 |
          |
|||||
|
|
GOD’S WAS THE FIRST HEART TO BREAK…
During the graduation of the Ateneo de Davao High school in March, 1996, there was a couple who were teary-eyed from the time the baccalaureate Mass started and through the awarding of high school diplomas. No, they had no son or daughter graduating that evening. They were there for the close friends of their son who would have graduated on that day. Their only son (in fact, only child), Paolo, died after a series of (five) operations midway through the school year. I remember that during the wake, Paolo’s father did not talk much. It was his mother who said of the relationship of her husband and her son, “They simply adored each other...” and then continued with these heart wrenching words: “My 16 year old Paolo, who enjoyed beating his old man at every game of one-on-one basketball and in every swimming race, beat his father to the grave.” When we hear such words we instinctively feel, “It shouldn’t be, such things should never be!” But they do happen—though we would rather believe they don’t—especially when they happen to us. My dear friends, the same thing can be said of our dear, FATHER MICHAEL ROONEY: “These things should not be!” He may be old, if many of the students he guides in Ateneo de Naga High School think a man of 67 is old, but still we want him around a little (much) longer. We feel this way. We have these thoughts. And so does God. The default reading for funeral mass (from the book of Wisdom) reminds us: “The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace.” For death was not God’s doing. God takes no pleasure in the destruction of the living. He created all things that they might have life, all his creatures that they might have health. Why death? That’s part of the mystery we live. Scripture does not attempt to explain. It simply says, “The devil’s envy brought death into the world.” That is not much of an explanation. It does, however, reassure us that it was not God’s intention, that God wants nothing but what is good for us. Having all the answers would not take away the pain anyway. We would still have our sorrow. Our faith in God gives us our hope and comfort. Echoing the message from the book of Wisdom, (we can say that) our consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Father Mike dies; that when he breathed his last early yesterday morning, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break. This is the God we believe in, the God we worship...not a God who wants illness and suffering for his people but the God who became one of us.
Jesus Christ shared our life. He suffered and died to overcome illness and death, to restore us to God’s original intention, to help us realize that God knows the pain of life, its struggle: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” He knew the shock, the disbelief. This can’t be happening to me: the feeling that God isn’t there. But even in the middle of grief and aloneness Jesus said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” In faith, we are doing the same here, placing Father Mike, and ourselves in God’s hands, trusting that he restores his health and life and will heal our pain. St. Paul, in his letter to the Thessalonians, speaks of this living of faith in the midst of sorrow. With him we believe that those who died are better off than us. We believe that, but we are not better off for losing them. Our faith does not minimize our loss but our faith teaches us to love. The pain we feel now is the price we pay for loving our dear brother in Christ. A small price, considering all that we have received from him and through him. And what did we receive from Father Mike? I am sure many things . . . different things to different groups of people. The GIFT OF LAUGHTER. He was such a jolly person and his laughter was contagious almost. I remember weekday afternoons at the Loyola House of Studies Library in the seventies when I was a philosophy student and Father Mike was studying theology. He would often study in the same spot in the library, sharing a table with the late Father Amado Cruz. I would often be disturbed by their laughter, a laughter which will make Father Amado’s chinky eyes diasappear and Father Mike turn red. But I did not mind because their laughter broke the monotony of studying in the afternoon. If former President Joseph Estrada has his “Eraptions”, I was thinking I could also publish “Mike-rooneysms”, a collection of Father Mike’s malapropism or un-intended (ludicrous) misuse of words that sound alike. One time, when our Jesuit house was still new and the High School has not transferred to Pacol, we were in our dining room and he pointed to a high school student coming from the back field. He said, “You know that small boy there is graduating this year. He is very small because he has genital defect.” To which I exclaimed, “Michael?!” And he said, “But that is true! He was born with that defect that’s why he’s small.” And I said, “Michael, the word is ‘congenital’.” Often, during meals at the Jesuit residence, he would clamor for jokes . . . and then he would grade them. He would give a joke a grade as high as 99.99 % if it were really funny. If it were not, he would not give the joke a failing mark, he would just say, “Corny!” A CARING PERSON. Ever since I have known Father Mike, he had always been fond of speaking in the dialect. In Manila, and later in Davao where he stayed for some years, he tried to speak in Tagalog. When he moved to Cagayan de Oro, he adjusted his tongue to Cebuano. Then here in Naga, he still tried to learn Bikolano. I believe he really wanted to be in touch with the people he worked with and worked for. He wanted to understand them and made sure his message is understood also. I am sure this is something that did not escape you, especially at Mass, how he spoke clearly and how he enunciated every word he said while proclaiming the gospel or while delivering his homily. Yes, Father Mike was a very caring person. I do not think he was capable of hurting anybody physically, but he would not want to hurt anybody even with his words. And he always wanted to please people: if you needed anything, if you had any request, he would try to attend to you and respond to your need immediately. In the provincial jail, along with other volunteers, he ministered to the prisoners, helping them in any way he could—from distributing bath soap to mailing prisoners’ letters to relatives, from providing corrugated boxboards for mats to listening to their stories, from sharing simple snacks to leading them to Christ in His own banquet we call the Eucharist. In the High School, I know he preferred writing individual recommendations for college for the seniors than ticking boxes in a recommendation checklist. In the Jesuit community, as our house minister, he usually put it as a joke: “Ano’ng problema, Bay?” or “Do you need anything?” Of course, he was always hesitant, if not afraid, to ask me if I needed anything because I would tell him I need 2.6 million (pesos) for a render farm in the Digital Animation Department or plane fare to visit my parents in New York. And he was very thoughtful. I remembered how, after spending the summer in the U.S.A., he brought chocolates for the Jesuit community and t-shirts for the boys helping us in the house. Never mind if he only bought them from SM upon his return (as I saw the price labels). It was the thought that counted. A PRAYER . . . a man of prayer. This is what about Father Mike that I find very edifying. I would pass by his room in the morning, sometimes his door already open, and he would be seated inside with his breviary. Often, early in the morning, he would be out in our porch in the second floor, praying or reflecting. In the late afternoon or early evening, if I came in early to our house chapel for our evening prayer, Father Mike would be there, sitting in the dark, praying quietly. I believe he has made his home in God just as Jesus Christ has done. This is also the invitation of today’s readings to all of us. We are invited into a deepening trust of God. Jesus is asking us to make our home in God just as he has done. “I say only what the Father has taught me,” Jesus says to them. “The One who sent me is with me. He has not deserted me….” My dear friends, in the next few days, before we finally bring Father Mike to his resting place, perhaps we will learn more about who Father Mike is when we hear other people talk about parts of his life we didn’t know. Today Jesus reminds us about parts of God’s love for us that we might fear to trust, because it doesn’t fit with our perspective of human love. If only we can pray for the ability to trust God more as Father Mike did, I believe our lives will be graced with more freedom. Again, for you: my Jesuit brothers, Ateneo lay collaborators, sisters from different congregations, students, alumni, the jailer and the prisoners, volunteer workers, friends, and for me, Fr. Mike could be this or that, a combination of all that I have mentioned or perhaps more. Precisely because of this and every other thing he is to us that we feel the sorrow and pain of his leaving us. What can we say to take away the pain? I would like to have the words to do that for you. We know in our hearts that is not possible. Your love and support in the days and weeks ahead will help do that. Perhaps, however, the best words to remember are “God’s was the first heart to break...” And we can add: His the first tear to shed when our Father Mike died. And always remember His was the first heart to rejoice when He welcomed our brother into His presence. This is the confidence and hope we have been given through the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
|
|
||||
|
|
||||||
|
© 2003 Philippine Jesuit Foundation |
||||||
