I believe in second chances. It is the story of my life. Thus the title of this blog.
Take Two is all about my reflections as a senior citizen, parent, husband, friend, and God's child. I want to tell others that life is not just a one-shot deal from God. That there is life after a botched marriage, a failed vocation, a broken relationship or even after a life-threatening illness; that God's love is unconditional ready to give us a second chance, or even a third, fourth, ad infinitum...

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

(Mis)Understanding Suicide

I have been confronted by death many times inside as well as outside the ministry in the past, but none has left me more numb as deaths by suicide.  Deaths by suicide always leave me with inexplicable pain and unanswered questions.

It was so when a very dear friend apparently killed herself some years back leaving a distraught husband and son.  Her death even left me with a tinge of remorse since I thought I should have known better and did something when she appeared to be depressed and hinted of wanting to talk a few days before it happened.  I was stunned for many days after that.  Why did she do it?  Why she of all people?  She was such a gentle person she could not even hurt a fly.  She was so selfless and always thinking of the other first.  She was prayerful having been raised well by her parents and educated in catholic schools all the way.  How could she have done it?  Was her soul damned because of it? 

Similar questions came to my mind when I heard of the more sensational cases of suicide in the not too distant past.  There was the case of 12-year old Marianette Amper who hanged herself inside their thatched house in a remote village in Mindanao apparently due to extreme hunger and poverty.  It caught national attention and politicians even used it to draw attention to the present state of the poor in the country.  Then there was the well-publicized suicide of the wife of a well-known TV news personality.  And most recently, the suicide of the son of a famous movie actor.

It was only recently did I realize that perhaps I was asking these questions because I was brought up to look at suicide as a heinous sin, a mortal sin.  That it is a sin of despair, like Judas’ sin of hanging himself after he betrayed Jesus.  That it is a sin of losing hope and therefore anyone who commits suicide is damned forever.  We were even taught that those who died by suicide cannot be given the last rites of the Catholic church and cannot be buried on sacred grounds.

It is refreshing and comforting then to find a well-respected and eminent spirituality writer and preacher, Fr. Ronald Rolheiser, OMI write about suicide and tell us how we have apparently misunderstood it in the past.  He has taken it upon himself to write at least one column on suicide every year so that we, specially families of suicide victims, can take comfort in what he has to say.

Fr. Rolheiser writes a regular column in the internet (www.ronrolheiser.com).  The following is only one of seven (7) columns on the subject of suicide from 2001 to 2009:

“Margaret Atwood once wrote that sometimes things need to be said, and said, and said, until they don't need to be said any more. Each year I write a column on suicide because, given the misconceptions about it, some things need to be said over and over again.

What are our misconceptions about suicide? What must be re- iterated over and over again.

First, that suicide is not an act of despair. We are, too slowly, emerging from a mindset that understands suicide as the ultimate act of despair - culpable, irrevocable, and unforgivable. To commit suicide, it is too commonly believed, puts one under the judgement once pronounced on Judas Iscariot: "Better to not have been born." Until recently, victims of suicide were often not even buried in church cemeteries.

What we didn't understand when we thought these things is that the propensity for suicide is, in most cases, an illness, pure and simple. We are made up of body and soul, either can snap. We can die of cancer, high blood pressure, heart attacks, aneurysms. These are physical sicknesses. But we can suffer these too in the soul, not just the body. There are malignancies and aneurysms too of the heart, mortal wounds from which the soul cannot recover. In most cases, suicide, like any terminal illness, takes a person out of life against his or her will. The death is not freely chosen, but is an illness, far from an act of free will. In most instances, suicide is a desperate attempt to end unendurable pain, much like a woman who throws herself through a window because her clothing has caught fire. That's a tragedy, not an act of despair.

If this is true, and it is, then we should also give up the notion that suicide puts a person outside the mercy of God. God's mercy is equal even to suicide. After the resurrection, we see how Christ, more than once, goes through locked doors and breathes forgiveness, love, and peace into hearts that are unable to open up because of fear and hurt. God's mercy and peace can go through walls where we can't. As we all know, this side of heaven, sometimes all the love, stretched-out hands, and professional help in the world can no longer reach through to a heart paralysed by fear and illness.

But, where we stand helpless, God's compassion can still reach through. God's love can descend into hell itself (as we state in our creed) and breathe peace and reconciliation right into wound, anger, and fear. God's hands are gentler than ours, God's compassion is wider than ours, and God's understanding infinitely surpasses our own. Our wounded loved ones who fall victim to suicide are safe in God's hands, safer by far than they are in the judgements that issue from our own limited understanding. God is not stymied by locked doors as we are.

When suicide victims wake on the other side, they are met by a gentle Christ who stands right inside of their huddled fear and says: "Peace be with you!" As we see in the post-resurrection appearances of Christ, God can go through locked doors, breathe out peace in places where we cannot get in, and write straight with even the most crooked of lines.

Finally, too, there is a misunderstanding about suicide that expresses itself in second-guessing: If only I had done more! If only I had been more attentive this could have been prevented.

Rarely is this the case. Most of the time, we weren't there when our loved one departed for the very reason that this person didn't want us to be there. He or she picked the time and place precisely with our absence in mind. Suicide is a disease that picks its victim precisely in such a way so as to exclude others and their attentiveness. That's part of the anatomy of the disease.

This, of course, may never be an excuse for insensitivity to those around us who are suffering from depression, but it's a healthy check against false guilt and anxious second-guessing. Many of us have stood at the bedside of someone who is dying and experienced a frustrating helplessness because there was nothing we could do to prevent our loved one from dying. That person died, despite our attentiveness, prayers, and efforts to be helpful. So too, at least generally, with those who die of suicide. Our love, attentiveness, and presence could not stop them from dying - despite our will and effort to the contrary.

The Christian response to suicide should not be horror, fear for the person's eternal salvation, and anxious self-examination about we did or didn't do. Suicide is indeed a horrible way to die, but we must understand it for what it is, a sickness, and stop being anxious about both that person's eternal salvation and our less-than-perfect response to his or her illness.

God redeems everything and, in the end, all manner of being will be well, even beyond suicide.”

 

Friday, March 12, 2010

"Yes, Virginia, Love means..."

There is an email that is being forwarded and re-forwarded nowadays about what love means to children… Terri, age 4 says: “Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.” Seven-year old Danny says: “Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.”…Bobby, another 7-year-old says: 'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.”… Elaine, age 5 says: “Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.”… Little Mary Ann who is only age 4 says: “Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.”…

But my favorite is that of a four-year-old child who did not say anything but showed us in action what love means… His next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there… When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said: Nothing, I just helped him cry.”

This email about children came to mind the other day when I came across the news about 6-year-old Virginia Rojo. Her story may have escaped the attention of many as it is buried deep inside the Regional News pages of the national dailies. And I immediately thought her story deserves retelling and being forwarded to as many people as possible. It tells us what love means to Virginia…

The news account tells us that Virginia’s mother, single mom and 39-year-old Lorna, left late Sunday afternoon with her 9-year-old eldest child for work as a laundrywoman and househelper. She left 6-year-old Virginia to take care of her youngest child, a 4-month-old baby boy in their house in Barangay San Jose, Sipalay City, in southern Negros Occidental. Virginia and her brother were already asleep when their house, which was made of light materials, caught fire at around 8 p.m.

Virginia, in an interview with a radio station, said she woke up “feeling hot” and heard a voice, whom she believed was that of “Papa Jesus,” telling her to take her baby brother out of the burning house. She then scooped her baby brother from his makeshift hammock and raced out of the house. Unfortunately, a burning curtain fell on her causing her burns in her arms, face and chest. Ignoring the pain, she kept on going holding her baby brother tightly until they reached safely the waiting arms of neighbors. The baby miraculously escaped unharmed.

Upon reading her story, it occurred to me that, like the four-year-old child who just sat on the old man’s lap when he saw the old man crying, Virginia also did not merely tell us what love means, she showed to us what love means by doing what she did for her baby brother even at the risk to her own life.

Just like the man on the Cross who showed us in concrete what love means…

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

My healing journey

It was supposed to be an ordinary trip to a parish-related gathering, the Parish Renewal Experience (PREX) convention held at General Santos City in South Cotabato in Mindanao recently. The trip turned out, however, into another healing journey for me.

Flashback: I left Cotabato in 1976 after spending some 8 years working as an Oblate of Mary Immaculate missionary. In those 8 relatively short years I spent more than a year as an Assistant Parish Priest in Kidapawan (North Cotabato), a few months as a substitute priest in Tacurong (Sultan Kudarat) and the rest in Cotabato City at Notre Dame Seminary in Nuling and at the Notre Dame University in the city of Cotabato. It was while at Notre Dame Seminary as Diocesan Director of Vocations that I was able to move around what was then known as the empire province of Cotabato, to as far down south as General Santos City (then known as Dadiangas) visiting schools and preaching recollections and retreats to students. Needless to say, during those years I was able to recruit several aspiring young men to join the diocesan seminary as well as the Oblate seminary. Along the way, I also developed a number of friends some of whom became more than friends to me and treated me like family.

I only went back to Cotabato some two years ago or 30 years later in September 2007 when Fr. Al Carino, OMI, a very good friend starting from seminary days to our priestly ministry, died. I thought then that it was time for me to return to my “roots”, as it were. I described that trip then as my “spiritual homecoming” or a healing journey in my letter of thanks to the Oblate Provincial Fr. Ramon Ma. Bernabe, OMI. And to understand where I am coming from now, here are excerpts of my letter to Fr. Bernabe:

…..“It has been not only a visit and last respect to a great friend, but also some sort of spiritual homecoming for me… I was not planning to come at first as I was thinking of the long tiring trip not only of the flight but also of the trip to the airport from our place. Then on Tuesday morning while my wife Thelma and I were at mass in our parish church, I received your text as forwarded by Taddy regarding the date and time of the funeral. Strangely, I felt a strong urge to go. I then told Al in prayer that if he wants me to go, then I would. At breakfast, I told my wife about my decision. She immediately got in touch with Archbishop Orly and I emailed you asking for the possibility of accommodations in Tamontaka where the wake was…

Please thank Fr. Clete Ternes, OMI, who has been a great host. I had a real wonderful time talking to him during the meals we shared reminiscing old times and talking about people we knew both alive and dead!... I thank Fr. Zaldy Oreola too whom I just met for the first time that Thursday afternoon but was very generous of his time to tour me around the OMI novitiate and the OND grounds where I got to meet a lot of OND friends. I prayed also for some friends at the OND cemetery.

Friday, after the funeral, I lingered at the cemetery and prayed for/to the OMI's I knew and have been closed to. I then walked around the grotto and just enjoyed the quiet surroundings and the huge trees thanking God. It was truly an experience. Many of my long-held fears and anxieties about coming back to Cotabato have vanished as I felt the love and caring of friends --both old and new, priests, religious and laity. Somehow I also felt I have been forgiven as I have forgiven those who I thought had rejected and hurt me after I left... I realized then that my trip has turned into a healing journey…

During that first trip for Fr. Al’s funeral, I was not able to visit Tacurong and Kidapawan, the two places where I spent a significant part of my priestly ministry. And so when this Gensan trip beckoned, I immediately took the opportunity and planned my journey to these two places …

At Gensan, my wife Thelma and I were met at the airport by our gracious hosts, Dra. Mary Ann Ayco (of the Montilla family of Tacurong) and Femie Lechonsito (of the Lechonsitos of Tacurong). Both call me “Dad” and are like daughters to me. After getting settled at the house of Mary Ann’s younger sister Suzanne Montilla-Juliano, we proceeded to visit first an old friend I have not seen for many years, Sr. Antonia Falgui (of the Falgui clan of Kiamba) who is now bedridden by diabetes and other complications. Then off we went to spend overnight in a beach resort (Isla Jardin del Mar) at Glan, Saranggani province to relax before going through the grueling schedule of the convention.

Immediately after the convention on Sunday noon, with RTC Judge Bert Ayco (Mary Ann’s husband) at the wheels, we left for Tacurong passing by Polomolok, South Cotabato for a brief tour of the Dole pineapple plantation and snacks at their Kalsangi clubhouse where we had a chance encounter and photo opportunity with former President Fidel V. Ramos who just came from a round of golf at the Dole golf course.

Driving along the South Cotabato national highway passing through Polomolok, Tupi, and Koranadal (formerly Marbel) was a breeze reminding me of our expressways in Luzon. Without the stopovers in Polomolok and Tupi (where we stopped again for “pasalubongs”), the trip to Tacurong took us only about an hour when it used to take me about two hours including all the free dust (or mud) that went with the trip!

After spending Sunday night with the Ayco family in Tacurong, we left for Kidapawan Monday morning with Sr. Lucy, OND, another friend from the past, who rejoined our group.

So from Tacurong in the province of Sultan Kudarat, we proceeded Northeast towards Kidapawan in North Cotabato passing through a couple of towns in the province of Maguindanao. The highway this time was not as good as the one in South Cotabato, but better than the old highway I used to be familiar with! At Crossing Tulunan, Judge Ayco pointed to me the very place where Fr. Tulio Favali, an Italian PIME missionary was shot to death some years back… I whispered a little prayer for him… Finally we reached Kidapawan after about an hour of driving… It occurred to me at this point that we have actually gone through 5 provinces and 4 cities already in such a brief time!

Approaching what is now the City of Kidapawan (and capital of North Cotabato) was entering memory lane for me… There were so many new buildings as well as familiar landmarks along the main highway. But what caught my attention right away was the statue of St. Joseph in front of what used to be the old and familiar St. Joseph Hospital where I ministered to many sick and dying people in the year and a half that I was in Kidapawan. There was the market, Kidapawan Hardware, and of course, the renovated parish church (now the cathedral of the Diocese of Kidapawan), and the site of the old convento where I used to live…

We first visited a very dear friend, Mrs. Meding Alonzo, now a widow who lives with only a companion in their sprawling house. It was an emotional visit, with Joe or Pete Alonzo (Meding’s husband and my best friend) having passed away just a year or two back… Next in our agenda was the new OMI retreat or spiritual center in Binoligan where we visited with my friend, Fr. Armand “Pete” Carignan, OMI who incidentally was celebrating his birthday that day. And again, by coincidence, I also got to meet Fr. Armando Angeles a diocesan priest who turned out to be an old student of mine at the Nuling Seminary! He hugged me and, ironically for me, thanked me for having recruited him to join the seminary!,,, We next visited Bishop Romulo dela Cruz, now Bishop of Kidapawan at his residence in Balindog. Bishop Romy and I were both resident priests at the Diocesan Seminary in Nuling in the early 70’s. It warmed my heart when later my wife Thelma told me that Bishop Romy thanked her for “taking good care of Danny. He looks good!”…Lunch was with Dr. and Mrs. Alfredo Villarico, my old doctor in Kidapawan who happened to be also a friend of Sr. Lucy. We had fun time reminiscing the past… Our last visit but nonetheless a meaningful one was with another friend of mine, former North Cotabato congressman Greg Ipong, my former seminarian at Nuling who hugged me and called me his “mentor”… Back to Gensan that same afternoon, a brief stopover again in Tacurong gave me the opportunity to visit with Mrs. Asuncion Montilla, Mary Ann’s mom who was recently widowed. It was a heartwarming visit for me as she affirmed her love for me as “Mary Ann”s good friend”.

I left Gensan with Thelma for Manila the next day not only with a bagful of “pasalubongs”, but also with a heart brimming with joy and thanking God for faithful friends who I had found out have always been there for me after all.

My healing is now complete.