed by Dr. José Pereira in his co-edited book, Song of Goa: Crown of Mandós, it is quite a challenge to be singing a haunting melody in a dialect geographically and temporally not your own.
Recorded and mixed by Andrew Ferrão of 3doors Music Studio, Verna, the audio is paired with sepia-toned visuals of family history, creating a nostalgic experience that brings the original 1940 moment to life. The video includes a poignant a cappella theme composed by Fr. António da Costa, a US-based musicologist who also translated the lyrics of the mandó into Portuguese (see Box) and is the uncle of Victor da Costa.
Beyond preserving the original composition, this project is a significant artistic contribution emanating from Curtorim, the cradle of the mandó. It is a blend of history, sorrow, love, and high-quality production.
(First published in Revista da Casa de Goa, Series II, No. 41, pp 65-66)
Called to evangelise
In modern times, we are often baffled by secular viewpoints that conflict with traditional biblical teachings. We often feel that our deeply held beliefs are out of step with mainstream culture. Some people feel psychological and social pressure to conform to norms and abandon religious practices, or at the very least, there is a loss of religious literacy. We get less and less familiar with Christian teachings and move through our days on autopilot.
It is not so with God. He has worked relentlessly for the salvation of humankind since the beginning of time. That is what we see in the First Reading (Ex 19: 2-6). We see how God freed the Hebrews from Egyptian bondage. He had a soft spot for them; they were a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a people set apart to proclaim His message to the pagan world.
For their part, the Hebrews tried to be faithful to their covenant with God and to listen to His Word. However, they gradually fell by the wayside and turned against Him. When God finally sent His only Son into the world, they put Him to the test and crucified Him. By then, Jesus had already chosen His apostles, whom He then sent to the world on a mission. Ad Gentes.
And what a mission that was! It was not a usual mission, and it continues into our days: the divine invitation extends to us as well. As Our Lord says in the Gospel (Mt 9: 36 – 10: 8): ‘The harvest indeed is great, but the labourers are few. Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He send forth labourers into His harvest…. And having called His twelve disciples together, He gave them power over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all manner of diseases, and all manner of infirmities.’
The power to heal and cast out spirits that Jesus gave the Twelve is the same grace channelled through the Sacraments today. These visible, outward signs instituted by Christ are a way to convey divine grace, sanctify us as believers, and nourish our spiritual life. But alas, technological living very often stifles the life of the spirit; it goes against the supernatural aspects of our faith, such as miracles, or even the foundational Resurrection of Jesus, which are often rationalised, demystified, and distorted.
If we only accepted that our great God gives true and complete meaning to life, we would have consciously and happily adopted a supernatural approach to it; we would have realised that our life goes beyond the present world right into eternity. That is what we are called to do and be. Therefore, the greatest challenge before us is to be evangelically correct, not politically correct.
Jesus declared to Pilate, ‘My kingdom is not of this world.’ He prayed for his followers, stating that they are ‘in the world, but not of the world’ (Jn 17: 11-16). St Paul the Apostle echoed this by commanding them to ‘not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind’ (Rom 12: 2).
God’s command to us all to go out into the world and preach the Good News will be fruitful if we believe deeply in it. Believing is not just an act of the mind but a movement of the heart; it is not merely listening to God’s Word but acting on it with love. As followers of Christ, we need to do whatever we can, wherever we may be.
Thanks to the Good Shepherd, we are no longer sheep without a shepherd; we ought not to be on autopilot. But then, we are often the ones who fall by the wayside today. That is when we must think of our great and wonderful God who, as St Paul points out in the Second Reading (Rom 5: 6-11) reconciled Himself to us even when we turned against Him. He died to give us life; now, we have the privilege of living for Him.
To proclaim God’s Holy Name from the rooftops is our vocation and our mission as Christians: we are called to evangelise, and the undeniable fact is that our hearts will be restless until they rest in God.
Mário, intrinsic to Indian art history
You may also watch this on my YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnLJlzixsA0&t=12s
Óscar de Noronha (ON): Could you tell us something about what you worked on for your PhD, which is perhaps the first one on Mário de Miranda?
Prakruti Ramesh (PR): In my doctoral research, I tried to understand why some of the images created by the artist Mário Miranda were used, beginning in the 1980s and continuing till today, as a form of public art in Goa. You find Mario’s work displayed in government-controlled spaces like the airport, railway stations, municipal markets, the state library, and government cultural centres, but you also find his work in privately-controlled spaces, like restaurants, hotels, shopping malls, and institutes of higher learning. So, I was interested in why these pictures seem to appeal to diverse sets of people in Goa and what they communicate about the region’s history and present. What I did was basically to treat the images as a symptom of longer ranging historical processes pertaining both to Goan experiences of colonialism and to its experience of postcolonial development.
ON: Can Mário Miranda’s work be interpreted as sexist today?
PR: I would say that any form of creative expression can give rise to multiple interpretations. When social scientists like myself study cultural artifacts, what we try to do is to analyse them as evidence of social relations that prevail in a given place, at a given time. Mario’s artistic work offers clues both about the artist’s own disposition, that is, Mario’s individual biography, and about the broader political, economic, and social forces that shaped both the artist and his art.
Mario’s work can certainly be analysed along the lines of gender, but they can also be analysed along other lines of stratification, like class or caste. In connection with gender, I think it’s true that quite a few of his images reproduce stereotypes about women, but these stereotypes need to be understood in relation to discourses and representations that did not originate in the mind of Mario Miranda but were in fact widely disseminated across a range of media in the twentieth century.
I think it is necessary to understand that Mario Miranda wasn’t producing his art in a vacuum. To some extent, he was following implicit or explicit directions given to him by his employers, and his employers were in turn influenced by their perception of the audience that they were catering to. They were also influenced by the professional culture of the print media at that time.
So, for me, the question is not really that of determining whether some of the pictures that Mario Miranda created were objectionable by today’s standards. What I find more interesting is, firstly, what do these images tell us about the time and place in which they were created, and secondly, what processes unfolding today have led to the retrieval of some of these images that he created, in the context of public art and city beautification. Which images are these and how do they relate to the rest of Mario’s work which does not get comparable attention.
And finally, every time an image from the past is extracted from its original context and used in the present, I think it’s interesting to ask how the image itself has changed and what new meanings are given to it by the circumstances of its display.
ON: Is there an anthropological dimension to Mário Miranda’s diaries?
PR: I think the argument can certainly be made that the diaries of Mario Miranda which are currently accessible in English have an ethnographic component. Mario was documenting his day-to-day life with great regularity and with a high attention to detail. The form of these diaries is also extremely innovative because he blended written text with a variety of images, including cartoons, sketches, watercolour paintings, and even the occasional photograph.
But I personally would probably stop short of calling Mario an anthropologist, partly because he never claimed to be one, but also because an anthropologist’s craft includes a commitment to systematic and scientific documentation to the extent possible, of course, and Mario Miranda’s diaries are, clearly, highly subjective portrayals of his society.
But refraining from calling Mario an anthropologist does not in any way diminish the value of his work. The diaries remain very interesting historical resources with which to understand late-colonial Goa.
ON: Is Mário’s legacy yet to be recognised?
PR: One of the things that I noticed quite early into my research is that Mario Miranda has by and large been left out of recent scholarship about the history of cartooning and caricature in India. I’m not sure why this is so, but I suspect that it is because such scholarship has tended to focus on political cartoonists in India, and Mario tends to be grouped under the category of social cartoonists.
I hope that when my work is published it will correct for this omission in academic scholarship, but besides this lacuna which exists in the academic world, I think that even in Goa Mario’s artistic output tends to be very selectively celebrated. Some sections of his oeuvre have received extraordinary publicity while other sections remain neglected. And I think the selective nature of this memorial process is not a reflection of the quality of those sections of Mario’s oeuvre that are currently forgotten; rather, it reflects the values and priorities of those of us doing the remembering.
(First published in Revista da Casa de Goa, Series II, No. 40, May-June 2026, pp 42-45)