Homecomings

It was one of the most uplifting and feel-good Masses I have ever attended last Sunday, December 22. My family and I always make the 10:45 a.m. at Redem (short for Redemptorist Church, in the language of the young) but I am particularly grateful for this one.

The main celebrant was an Irish priest from Dublin, whose name I missed when introduced, and who is now assigned in Harlem. He had to travel more than halfway around the world from his present parish in the US so he could be in Cebu City around this particular time.

For the priest had a very special reason to be here at this particular time. It was right here at Redem that he was ordained a priest 50 years ago, in December 1963. Thus it was a golden moment for him to be back where it all started.

I am always fascinated by homecomings. Last Saturday, I accompanied a daughter to Mandaue City to get her Christmas bonus as a nurse working for the city government. Although Mandaue City is my hometown, I now live in nearby Cebu City.

It is now extremely rare that I spend more time in Mandaue City beyond the necessity of having to pass through on the way to somewhere else. On the extremely rare occasions that I do step down and touch base with the place of my being, it is for something I do not particularly relish, like saying goodbye to friends.

So last Saturday, I found the unintended opportunity to stay longer in Mandaue City than I usually do. This was because it being a Saturday the paymaster assigned to give the bonuses took her own sweet time to show up. So we waited from 9 a.m. until 2 p.m., when my daughter finally got her bonus.

My daughter actually wanted to leave by noon after having waited for so long. But I am always of the obstinate kind and I felt that it would have been a complete waste of everything if, after having waited an eternity, we would just up and leave and still not get what we came to get.

So we waited -- my daughter in City Hall, me in the car at the back of the building. While waiting, I began to remember the great times I spent in Mandaue City, while growing up, and later as a young man. I was parked on a street close to the plaza where me and my friends hung out.

As the minutes dragged into hours, I began to speculate on the possibility of an acquaintance or two passing by and how the prospective meeting might turn out. I began to tick off names and faces in my mind as to which acquaintance or friend I might likely encounter.

To my horror, and eventual amusement, I realized that the faces that flitted through my mind were faces of long ago, of teenagers and young girls and boys. I forgot to take into account the passage of time and how long it had been since I saw any of them, and how time must have now taken its inexorable toll on appearances.

I have been deluded into scrutinizing each young girl or boy that hovered into view and trying to guess if he or she was an acquaintance or a friend. After having been gone for so long, it seemed only too natural to think the way I thought the last time I was really here, which was as a young man in the 60s and 70s.

But that was impossibly too long ago. Decades have passed. So I shifted tack and began a new game. This time I started to sort out the "gors" hovering into view and wondered whether this was, ha ha, this friend, or he he, that acquaintance.

Luckily neither showed up. And that spared everyone the inevitable scrutinizing of how quickly the years have gone by. But it was great just speculating. It was great to just sit there in the car and know you are home again. A few tears welled in my eyes and I realized home is really where the heart is. I was home.

Now back to that Mass at Redem and the Irish priest who just had to be back where it all started. What a wonderful feeling it was to share his joy. And when we applauded him our welcome, though the congregation met him only that one time, he and the congregation knew by its warmth that it was a welcome to home.

And as I applauded there loudly, I felt an immense joy sweep through my being, a joy that found expression in the loudness of my clapping. There was a great sense of fulfillment in knowing that, in some small measure, a wandering soul who has come back after 50 years has found relief in the welcome of  home.