Holy Thursday. The phone rang. I rolled over and stumbled for
the receiver while my eyes caught the red lighted numbers flashing on
the digital clock. 5:15 a.m. I cleared my throat and tried my best to
sound pleasant at this rude awakening at this ungodly hour. It was the
alarm security company calling. Zone 2 over the church facility was
triggered. I told the attendant to call off the police and I myself would
go over to investigate the matter. I got dressed in the dark. Tofu refused
to move from his comfortable blanket. So I had to call for him. When it
comes to these matters, I need his nose and loud barking. We walked
over to church. Except for the stars amazingly shining so brightly from
a very clear sky, the whole creation was still deep in slumber. After
checking every room and making sure that all doors were secured, Tofu
and I returned to the rectory. Tofu immediately went back to sleep.
Although very tired I couldn’t find my sleep.
This Lent has been one filled with mixed emotions. I was working
with Bishop Hurley as well as the Bishop of Thanh-Hoa of Vietnam on
my departure from the parish. I had to write and rewrite letters so that
they would be canonically correct. Life can be so unnecessarily
complicated with rules and provisions. Then I had to speak to my
family and especially to my mother. Then meetings with my spiritual
guides. Then often during prayers with my heart and stomach wrenched
and twisted in knots and agony, I cried. Uncertainty is such a harsh
reality to bear. At 44, when one’s life is supposed to be well settled, I
am about to embark on another journey. After thirty years of being
away, I am going back home to live with my parents, my brothers and
sisters and their families. But is it home I’m going back to? I thought
that I had found a home...
In fact, I have been crying at every mass. Looking at your faces
and realizing that the time I have with you is shortened with every
passing moment is incredibly torturous. I for the first time could
identify with the final words of Jesus when he was bidding goodbye to
his beloved disciples. Yes, do not let your hearts be troubled. You have
faith in God, then have faith in me. But unlike Jesus, I don’t know what
my tomorrow will hold. Unlike Jesus, I haven’t a clue as to where my
road will lead. So if I hug you a bit tighter and hold onto you a bit
longer, that is my attempt to savor the blessings that I now am given.
With Jesus, during this Lent, indeed I have been dying.
Jean-Paul Sartre, moments before his death, declared – I
paraphrase: I refuse to let death hamper life. Death has to come to make
life more definable. The admirable Ludwig Wittgenstein also proclaimed
as he exhaled his last breath – and again I paraphrase: Tell them that I
have had a good life. I am telling you all this: the last six years of my
life at St. Mary Magdalen have turned out to be the most enriching,
rewarding, blessing and loving. Eternally grateful I will ever be.
But isn’t this also the gist of Easter? Isn’t this also the meaning of
the Resurrection? Isn’t this the very reason why Jesus took upon his
shoulder the cross and climbed the hill of Calvary? Isn’t this the very
reason why Jesus endured his agony and dying and finally breathed his
last while hung between heaven and earth? Yes and yes and yes and
yes. For there is more to this life than hellos and goodbyes, encounters
and departures. There is more to our everydayness than anguish and
worries. There is more to this human existence than just suffering and
agony, dying and death. Yes, there is love. And love surpasses all. Yes,
love surpasses even time and space.
May this Easter bring you peace. May this Easter bring you joy.
May this Easter bring you love, the love that will enable you in the days
of tomorrow to walk confidently, laugh loudly, play passionately, and
live unafraid. Quintessentially, may this Easter carve deeply upon your
heart this eternal truth: GOD LOVES YOU.