Do not be afraid

Now for something completely reverent.

For 30-odd years, I have struggled to be a good Catholic. And throughout my daily struggle, I have carried with me personal items — constant reminders to live my faith: a book of prayers in my bag, a scapular around my neck, a rosary in my pocket, and a prayer in my heart (“I will continue, O my God, to do all my actions for the love of You”).

Last week’s Gospels chronicled how the incredulous disciples were unable to recognize the risen Christ even when he was walking and talking right beside them. A no doubt bemused Jesus had to reveal himself to them through familiar signs —breaking bread, catching fish, even allowing a certain doubting Thomas to poke his ribs — to remind his clueless yet faithful disciples that the scriptures had been fulfilled. Similarly, in my own life, I can often be just as clueless yet a faithful disciple who is trying to find out if Christ is standing right beside me.

Every so often, the good Lord reveals Himself to me through people who are standing right beside me — from a lay brother in Couples for Christ who shared his passion for daily scripture meditation to my late parish priest and spiritual adviser who shared his joy of communal prayer to my Jesuit scholastic cousin assigned to Cambodia who shared his fervor to serve the less fortunate — they all have taught me how I could be a better person, a better servant and a better Catholic in spite of myself.

And then there was Blessed Pope John Paul II.

I may have never had a personal audience with Blessed Pope John Paul II, but for those of us who grew up in the ‘80s, he was our pope. And he made sure that we knew it: our pope loved us so much that he visited our country twice in his lifetime to stand right beside me and to let me know that the risen Christ was still revealing himself to the faithful, particularly during these troubled times.

As we celebrate the beatification of the Pilgrim Pope, allow me to share a fictionalized account that I wrote on the eve of his passing six years ago — — interspersed with my own reflections on the event — because it was probably on the eve of his death that we saw how “our pope” truly lived His faith.

Solidarity

April 2, 2005. The camerlengo’s footsteps dragged against the marble floor as he entered Karol’s chambers. The room welcomed Eduardo with Latin prayers that were torn by muffled tears. He glanced at the bed and saw Karol’s shallow breathing. Eduardo bowed his head and squeezed the beads of his rosary.

He edged toward Karol and took his left hand. It was no longer shaking. “Karol, our young ones are holding a vigil for you right outside.” Eduardo said. Karol smiled almost imperceptibly and murmured. “I have looked for you. Now you have come to me. And I thank you.”

Karol shifted his head towards the window, struggled to raise his left hand and mumbled “Totus Tuus.” “Totally yours.” His hand dropped to the side of bed and his chest stopped heaving.

“Karol?” Eduardo whispered. “Karol? He bellowed again. Eduardo gently raised Karol’s left hand to his mouth and kissed it as he made the sign of the cross.

The pigeons cooed outside the window.

* * *

It pained me the last time I saw you from your balcony, Lolo Karol. Your head hung low from your neck while you struggled to grace us with your blessing. When I saw your jaw tremble as you attempted to speak, I felt my throat tighten and I could feel the tears welling my eyes.

It was so hard to see a man once so full of life now crumpled and fading. Was this the same vibrant man who traversed the globe spreading Our Father’s love to countries where your predecessors had never even set foot before?

As the windows of your balcony closed, I cried to myself because I realized just how much you loved me and how painstakingly you wanted me to share in Our Father’s love. And I saw that you wanted to cry as well because your enfeebled vessel prevented you from sharing Our Father’s love. But you didn’t have to say anything, Lolo Karol, because your eyes said it all.

* * *

February 8, 2005. Karol sat in his armchair staring out of the hospital window. “What is all this foolishness about me resigning, Eduardo?” Karol slurred while palming his rosary. “Do I have to read the newspapers to find out how my health is doing?” Eduardo shrugged his shoulders.

“When I turned 80, I contemplated how long I must continue this service. The musings of a foolish old man.” Karol chuckled to himself. Eduardo broke into a smile.

“How perfectly human of you to think about resigning,” Eduardo remarked.

“I prayed for strength, Eduardo. And how He answered my prayer!” He struggled to raise both his hands. “He made me even weaker. After all, He taught us not to hide from our suffering. He taught us how to welcome it.”

“What do we tell the people who call for your resignation?”

Karol, his hand shaking uncontrollably, reached out for Eduardo’s shoulder. “Did Christ come down from his cross?”

“Why, Karol, how perfectly divine of you. How perfectly divine.”

* * *

The last time you visited us in Manila, Lolo Karol, I felt so blessed as your caravan swept by my family on your way to Luneta. Though I only saw you fleetingly, I found myself weeping unabashedly. I wanted to wipe away my tears from my face with the back of my hand when I noticed that my parents were crying as well. Why did we weep so uncontrollably when we saw you, Lolo Karol? Was it the elation of knowing that we were physically close to the risen Christ’s leader of the faithful? Was it the electric aura of your spirituality that enveloped us as you passed by? Or perhaps, was it a feeling of joy? A joy of knowing that, as imperfect as we are as human beings, there are those among us who are blessed to experience profound communion with the divine?

* * *

October 16, 1978. Eduardo nudged open the door to Karol’s room. He saw Karol slumped over the side of his bed, weeping. “They’re waiting for you outside, Karol.” Eduardo said.

Karol shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this, Eduardo. I don’t even know if I am worthy of this.”

Eduardo planted his hand firmly on Karol’s shoulder. “You said it yourself in front of the conclave. With obedience in faith to Christ, my Lord, and with trust in the Mother of Christ and the Church, in spite of great difficulties, I accept.”

Karol stood up from the bed. “Totus tuus,” he whispered. He kissed the crucifix that hung from his neck and crossed himself. “I will miss Krakow,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back there soon,” Eduardo said as he patted Karol on the back.

As white smoke billowed from the St. Peter’s Square across the world, Karol made his way towards the basilica’s balcony.

“Do not be afraid. Open, I say: open wide the doors for Christ!” Karol’s voice trembled as he took in the sea of faithful who were gathered around the square. “To his saving power open the boundaries of states, economic and political systems, the vast fields of culture, civilization and development: Do not be afraid. Christ knows ‘that which is in man.’ He alone knows it.

“So often today, man does not know that which is in him, in the depths of his mind and heart.” Karol beat his fist on his chest. “So often he is uncertain about the meaning of his life on this earth. He is assailed by doubt, a doubt that turns into despair. We ask you, therefore — we beg you, with humility and with trust — let Christ speak to man. He alone has words of life, yes, of life eternal.” Karol raised both hands towards the sky.

* * *

I know now why you have touched me so much, Lolo Karol. It was because you spoke to me. You saw fit that the same Father who spoke to you in your most intimate of prayers would speak just as clearly to me.

You humbled yourself by telling me that my faith mattered. But more than your compassion, Lolo Karol, you promised me a place in your ministry. And you gifted me with the responsibility of sharing my mustard seed faith with others even if I felt unworthy to serve. You constantly admonished us: “Do not be afraid.”

When you last visited the Philippines, you reminded us of our place in your ministry. “Be a sign of hope for the church, for your country and for all humanity!” You embraced me and proclaimed, “May your light spread out from Manila to the farthest corners of the world, like the great light which shone in the night of Bethlehem.” Then you put your thumb on my forehead and made the sign of our salvation: “You are my dear son of light.”

You said that your greatest lesson was for us was not to be afraid to proclaim our faith, Lolo Karol. But I think you were wrong. You didn’t just teach us to proclaim our faith. By your example, you taught us to be our faith. A living faith. A faith served with humility. A faith served with passion. And a faith served with joy.

Totus Tuus. I am completely in Your hands.

* * *

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