Have You Been Lonely?

22 May 2011 Fifth Sunday of Easter
Acts 6:1-7; Psalm 33; 1 Peter 2:4-9; John 14:1-12

In lull periods between chores at the feeding center, Juan’s* eyes turn glossy and forlorn. When he was in Phoenix, he was caught by the border patrol and imprisoned for 8 months. During his detention, his wife was pregnant with his first child. On the day of the child’s birth, Juan was deported to the Arizona-Mexico border gate. He never saw them since.

The stories of the migrants I’ve met and served at the Comedor, the feeding center of the Kino Border Initiative (please LIKE our page here) are stories of separation. We feed people who are lonely and distressed. The pain of separation from their loved ones is fresh and the wound is deep. The options are bleak: if one returns to their origins in Mexico or Central America, they have to bear separation for years; or if one returns to the US, they have to cross the inhospitable Sonoran desert and the possibility of death (related article on this here).

In the Gospels, the disciples of Jesus are distressed over his words about going away (John 13:33-36). But Jesus assures them that His departure is more gain than loss for them, for He will become closer to them after His resurrection and they will enter into a deeper communion with Him. Therefore, they should not be ‘troubled’ by the prospect of a certain loneliness in this world, exposed as they will be to the forces of unbelief (John 16:33) or having to live without their friend. And here Jesus goes on saying that when He passes over to His Father, He will prepare a place for them, the “many dwelling places” in “His Father’s house.”

For many migrants all over the world, the situation of the disciples in the Gospel is all too familiar. On one hand, they leave their families because they want to prepare a better future for them. They are aware of the dangers of being away. In many ways than one, they are like Jesus: on them their families hinge their hopes and dreams away from poverty or the violence in their own countries (eg. Mexico, Libya and North Africa, Vietnam and Cambodia).

On the other hand, their families who are left behind are effected by the parting. Children with absentee parents; those who live away from home; the experience of death; those who had a falling out with a friend are just a few examples when loneliness sinks deeply into our hearts.

The Gospel challenges all who encounter loneliness to put our trust on Jesus who promises a dwelling place in heaven. Thus, it reads that Jesus tells his disciples (us) that they (we) will be where He Himself is, both in the present and in the future. We will, with the help of the Spirit, enter through faith into a closer relationship with God. And this communion is a gift from the Trinity (v.2-3 and 23). It is no wonder that this Gospel is read in funerals: Isn’t it consoling to know that our departed loved ones have not vanished but are there waiting for us? I find this consoling when my dad passed away: our separation is temporary!

But the many ‘dwelling-places’ are not degrees of perfection or status in heaven, in the sense that, the holier you are the bigger the mansion. The meaning is that the Father’s love and life that is present in Jesus is so immense that there is room for all of us! His heart is bigger and wider than what we can imagine. Whatever or whoever we are, there is always room for us in God.

Loneliness is a negative experience. Thus it entails pain and suffering. It destroys our notion of companionship or friendship: no person can totally satisfy our need for absolute presence. Couples have to separate when they have to go to work. Friends cannot stick to each other all the time. The promise “I will be with you always” does not mean the one who promises will accompany you wherever you go --- you don’t want them present in the restroom, do you? Life includes ‘separation’ time.

But there is one who can be present to us, wherever we are! He is the one who can satisfy our need for constant companionship. That is why, the negative feeling of loneliness can turn into an experience of communion with God. Because Jesus can do that: He is more present to us now than he was here in human form.

Those who have accepted this fact and lived this truth is said to live not in loneliness but in solitude. They are those who live in the heart of God, with or without their family and friends’ presences, peacefully. They can have their time for themselves without the impulse of reaching out to their cellphones or opening their social networks because the ‘silence is unbearable.’ Silence and solitude are very much related. You need both to change your loneliness into peacefulness.

*not his real name.

Have You Been Vulnerable?

15 May 2011 4th Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:14-41; Psalm 23; 1 Pt 2:20-25; John 10:1-10

Salvador was dazed and disoriented. After being rounded up by the border patrol while driving, he was detained for a year because he couldn’t show them his legal papers. He was from Chihuahua, a state in Mexico, and crossed the border unauthorized. Two days before he was sentenced for deportation to Mexico, his wife gave birth to a boy which he never saw.

I met Salvador the day he arrived at the Deconcini gate in Nogales, Sonora, Mexico. After given a ticket by the immigration officer for a free bus ride back to his hometown, he headed to the Comedor, the feeding center of the Kino Border Initiative (Please LIKE our page here). I was serving deported migrants at the Comedor.

The story of Salvador at his most vulnerable is shared by many other migrants who come to the Comedor or Dining Area twice every day. They have their own stories to tell, and we meet them at the darkest and lowest point in their life. It is at this point that I begin to wonder about the lost sheep and the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd. These are, literally, the lost and the least in the fold.

The image of the Good Shepherd is ancient in the Christian church. In Rome, wall paintings of the Good Shepherd are found in the catacombs. Though I can imagine how the image can be lost to the present generation, I wonder why the image continues to inspire us. When shepherding was a common occupation in the time of Jesus, the image understandably have potent power then. But even at present when shepherding is left to a few, its communicative power remains.

I think the image gains its power because of the growing number of people who can identify with the lost sheep. We have in many different ways reached the point of Salvador. When we are at our lowest and darkest or when we feel abandoned, ostracized and alone, we find ourselves attracted to an image of protection. And thus, many of us say that we often remember the Lord and seek His Presence when we are suffering. We say that people who are proud will return to the Lord sometime --- just wait for a tragedy to happen.

But the story of the Good Shepherd and an image of the same story like the Woman Who Lost a Coin tell us otherwise. It is not the lost sheep (or the lost coin) who looks for the Shepherd, but it is the Shepherd who looks for them. He is the one who comes to the lost; as the Woman who searches for the coin that doesn’t move from where it has fallen (Don’t we feel paralyzed at the enormity of our burdens?)

And so the point today: I think that we experience God when we are at the lowest point in our lives not because we search for Him. Or being problematic, we go the church to beg God to hear our prayers. That makes God like a necessary crutch. Or, when our prayers are not answered the way we want it, He becomes another person to blame.

God comes to us in our most vulnerable state, because our defenses are down. God has always been with us, accompanying us, even if we don’t give Him the attention. He is always there, even if we deny His presence. Think of a wall: when it is destroyed, anyone from the other side can come to you. Put yourself in God’s shoes: when we want to help a friend, but the friend does not want it, we will not be able to lend our hand. I believe, this is how God comes to us when we are lost. He is the one who finds us.

Proof: the photo you see in this blog is Salvador praying to his “Salvador” (Savior).

Hope in Shattered Dreams

8 May 2011. 3rd Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:14,22-23; Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:17-21; Luke 24-13-35

I saw them kiss. Josefina and Anteo were lining for breakfast at the Comedor, the feeding center of the Kino Border Initiative. They were migrants, recently deported from the United States. They were picked up by the US Customs and Border Protection together, but were deported separately. Josefina was deported at the Deconcini Gate in the Arizona-Sonora border, while Anteo was thrown out of American territory miles away in Tijuana, the California side. Anteo made it back to Guatemala, while Josefina stayed at the women's shelter of the KBI, managed by the Missionaries of the Eucharist.

I met Josefina at the Comedor. She volunteered to help us out after serving the meals. While slicing calabasita, she told me that she had four children, whom she left with her mother. She and Anteo had to leave home for a better life for them. Since Anteo was able to make his way again from Guatemala, they would try to cross the border again. All for the love of their children. Today, they bid us goodbye. They will take the dangerous road back to the US before more troops are deployed following the death of Osama bin Laden.

The journey these migrants take is everything but easy. Migrants from Guatemala hitch a ride to the US-Mexican border by the train that carries produce from Central America to the US. They hang on steel ladders of a train car and make their way to the roof. There they wait until the train stops at their destination. From there, they cross the inhospitable desert, wrestling with death itself. In 2010, 214 human remains were found in the Arizona desert; 78 casualties is the present record from October 2010-March 2011.

If you meet these migrants after deportation, what would you say? They come dazed and disoriented. They look at you with great questioning. Crossing the border unauthorized is not right, but for those without means, the law does not matter as much as their families. Isn't it that the survival of loved ones is more important than territory?

The Gospel today tells the story of Cleopas and another disciple (perhaps, his wife? And why not?) They both leave Jerusalem, the place where their hopes have been shattered. Their minds are with Jesus whom they thought would liberate them from the oppression of Rome. They are walking towards Emmaus, which the Romans called, Nicopolis or "Victory City." They badly need a victory. Like Josefina and Anteo. Like many migrants we serve everyday.

How are you to talk to people with shattered dreams? In the midst of great tragedy, we are all left without words. Sometimes I find that there is something wrong when we say, "Everything will be alright." In one way, it is correct and true. There are many bad situations that ends well. But in some situations, the condition may not turn out well, except when miracles happen. When I was chaplain of the UP Maroons, it was easy to talk about hope at the first few games. But loosing continually and nearing the end of the UAAP matches, it seems futile to talk about hope when you only have one game to play and we haven't won a single game. Definitely, making it to the top five will not happen. Or extreme cases like the terminally-ill. What then would hope be?

As the two disciples walk towards the Victory City, the True Redeemer walks alongside them. He listened while the disciples pour out their frustration. Jesus responds by recalling the Scriptures, eventually giving them a new story and a new way of looking at the events that frustrated them. They also got something: an enflamed heart. Jesus helped them make sense all that has happened.

I believe this is the hope that the Lord gives us. He doesn't remove our problems: when we are able to solve them, we then encounter new ones. But we are able to find meaning in our frustrations. The terminally-ill renews their spirit by gathering the people who makes their entire life meaningful; the student who fails a subject learns from the fall; Anteo and Josefina makes the journey courageously, fired by the love they have for their children.

Hope then is an orientation of our spirit. It is either we hope or we don't. We either move on or we regress. It is different from happiness, when we dream that everything will turn out well.

In the Gospel, it is clear that the hope Jesus gives is an enflamed heart witnessed in the accounts of the disciples in the first reading from Acts. It is the inspiration and energy the early disciples possess, that ability to work for the good, because it the right thing to do, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. Hope is not the conviction that everything will turn out well, but that everything makes sense in the view of eternity. Think of the great exemplars of holiness. The martyrs died but their death to them and to us today has sense. Think of our heroes, their lives become our bread on which we live. Think of our parents, their hardwork has made us who we are today. Think of Jesus: the stone the builders rejected became the cornerstone.

The Gospel then invites us to see the world and our lives in the perspective of eternity. Just as the disciples gain a new sight that enabled them to recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread, we pray that the Lord transform our blindness and give us new eyes and a renewed hope.



- Posted by Jboy Gonzales SJ using BlogPress. Copyright 2011.

Location:Nogales, Sonora, Mexico