Going Home at 40

Coming Home: Paul Walker

more than just being another philantropist, i think kindess will always be something that makes us go home.

I am sorry: Намайг Уучларай (Namaig Uuchlarai)... Confessions part 2/2

Beyond the 'felix culpa' and learning experiences in the school of God's people, I still am excited to be in awe again of the school of healing.

Of recent, in Mongolia, a socialist land that has 0.001 % catholics, I am still in awe and wonder at youths and adults who join their friends in a Catholic liturgy of reconciliation. One may ask why am I being surprised (again)? I am delightedly surprised once again because some of them are not catholics! These are non catholics who knowingly and willingly join their catholic friends in liturgical penitential occasions during advent, during lent, during summer camps, and at times just approaching a priest who was sitting down in a confessional that had a sign written in Mongolian cyrillic “Наминлал” (Naminchlal) which was the vernacular term for 'asking forgiveness.'

In these non Christians, those that comprise the majority of people in our mission presence in the frontiers, the sincerity and desire to seek forgiveness could only be attributed to God's generosity. God, the great Spiritual physician, has provoked them to come also to say their 'own version' of “Тэнгэр Бурхан мийн, Намайг Уучларай” (Tenger Burkhan minh, Namaig Uuchlarai: My God, I am sorry).

After learning from the wisdom of the swamps and rain-forest, once again I ask myself “who am I again to turn them away saying: “you are not baptized yet... you're not a catholic... these are only for Christians.” For all we know, rather than be angry, they simply would not understand why could they not be allowed to say 'sorry.' For in reality these simple souls would be more confused when catholic “monks” refuse to accept them in a confessional when they humble themselves to say their innermost faults and say “forgive me.” Who am I to turn them away in their sincere belief in an indistinct yet merciful God whom their friends said 'forgive sins.'

Who am I even to scandalize them by turning them away from a 'rare occasion' to embrace humility and an opportune desire to be transformed for the better. They trusted their friend. And therefore introduced them quicker to a new God. This “God” is not exactly the same as the one they heard from their ancestors. This God was not only to be called “Тэнгэр” (Tenger: the heavens) as one who is high and distant. This new name of God, “Тэнгэрбурхан” (Tengerburkhan: one among us from the heavens) is in fact so near, He is a refreshingly unique God who prefers to be called “Аав” (Aav) which means Father.

Unlike the first two years as a neophyte in the Gulf, seven summers in Papua New Guinea and thirteen winters in Mongolia have passed and I had the time to be more familiar with the vernacular. Understanding “Халх Монгол” (Khalkha Mongol) a bit more, a confessor or a “spiritual physician” is humbled and is re-educated in the working of divine mercy by what he hears when penitents truly express their sorrow for their sins and asks to be forgiven. It is truly humbling when people “come to confession” with the simple and sincere understanding of what it means to say “Намайг Уучларай” (I am sorry). What makes it unique is because these penitents were not even catechumens but simple people who recognize their faults and seek forgiveness from an invisible spirit greater than themselves. It is like imagining the God of the heavens waiting for them. But He was waiting probably not at the top of the stairway to heaven but was waiting just on the first step of the stairway closest to earth, so as to reach out and embrace them while the stood on earth. Who then am I even to dare say: “You cannot be forgiven” (because you are not baptized yet).

Reading the simple advices of St. Franics de Sales' Confession in his book Filotea, led me to appreciate not only this ministry but the relevance of this sacrament all the more. I have learned through bruises but I am happy to have scars to prove that I wish to learn well from THE spiritual physician. In the confessional with non Christians I do give a blessing knowing that I, as a mere steward of the church, can always make good use of these anointed hands which can heal not only through one noble and efficacious representation of the action of Christ and his Church. There are also vicarious and various ways like bestowing a blessing of the Mother of Christ, with the hope that through her intercession, her merciful Son would forgive these humble souls in ways only the οἰκονομία (oikonomia: economy) of salvation can explain.

I have learned not only through intellectual affirmation but in tangible appreciation that the mercy of God is so expansive. God's mercy is for all to receive and experience and not only for the baptized to enjoy. I have learned that heaven is not only 'booked' (hotel with reservations) for the Christians but is instantaneously (now) open and available for all men and women of good will even if they speak only Orokolo (Ahia language) or Khalkha Mongol.

One might say 'that is nothing new.' True, but it is different when one understands it in his mind than when one sees and partakes of the rejoicing in heaven 'when THE one lost sheep is found.' This has brought me at times at odds with the faith I have learned from classrooms and from life. Tasked with 'being ready to give an account of my faith,' I experience a profound conviction and joy when I say 'my job is not to work for conversion of people' ie. shifting from one religion to another. Instead, I understand 'my mission is to bring as many, if not all, to Jesus.' I would be happier if my task would be made faster when and if some were to request to be Baptized and thus help bring others closer to Jesus and not to some other place.

As for conversion? For me it should be left to describe transformation. From a god-less life to a god-plus life... likewise from a life of sadness to a life of joy; From a life of selfishness to a life for others; From a life of sin to a life of grace. This is for me is conversion. It peeves me when people come up to me after knowing I am a missionary and asks, how many have I converted? 10/10 they meant switching religion.

To sum up, I was wrong to have served the “function of ministering” rather than for whom it was meant to represent. With all deference to my mentors of sacramentology, I remembered how we were responsibly, canonically and judicially to minister the sacrament of confession to many types of people which included the scrupulous and the callous. However I failed to see beyond the priestly scrutinies that assessed the “how to” be stewards of the “keys” of the church. I failed to see beyond the “when and why.” I ought to have remembered “for whom” ie. ON WHOSE BEHALF we stood in for. It is nice to be reminded time and again, that the “keys” to bind and to unbound, we were entrusted with were not only the keys for re-joining the 'ἐκκλησία' (ecclesia: visible assembly/church) but moreover, were entrusted with the keys of heaven's stairwell which led to a Father's waiting embrace as The “βασιλεύς”(basileus: kingdom)

(A Reflection on St. Francis de Sales tract on “Confession”) part 2/2

c:ako

I am sorry: Mi sori tru. Confessions 1/2

The best way to understand a sacrament is when you minister it. And probably the best way to misunderstand and even un-learn it is by not ministering it on God's behalf.

I was newly ordained and immediately assigned as missionary in the Gulf (spelled swamp-lands) province of Papua New Guinea. Together with 'The' veteran pioneer missionary priest of ours, we made our monthly pastoral visit (when there was enough fuel) to a village way inward the rain-forest of the Gulf. Winding through the snake like river, it took us two (2) hours to reach the village despite the a fast outboard motor on our dinghy. With almost the entire morning gone, we reached the village and sat beneath the shades of the their huts. Their homes were built from real all-organic (natural) material. The walls were weaved grass. Their homes were elevated on two (2) meters high stilts. They were elevated for practical reasons to avoid flash floods from the river and the usual visits of snakes.

It was in the Gulf that I began my initial ministry of confessing catholics in mission territories. The tribal language of theirs was obviously a universe of difference from the languages familiar to me. Their language was also different from the central village from where we departed. It seemed like for every meter you moved away from the central village, the vowels and syllables also mutate and evolve into another language of its own. It would be naive to call these dialects in this age of advanced linguistics. My baptism into missionary life before the sanctuaries of the Lord was just beginning when just ahead of me was a celebration of a liturgy of reconciliation in a language I thought I knew well, called mercy.

There was not a single word or syllable I could infer, by way of association, with any root the western world takes its origin from. There was nothing near Latin, Greek nor Hebrew. Needless to say nothing that resembles English or even Malay where some Indonesian, the nearest country to Papua New Guinea, words would have derived. What I was “hearing” in the humble and serene whisperings of these persons in confession was simply other worldly. I was the alien in their world. I was the alien in God's world.

After having confessed the remaining parishioners we celebrated the Eucharist. Having finished all other assistance to them by way of medicines and attending to their other material needs, we traveled back down the river to our parish depot, our base camp for the weekend. Arriving at our base we not only moored the dinghy to a tree but literally had to haul it up the river bank, which was about 3-4 meters above sea-level. Likewise we had to carry the out-board motor for safe-keeping since some people got accustomed to the generosity of nature that they take it for granted to ask permission when taking anything like a pineapple from a neighbors' backyard when everything belongs to their “wantok” (the same clan that talks the one-and-same language).

While eating the dinner we had just cooked ourselves, the de facto parish priest and veteran missionary asked me how did I find my first visit to the people of Ahia, the village in the inner rain-forest of the Gulf we had just visited. It was 'your typical feedback moment' probably because this visit would inevitably be part of many upstream trips I would make alone as part of my ministry.

The first great impression for me was not so much the sight of numerous large fruit bats called flying-foxes, with recorded wing-spans in excess of 1.5 meters, nor the eerie sound of crickets all through the trip. Instead, I eagerly narrated to him, my joy of seeing an opportunity to apply my pastoral training as a newly ordained priest. I regretfully boasted that since I did not understand nor could verify the sincerity of the contrition of the penitent, “I always gave a 'conditional' absolution to each one.” I was so confident to emphasize my application of the practical rule of making a judgement call 'when in doubt, apply conditions.' Oh was I terribly wrong.

I never forgot his answer. In fact I even would not want to forget this night even though it happened exactly twenty years ago. Few I guess would also forget their honeymoon years as I fondly look back at these moments of profound learning from a seasoned missionary I was fortunate to have been with.

“What!” my dear mentor angrily reprimanded me: “who are you to doubt the contrition and sincerity of these people!” My enthusiasm in narrating my pastoral application of my pastoral theory, went from 100 bars to 0 in two seconds. I was mollified.

He continued “who are you to withhold the great compassion and mercy of the Lord to these people!” I was melting cold in my own shame, since there was no one around except the two of us and the myriads of crickets that enveloped the silence of the chilly night.

Oh was I terribly wrong in relying on my mental doubt and on my inadequacy. I forgot all about the confidence and completeness of our merciful God.

Continuing his bombardment on my pastoral 'boo-boo' with all leverage and glory (rightfully) he hammered and honed in to explain truths that one can only admire as wisdom learned far beyond the confines of a classroom. “It was not the fault of these people that you do not understand what they were confessing.” He thundered. “We have no right to doubt, on the basis of our inadequacy to understand nor speak their language, the sincerity of these simple people in the rain-forest who asks for God's forgiveness. When these simple people come, bare-footed in their poverty, to seek forgiveness and absolution from you, a priest, don't doubt. And without “scholastic conditions,” absolve!”

The emptiness I felt for being engrossedly embarrassed was in fact somehow disturbingly pleasant because instead of desiring to close my ears to the powering reprimands, I found myself eagerly hungry for more. His reprimands were in fact very enlightening, purifying and very fulfilling to me and to anyone who understood and equally enjoyed the “power experiences” of God's merciful sacrament as a penitent.

In retrospect, I would reminisce that day as one of the “best practice” moments of my priestly life, when I learned again from scrap. I learned that there was, there is, there will be no reason to be stingy with the mercy of God. All the more am I humbled with wonder at the meaning of “mercy.” Mercy itself is so expansive that it even heals the ills not only of the penitent but its 'spiritual physician' as well. 'Spiritual Physician' was a term St. Francis of Sales fondly used when referring to the ministry of this sacrament.

Beyond the 'felix culpa' and learning experiences in the school of God's people, I still am excited to be in awe again of the school of healing.

Of recent, in Mongolia, a socialist land that has 0.001 % catholics, I am still in awe and wonder at youths and adults who join their friends in a Catholic liturgy of reconciliation. One may ask why am I being surprised (again)? I am delightedly surprised once again because some of them are not catholics! These are non catholics who knowingly and willingly join their catholic friends in liturgical penitential occasions during advent, during lent, during summer camps, and at times just approaching a priest who was sitting down in a confessional that had a sign written in Mongolian cyrillic “Наминлал” (Naminchlal) which was the vernacular term for 'asking forgiveness.'

In these non Christians, those that comprise the majority of people in our mission presence in the frontiers, the sincerity and desire to seek forgiveness could only be attributed to God's generosity. God, the great Spiritual physician, has provoked them to come also to say their 'own version' of “Тэнгэр Бурхан мийн, Намайг Уучларай” (Tenger Burkhan minh, Namaig Uuchlarai: My God, I am sorry).

After learning from the wisdom of the swamps and rain-forest, once again I ask myself “who am I again to turn them away saying: “you are not baptized yet... you're not a catholic... these are only for Christians.” For all we know, rather than be angry, they simply would not understand why could they not be allowed to say 'sorry.' For in reality these simple souls would be more confused when catholic “monks” refuse to accept them in a confessional when they humble themselves to say their innermost faults and say “forgive me.” Who am I to turn them away in their sincere belief in an indistinct yet merciful God whom their friends said 'forgive sins.'

Who am I even to scandalize them by turning them away from a 'rare occasion' to embrace humility and an opportune desire to be transformed for the better. They trusted their friend. And therefore introduced them quicker to a new God. This “God” is not exactly the same as the one they heard from their ancestors. This God was not only to be called “Тэнгэр” (Tenger: the heavens) as one who is high and distant. This new name of God, “Тэнгэрбурхан” (Tengerburkhan: one among us from the heavens) is in fact so near, He is a refreshingly unique God who prefers to be called “Аав” (Aav) which means Father.

Unlike the first two years as a neophyte in the Gulf, seven summers in Papua New Guinea and thirteen winters in Mongolia have passed and I had the time to be more familiar with the vernacular. Understanding “Халх Монгол” (Khalkha Mongol) a bit more, a confessor or a “spiritual physician” is humbled and is re-educated in the working of divine mercy by what he hears when penitents truly express their sorrow for their sins and asks to be forgiven. It is truly humbling when people “come to confession” with the simple and sincere understanding of what it means to say “Намайг Уучларай” (I am sorry). What makes it unique is because these penitents were not even catechumens but simple people who recognize their faults and seek forgiveness from an invisible spirit greater than themselves. It is like imagining the God of the heavens waiting for them. But He was waiting probably not at the top of the stairway to heaven but was waiting just on the first step of the stairway closest to earth, so as to reach out and embrace them while the stood on earth. Who then am I even to dare say: “You cannot be forgiven” (because you are not baptized yet).

Reading the simple advices of St. Franics de Sales' Confession in his book Filotea, led me to appreciate not only this ministry but the relevance of this sacrament all the more. I have learned through bruises but I am happy to have scars to prove that I wish to learn well from THE spiritual physician. In the confessional with non Christians I do give a blessing knowing that I, as a mere steward of the church, can always make good use of these anointed hands which can heal not only through one noble and efficacious representation of the action of Christ and his Church. There are also vicarious and various ways like bestowing a blessing of the Mother of Christ, with the hope that through her intercession, her merciful Son would forgive these humble souls in ways only the οἰκονομία (oikonomia: economy) of salvation can explain.

I have learned not only through intellectual affirmation but in tangible appreciation that the mercy of God is so expansive. God's mercy is for all to receive and experience and not only for the baptized to enjoy. I have learned that heaven is not only 'booked' (hotel with reservations) for the Christians but is instantaneously (now) open and available for all men and women of good will even if they speak only Orokolo (Ahia language) or Khalkha Mongol.

One might say 'that is nothing new.' True, but it is different when one understands it in his mind than when one sees and partakes of the rejoicing in heaven 'when THE one lost sheep is found.' This has brought me at times at odds with the faith I have learned from classrooms and from life. Tasked with 'being ready to give an account of my faith,' I experience a profound conviction and joy when I say 'my job is not to work for conversion of people' ie. shifting from one religion to another. Instead, I understand 'my mission is to bring as many, if not all, to Jesus.' I would be happier if my task would be made faster when and if some were to request to be Baptized and thus help bring others closer to Jesus and not to some other place.

As for conversion? For me it should be left to describe transformation. From a god-less life to a god-plus life... likewise from a life of sadness to a life of joy; From a life of selfishness to a life for others; From a life of sin to a life of grace. This is for me is conversion. It peeves me when people come up to me after knowing I am a missionary and asks, how many have I converted? 10/10 they meant switching religion.

To sum up, I was wrong to have served the “function of ministering” rather than for whom it was meant to represent. With all deference to my mentors of sacramentology, I remembered how we were responsibly, canonically and judicially to minister the sacrament of confession to many types of people which included the scrupulous and the callous. However I failed to see beyond the priestly scrutinies that assessed the “how to” be stewards of the “keys” of the church. I failed to see beyond the “when and why.” I ought to have remembered “for whom” ie. ON WHOSE BEHALF we stood in for. It is nice to be reminded time and again, that the “keys” to bind and to unbound, we were entrusted with were not only the keys for re-joining the 'ἐκκλησία' (ecclesia: visible assembly/church) but moreover, were entrusted with the keys of heaven's stairwell which led to a Father's waiting embrace as The “βασιλεύς”(basileus: kingdom)

(A Reflection on St. Francis de Sales tract on “Confession”)

c:ako